David Kent - The Triangle Conspiracy

At the front of the room, next to the platform, was a series of framed photographs. On each side of the platform was a huge framed plaque. They came a bit closer, and Dunaway motioned them to seats. Others were filing in a few at a time. A couple of people spoke to Dunaway. One older woman hugged her.

As they grew closer, Sean read the first few lines of the plaque that commanded the wall at the front of the room.

We admitted we were powerless over alcohol-that our lives had become unmanageable.

“Oh, for shit’s sake,” Sean said in a stage whisper. He jabbed Faith in the ribs. “You brought me to an Alcoholics Fucking Anonymous meeting.”

Faith glared. “Keep your voice down, Sean.”

“No, I won’t keep my voice down. How could you drag me here? To this?” He swept a hand around the room.

“Because, dammit, you’re an alcoholic.”

“And you’re full of shit, sister.” Sean abruptly stood and worked his way along the row of chairs and toward the exit.

Faith was right behind him. She caught his sleeve just before he turned into the hallway. Behind them, a man in his fifties, in a flannel shirt and jeans, had ascended the podium. He introduced himself- Hello, I’m Ed, and I’m an alcoholic- offered words of welcome, then said something about a prayer.

“You must be kidding,” Sean breathed.

The assembled group, with no prompting, spoke in unison:

God grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, to change the things I can, and the wisdom to know the difference.

“This is a fucking cult,” Sean said in full voice.

“Shut your damn mouth,” Faith hissed at him. “Sean, you have a problem. You were an hour late to meet me this morning, even for something you say is vitally important, because you had to stop off somewhere and drink. Did you think I wouldn’t know? Do you think I can’t tell?”

Now the meeting progressed around the room, with each person-every single one of them, more than a hundred strong-introducing to the gathering at large, to which the gathering responded in turn.

I’m Jack, and I’m an alcoholic.

Hi, Jack!

I’m Denise, and I’m an alcoholic.

Hi, Denise!

Henry, alcoholic.

Hi, Henry!

Melissa, alcoholic and addict.

Hi, Melissa!

“I’m getting out of here,” Sean said. “This gives me the creeps. I can’t believe you brought me here.”

Faith looked back toward the group. Cara Dunaway was staring back with a concerned look on her face. Faith spread her hands.

“He may not be ready,” Dunaway mouthed.

Faith dropped her hands in exasperation and followed Sean down the hall, out the door, and onto the sidewalk. He spun abruptly, almost losing his balance, and grabbed Faith by both shoulders. “That was a shitty trick, Faith. I come to you for help and you bring me to some preaching, praying, AA group. If I wanted praying in unison, I’d just go to mass. What’s the matter with you?”

“It’s not what’s the matter with me, you fool,” Faith growled. “Don’t you get it? It’s not just recreational anymore. It’s not just getting plastered at a party anymore. It’s not even ‘taking the edge off’ anymore. The bottle’s holding you instead of the other way around. It’s going to destroy your life, piece by piece, until you don’t have anything.”

“I just wanted your help.” Sean turned his back on her and started toward the parking lot.

“What do you think I’m trying to do?” Faith screamed at the top of her lungs.

Sean stopped. He had never heard Faith shout like that. Never. She was always the one who was tightly controlled, able to wall off the emotions, able to hide behind intellect or ambition.

“My God, but you’ve changed,” Sean said in a low voice.

“And do you think you haven’t?”

“Not really, no. Maybe I drink a little more than I used to. So what? I’m a little older than I used to be.”

Faith’s voice rose again. “What the hell is the matter with you? You’re not a kid, you’re not stupid. Can’t you see it? It’s already destroyed your career. What’s next?” Sean went still. Faith felt a coldness descend between them, as if a freakish winter wind had wandered into this May morning.

“I never said anything to you about my career,” Sean said, in a very soft, dangerous voice.

Faith raised both hands, then dropped them to her sides again.

“Now you’re checking up on me?” Sean said. His own hands balled into fists. “You’re in Department Thirty and you’ve got access to anything and everything, so you thought you’d check up on me?”

“Sean, I just-”

“No! No, you don’t ‘just.’ You’re not any better than Dad, the way he likes to control us. You’re just like him…better check up on ol’ Sean, make sure he doesn’t fuck up again. Is that it? Huh, is that it, Faith? Oh, Jesus, you’re good. You’re really good at that, aren’t you? You have your life of digging around in secrets and rolling around in mud and muck, and look at you now, Faith! You’re covered in it yourself. Jesus Christ, and you have the fucking nerve to talk about trying to help me. Man, that takes real balls, sister.” He threw her a mock salute, and began stalking away from the parking lot toward the street.

Faith’s heart was pounding wildly. “Where are you going? What about the…the house?”

“Forget it. Forget I asked. I’ll handle it myself. Just forget I came to town. Go back to your mud and your muck.”

“Sean…” Faith jogged a few steps toward him. “Sean, you don’t know your way around this city. Here, let me drive you back to your car. Come on, we can-”

“I’ll find a bus, a cab, something. You leave me the hell alone.”

He crossed Western on foot and began working his way south. Faith watched him go, riveted to the ground. In a few minutes he was only a speck in the distance.

Faith felt a hand in the small of her back. “Where’s your brother?” Cara Dunaway said.

“He’s gone,” Faith said.

IT TOOK SEAN OVER HALF AN HOUR, VIA OKLAHOMACity’s convoluted bus system, to reach the Metro Transit terminal downtown. The city was a lot like Tucson, and very un like his hometown of Chicago, in that very few people used public transportation here. The farther west you went, the more people were wedded to their cars, he mused.

He and three others got off the bus, and Sean started across the street toward Saint Joseph Old Cathedral and, beyond it, the federal courthouse. The nerve! he raged to himself. Of all the nerve…I went to her for help, for protection, and she takes me to A-fucking-A!

So I’ve screwed up a few times.

That doesn’t make me an alcoholic.

That doesn’t make me an alcoholic, dammit!

He shook away the conflicting stew of feelings that swirled around him, almost jogging now. If I run faster, will I outrun all this? Sean wanted to shout.

He had no idea where Faith had parked his Jeep. He circled around the block several times before spotting it in a parking lot on the west side of the building. As he dug in his pocket for his keys, his hand brushed something else.

Faith had figured out that he’d stopped and had a few drinks. But he was even later meeting her because he’d also stopped off at a hardware store. His hand closed on the additional key in his pocket-a key to Faith’s car that he’d had copied this morning.

Just in case, Sean told himself. Just in case of emergency.

He needed to go to a bad part of the city. Remembering Monica and Britt, he headed south from downtown. After a couple of wrong turns, he located Shields Boulevard again. He drove up and down a few side streets until he found what he was looking for-a deserted-looking block with a few cars parked on the street.