OUT THERE
Chapter Four
"Friendship is the hardest thing in the world to explain. It's not something you learn in school. But if you haven't learned the meaning of friendship, you really haven't learned anything." (Muhammad Ali)
Adam was aware of Lindsay watching him closely as he drove back to the lab, but he managed to conceal his discomfort by concentrating on the road ahead.
Back at work, he took himself off to a quiet corner and began to download his collection of photographs, forcing himself to relive the sight of each horrific injury without flinching. Next time, he would do better...
Looking up from the screen when the last image had been logged, he saw Mac's eyes upon him through the glass. The boss gave a nod. What did that mean?
"Just being friendly," he scolded himself, nodding back as Mac moved away down the corridor.
Several of the bruises on Conrad's torso had yielded a definite shoe impression; the criss-cross pattern clear in Adam's photographs. He zoomed in on the best image and accessed the Sole Print Database. Setting his search in motion, he leaned back in his chair and stretched, his back cracking stiffly as he yanked his arms outwards...
"Hey!" Stella laughed, dancing out of the way of his flailing fist.
"Oops," he cried, laughing too. There was no anger in her eyes, only amusement. "Sorry, Stella."
Moving round to stare at him properly, she shook her head. "Bloodshot eyes. Pale cheeks. And backache - apparently... You do know you're supposed to take a break from these things once in a while, right, Adam?"
"Thanks for the Health and Safety tip, okay?" he joked. And then, softly: "I know. I just had to get this done, that's all."
Stella looked at the image on the screen. Understanding flashed across her face.
"Bad?" she murmured.
"The worst..." Could he trust her?
Silly question.
"I threw up," he confessed. "Don't tell Lindsay. Or Mac..."
Stella made the universal motion of secrecy, locking her lips with a twist of her fingers and tossing away the invisible key.
"Not surprising," she told him. "Adam - it's no disgrace to feel like that. We've all been there."
"Even you?"
Stella smiled to hear the surprise in his voice. "Even Mac," she guessed.
Adam shook his head. "Yeah, right," he scoffed. "I doubt it."
"Ask him."
"No way..." The very thought was laughable. He gave a snort and glanced back at the screen, his attention pulled in by a frozen image. Sneaker. Generic brand; sold at discount stores across the city. Helpful.
Laying her hand on his shoulder, Stella murmured one final piece of advice. "Adam. This job will grind you down if you let it. Ease up, okay? And don't be so hard on yourself..."
He opened his mouth to protest, but when he turned he saw that she was already leaving the room.
"No problem, Stella," he whispered to her retreating back.
-xx-
Plugging away at one task after another made the end of the day come quickly. Haylen had floated in and out of his peripheral vision all afternoon, like an irritating speck in the corner of his eye, but somehow he had managed to ignore her. Even more miraculous - he had finished his final assignment on time.
Should he stay later? Balance out his missing hours? Hovering in front of his locker, he stared at the contents without really seeing them as he considered his options.
No. Exhaustion trumped guilt - today, at any rate. Besides, he had already worked far more overtime this month than Payroll would validate.
I need sleep...
He barely remembered the drive home. Not good - but somehow he managed to reach his neighbourhood in one piece. The autopilot in his brain had steered him safely and he was almost home free. He parked - or rather, abandoned his car in its usual spot, and scurried down the street towards the front door of his building, thinking warm thoughts of food and bed, and...
Whump!
The next thing he knew, he was flat on his back, staring up at the sky. Nearby, a woman was groaning.
Adam panicked. Visions of Conrad filled his head. Was this a mugging too?
"You jerk!" cried the woman's voice. "Watch where you're goin', why don't you?"
Who was she talking to? Pushing himself up on his elbows, Adam looked around him, full of trepidation.
Oh! Oh no...
She was talking to him.
"I'm so sorry," he gasped, scrambling to his feet and holding out his hand. "Did I hurt you?"
