Chapter Seventeen: Like Driving North
Men are not prisoners of fate, but only prisoners of their own minds.—Franklin Roosevelt

"They're both insane," Maureen muttered. "I mean, Roger's more insane, but…"

Benny shrugged. He, Mark and Collins sat on the couch, Maureen on the futon. The table seemed empty without Roger sitting cross-legged on top of it, as did the windowsill without April reclining there with her notebook. "You know how the two of them are. One of them does something crazy and impulsive, and the other one just has to follow."

"Well, except for—" Mark began, and stopped abruptly when he saw the pointed glare Maureen shot him. Right. He'd forgotten they weren't talking about that. Collins noticed the sudden silence, and gave both Mark and Maureen an inquiring look, but he didn't ask. No one spoke for a while, Mark quietly watching the others before he asked, "Should we… maybe call April? Let her know Roger's coming?"

Maureen shrugged. "I don't see how it'll do any good. Besides, knowing Roger, he'd want to surprise her." When Benny raised an eyebrow at her, she shrugged. "Don't ask. Just let it be a surprise."

"Besides which," Mark commented, "Roger took the paper with the phone numbers."

"It's not just this," Collins said with a sigh. "The two of them are… different, these past few months. I know you've all noticed. Usually, even when Roger's an asshole, he's tolerable. Now he's just an ass. And April…"

"Something's getting to her," Benny said softly. "She's quieter. There's something big she's not talking about. I don't like seeing her like this. She's like our little sister, and if there's something hurting her… we should know."

"Even if it's Roger who's the problem?" Collins asked pointedly.

Benny's mouth tightened a little. "Especially if Roger's the problem."

As the other two spoke, Mark locked eyes with Maureen, raising an eyebrow and tilting his head to one side. They should tell. If the other two knew, they could do something. Maureen shook her head quickly, glaring at him, and Mark sighed. She had to make things difficult, didn't she?

The entire interaction didn't go unnoticed by Collins, silent though it was. He glanced between the two of them and finally asked, "Do you two… know something?"

Maureen gave Mark a warning look. Mark glanced to Maureen, then back to Collins and blurted out, "Roger's using heroin."

"Mark!" Maureen shouted. "You weren't supposed to… I can't believe you…"

She trailed off as Collins turned to look at her, his expression suddenly both grim and concerned. "You knew about this."

"I… well… yes," she admitted guiltily. "There wasn't anything I could do about it, and…"

"You should have told me, done something…" He sighed. "And April knows?"

Maureen nodded. "She told me about it. Sort of."

Mark winced and avoided meeting Collins' eyes. "I meant to talk to him about it. I just… never really got around to it. Doubt he'd have listened to me anyway."

"No," Benny said, frowning. "He wouldn't. How could we not notice? I mean… heroin does things. Even if he's almost never around lately… we would've seen needle marks, something…"

"Most of the time Roger doesn't come home when he's high," Mark said, staring blankly out the window. "Unless it's really late. And most of the time when he's around he wears a jacket. Even when it's hot out."

"But he can't wear a jacket all the time. We should have seen—"

Mark looked up at him, blue eyes somewhat pained. "You didn't see because you weren't looking. There are track marks."

Benny bit his lower lip and looked down. Collins hesitated, watching the other three thoughtfully. "When Roger gets back… I'll talk to him. See what I can do."

"Thank you," Mark murmured softly.

Roger stopped the car off the highway just past San Simeon, where he finally reached the coast. Looking out over the ocean, he leaned against the car and just stood there for five, ten minutes, thoughtful. He couldn't believe he was here, really. Hell, he'd never been to the west coast in his life, and now he left the city just because April…

His hands were shaking. That was mostly the reason he'd stopped the car. That and the constant ache in his bones and joints, the waves of nausea every now and then… Almost three days without a hit and… it hurt. A lot. Roger sighed.

Come on. Another half a day of driving, Big Sur, Monterey… Not that much further. I can do this.

He could. Just get in the car and… drive. Ignore the shaking hands, the pain… He could manage that. With a sigh, he opened the car door and got in, turned the key in the ignition and sped out onto the highway once more. Driving north, towards Monterey, towards April…

To his left, the ocean spread out, dark blue and little white wavelets reaching out to the horizon where it merged with the lighter blue of the sky, clear and completely cloudless overhead. Now and then, even with the sound of the wind and the radio, he could hear the sound of the ocean, waves crashing loudly against land. Hugging the curves of the highway as it followed the coastline, Roger kept his eyes on the road, but his thoughts were elsewhere. April belonged in a place like this. Open and bright and free like this… Like her. What the hell was she ever doing in New York City? He shook his head and made himself concentrate on the road.

When he reached Monterey several hours later, he had some trouble finding the address April had left him, and when he found the right place, he sat there in his car for a moment, just staring at the house. It was clean and far too neat and… everything the loft wasn't, essentially. At last, he stepped out of the car and walked up to the front door, stood there for a moment before ringing the doorbell. He had to wait for almost a minute before someone opened the door—a couple of girls, twins by the look of it. Roger blinked down at them.

"Uh… I'm…" He ran a hand through his hair. "I'm Roger Davis. I'm April's… friend. Is she here?"

The two girls exchanged a look and giggled. Roger just stared at them, completely unable to grasp what they found amusing. Then again, teenage girls were odd. He remembered that much just from being around Mark's sister and her friends in high school. "Not right now," one of them said.

"She's at Jessica's house," the other continued, still grinning at him.

"Oh. Okay." Roger hesitated a moment. "How… how far away is Jessica's house?"

The first girl pointed down the street. "Only a block or two that way. It's the white one with the green paint on the door and window frames."

"Alright. Uh… thank you." He turned and walked back to his car, trying not to be unnerved by the twins' giggles behind him.