The young woman softened when she saw his expression of complete and utter chagrin. "Well - okay, no, but look what you did..." As he pulled her up, she tucked her fly-away hair behind her ears in a touching, child-like gesture and pointed to her shopping, which lay all over the sidewalk. Adam darted here and there, gathering it back into the bag; grapes, sugar, cookies, tea. Gold-wrapped candies...
"You're Beth-Anne," he blurted out. "That's Elma's shopping."
Her jaw dropped and she stared at him.
"Wow," she cried, wrinkling her nose. "How d'you do that?" Frowning, she took a step back. "You one of those mental types? Like a psychic, or somethin'?"
Adam laughed. "Wish I was. I never seem to know what people are thinking." Especially girls... Hefting the bag in his hand, he frowned at the weight. "Did you carry this all the way from the store?"
"So what if I did?" Her face was still puzzled, as though she couldn't quite make up her mind about this clumsy and confusing stranger.
"Oh. Um... no, it's just that it's really heavy, okay? So, if you like, I could take it up as far as Elma's apartment. It's on my way..."
"Are you stealin' an old lady's shopping?" she asked him, suspiciously.
Oh, for heaven's sake. Yes, Adam thought, I'm a desperate tea-thief. A sugar-stealer... "No," he explained, in the calmest tone that he could muster. "You can come with me. I just thought I'd carry it. Call it an apology for knocking you down, or something. Unless you'd rather..."
"No!" Understanding dawned, and Beth-Anne grinned, delighted. Adam had to admit that, when she smiled, she really was quite pretty, in a fluffy, wide-eyed kind of way. Not his type, but he could understand why the old lady was fond of her.
She jammed her hands into her coat pockets and followed him through the front door of the apartment block. He could feel her green eyes boring into his shoulder blades. It made him itch.
"So, how is Elma?" he asked.
"Tired," Beth-Anne told him. "Guess she had kind of a late night, or somethin'. Then she went and wore herself out with bakin' this mornin'. Now she's gone back to bed. So I took myself off to the store. Can't really clean when she's tryin' to sleep."
"I guess..." Mentally, Adam revised his intention to drop by and check on the old lady. Besides, it sounded as though she had the right idea. Bed. Sleep... His eyelids flickered and he yawned.
"You should cover your mouth when you do that," Beth-Anne observed primly. "Leastways, that's what Elma's always tellin' me. But I don't." She sighed. "I can't seem to get it there fast enough. The yawn is out an' gone before I remember."
"I know exactly what you mean." Somehow, Adam managed to keep his face straight. Beth-Anne wasn't trying to be funny. Watching her hop between the elevator doors, as though she were afraid that they might close on her at any moment, he wondered just how old she really was. Elma had put her at Adam's own age. Either that was a major compliment to his youthful good looks (he snorted), or Elma's eyesight was worse than he had thought. The girl was practically a child.
Arriving at Elma's front door, he returned the heavy bag of shopping to Beth-Anne and turned to go.
"Thank you," she said, with the air of someone practising a newly acquired skill. Her face beamed with pride at the fact that she had remembered. Clearly, covering her mouth when she yawned was not the only thing that Elma had been teaching her.
"No problem," Adam replied. He watched as she let herself in and then shuffled along to his own apartment, weariness dragging at his feet, which were almost as heavy as Beth-Anne's burden. Reaching the door, he stumbled awkwardly and looked down to see what had almost tripped him up.
It was a cake tin.
Adam's first thought, as a criminalist, was 'suspicious package'.
When his tired brain stopped over-reacting, he guessed that the real solution was far more logical.
Elma had been baking all morning, according to Beth-Anne. And this tin did have something of a 'little-old-lady' feel to it. It was round and sturdy, and decorated with a pretty woodland scene, complete with a Hansel and Gretel style fairy-tale cottage. There was also a subtle aroma of cinnamon clinging to it...
Adam grinned.
So Elma had been serious when she threatened to feed him up. Okay - he could live with that. He bent down and snagged the cake tin, cradling it in his arms as he fumbled with his keys and let himself in.
The coolness of his apartment was soothing and enveloped him like a freshly-made bed. Adam yawned again. He had no free hand to cover his mouth, and the thought made him giggle. "Sorry, Elma," he muttered.
Dropping his bag and his keys, he flopped down onto the couch and prised open the tin lid. The warm smell of fresh baking met him at once, and he closed his eyes, delighted. Once more, he was back in his grandmother's kitchen, sitting cross-legged in front of the oven door with bated breath, ready to warn her when the muffins had risen to the perfect height...
Adam's eyes popped open and he stared inside the tin.
The cake was beautiful. Not a grand and heavily iced affair, so intricate that you were afraid to cut into it and spoil the artistic creation. This cake demanded to be eaten. It was golden and soft, and covered in tiny white crystals of sugar, like the sparkle of a frosty morning. Leaning in, he picked up the scent of strawberry jam; not store-bought but home-made and rich with actual pieces of fruit. He ran his finger between the inside of the tin and the edge of the cake. It came away red and sticky. He licked off the jam, and sighed with heartfelt pleasure.
"Awesome..."
Resisting the strong temptation to dive in and eat the whole thing in one greedy, wonderful pig-out, he pushed up reluctantly from the couch and carried the tin to the kitchen table, where he set it down again and stared at it reverently before putting the lid back on.
"Real food first," he told himself, trying to be strict. "Then dessert..."
From inside the tin, the cake called to him. Adam's resolve weakened.
His hand reached out to the knife drawer...
Suddenly, there was a knock at the door. "The Sensible Eating Squad," he murmured, letting the guilty hand drop to his side. "Come to stop me committing a crime against calories..."
Hurrying over to the door, he peered through the spyhole. He wasn't really sure who he expected - Elma herself, perhaps, come to see if he liked her gift. Or shy Miss Bettany from number thirty two, drifting across the hallway to borrow her weekly cup of sugar and gaze at him with her sad, hopeful eyes.
Not this time.
The face on the other side of the door was familiar, but not one that he had expected to see. For a moment, Adam considered staying quiet as a mouse and pretending that he was out. But then he remembered his vague promise, made the night before in Elma's kitchen.
Call your friends...
Or, if they turn up at your door without an invitation - let them in.
Dammit...
Adam was about to turn the lock when he realised that he had left it unlatched anyway. So much for security. I blame the cake, he thought, as he yanked the door open and faced the outside world again with a fixed grin and a breezy manner.
"Kevin!"
"Hey, man..." his friend returned, in a tone that was equally suspect. "Long time no see, right?"
Adam bit his lip. The last time he had seen this particular friend, and the rest of his street hockey team, a bomb had exploded nearby and almost sent him to his Maker, express delivery. Good times, he thought with a shudder.
"Oh, well, you know, I've been busy at work." The same old excuse. It was true, but that didn't make it feel any better. Adam sighed. "Come in, buddy. You want a beer? I think I've got one somewhere..." Wait - did he? When had he last gone shopping for any kind of groceries? Maybe the only food in the apartment was cake. Mine, he thought, stubbornly. Kevin's sweet tooth was notorious. Adam was kind - but not that kind.
"Um... thanks. I'm not alone - you mind? My cousin's in town and she's looking for fun. Said she wanted to meet you." Please, Kevin's face said, urgently. That was Adam's first warning but he failed to heed it. The instinct to be helpful kicked in, as usual, and over-rode his suspicions.
"Sure. Um... where is she?"
"I left her in the lobby," Kevin answered with relief. "I'll just go and get her. We brought supplies," he added, by way of an extra bribe. "You're the man. I owe you one. Thanks, dude."
Feeling more than a little alarmed by this point, Adam watched his friend slope away down the corridor and wondered what he had let himself in for.
-xx-
A/N: Thank you to everyone who reviewed the last chapter!
Thank you to 1917farmgirl and Lily Moonlight, for being so supportive.
And thank you to the lovely people who finally released Season 8 on DVD in the UK...!