OUT THERE
Chapter Fourteen
"Nothing good comes from hiding in the shadows." (David A. Broughton)
In the end, he stayed at home for three long days. People came and went - like visitors to a side-show, he thought wryly, even as he felt grateful for their kindness. It was his own self-confidence that had been damaged and that was a serious problem. Part of him longed to return to work. That was the real Adam; restless, stubborn and cheerful. The other Adam could not even take a step out of the apartment. He was a ghost from the past and to feel his influence growing strong again was terrifying.
Adam knew that he should have cleaned by now. He should have worked through the piles of unread magazines that littered his desk and his kitchen table. Free time was a gift and he was wasting it, letting the precious seconds swirl by like floodwater as he sat on his couch playing game after game, unable to stick at one, unable to feel any sense of enjoyment.
Whenever his colleagues appeared, he smiled and joked and promised them that he was on the mend. When they left, he slumped back into his seat, crushed beneath the sudden weight of silence.
Turn up the volume.
Tune out the world around him.
Trouble was - and why had he never noticed this before? - his collection of games was full of violent characters; assassins, soldiers, questing mages with deadly power at their fingertips. Every virtual battle sent Adam's mind spiralling back to his own defeat. He knew that he should stop playing - and yet, somehow, he found himself seeking the pain and the anger; needing their sharp edge to keep him alive and to spur him onwards. Better that than the terrible numbness that threatened to swallow him whole.
Get up, his brain urged. This is bad...
Adam ignored it.
On the third day, much to his amazement, Haylen came.
Resisting the urge to slam the door in her face, he beckoned her in politely. "Detective Taylor gave me your address," she beamed.
Did he? Adam frowned, full of confusion. Surely Mac, of all people, had noticed how much Haylen unnerved him? Curious, then, that he would give out something as personal as a home address. "That's nice," he muttered. "Um... sorry about..."
"The mess?" She glanced around and chuckled. "This is nothing compared to my brother's room at NYU. I don't even remember what colour his carpet should be - haven't seen it in months. Hey, you want me to help? I could have this straightened up for you in no time."
"No thanks." Adam could feel his toes curling with dislike. "Haylen - what are you doing here?"
"Visiting you, of course. The crime lab feels awfully quiet without you, and I just thought - well, so did Detective Taylor - that you might appreciate a friendly face. You know, someone to make you smile."
"I've had lots of visitors," he said defensively. "Mac himself came yesterday." Yes, and he was still reeling from that; the unthinkable sight of the boss man standing right there in the middle of his apartment. His dump of a home. Mac's manner had been quiet but his penetrating gaze had swept the room and Adam knew. He knew that Mac wasn't fooled by fake smiles and half-hearted jesting. Dipping his head, he had waited for a lecture or some kind of pep-talk, but neither had been forthcoming. Instead, it seemed, the man had sent his enemy to comfort him.
"He's worried about you," Haylen confided, as though she had followed his thoughts word for word. Adam jumped.
"He told you that?"
"He didn't have to. It was written all over his face."
An unlikely picture was forming in his mind; the job-stealing blonde and his boss in a cosy tête à tête. Discussing him and all of his failings...
Ridiculous. He pushed the image away. Mac would never be so indiscreet.
"Oh," he gulped. "Well - thanks for coming, okay? I'm fine, as you can see. Couldn't be better, in fact."
"Are you sure about that?" Her bright eyes were dubious. "Only, you look dreadful..."
"I'm fine." Adam clenched his teeth. He should win an award - best fake smile under trying circumstances. "How are things back at the lab?"
"Which things in particular?" she asked sweetly. Dammit, was she trying to infuriate him or was it just an unlucky side-effect of her character?
"People. Cases. Anything..." All at once, he felt hungry for gossip.
Haylen beamed. "Are you bored? Because I know I would be. Enforced rest just isn't my style." Once again, her eyes roamed around the apartment and a line creased the centre of her brow. "Adam, are you sure I can't help you to..."
"Haylen." His tone was pointed and she snapped back to attention.
"Oh, right. The lab. Well, still no progress on the Compass Killer. I've been assisting Dr. Hawkes with his analyses. He's such a generous man, don't you think? I've learned so much from him already..."
A question was burning a hole in Adam's tongue, but he couldn't bring himself to ask it. Instead, he listened as her bright voice babbled on and on.
"... and Detective Bonasera; she let me work on the prints from her latest murder scene. She was delighted when we finally found a match. Then, of course, there's the pattern..."
"Wait. What pattern?" Zoning in on the unexpected phrase, Adam frowned at her.
"Oh - you don't know. That's right; of course. Though I would have thought one of the others... Sorry, Adam. The pattern from the muggings - or rather, the discrepancy."
Was this what it felt like to everyone else when he went off on one of his nervous, rambling explanations? Remind me never to do that again, he thought grimly. "Haylen. What are you talking about?"
"Well, Detective Messer, you know, he was the one who discovered it really. I just happened to be in the AV lab at the time. Richard was showing me how to increase the resolution on the main..." Her voice tailed off as she finally noticed the gleam of frustration in his blue eyes. "But you don't care about that," she acknowledged, with a penitent smile. "The point is, Detective Messer was plotting a timeline and a map of all the muggings - there've been three more, you know - and he noticed a curious deviation."
"Which was?" Adam prompted. By some happy chance, she had finally broached the subject that was tormenting him. He longed to know what progress had been made in his own case - yet he was afraid of the answer.
"Most of the muggings took place within a ten block area of Manhattan. The only one that happened outside that area was..."
"Mine." It wasn't a guess. Haylen nodded as Adam considered this new revelation. Thinking back to the mugging, he cringed. At the time, he had been so certain. But this new detail - well, there were only two logical solutions. Neither one left Adam feeling reassured. Solution one: his mugging had nothing to do with the other ones after all. Which made it, suddenly, so much more personal. Solution two: it was connected, and for some sick reason the wolves had chosen to follow him home.
Oh, God.
"Adam, you've gone really white. Do you need a drink of water or something?"
"No." He shook his head and stumbled backwards. "I just... it's okay, Haylen. I need to sit down for a minute, that's all." As he dropped onto the couch, he lifted his head to stare at her. "Danny - Detective Messer. Did he say anything else? You know, mention any other details..."
"I wasn't really listening." Haylen looked suitably guilty. "Thing is, he was talking to Lindsay, not to me - I'm not even sure they knew I was there - and I kind of felt bad for eavesdropping when they started discussing what happened to you. So I stopped. Shortly after that, I left the room."
Great. Just great. The one time she chose not to interfere...
Or was she lying? The look on her face was a little too penitent. Exactly how much did she really know; this smiling succubus who seemed to have made it her mission to steal, not his soul, but the best thing in his life.
First chance I get, Adam thought, I'm calling Danny.
No - better than that; first thing tomorrow he was heading back to work. No more wallowing; no more distraction.
No more fear.
Adam straightened up, feeling quite determined and far more alert than he had for days. And then, with a flash of insight, he saw the sheer brilliance of Mac Taylor's strategy.
Note to self, he thought ruefully. Never play chess with the boss...
-xx-
Getting Haylen to leave was difficult. She seemed even more eager than usual to prove her friendship by the doubtful method of talking his head off. Feigning a need to sleep, he finally managed to manoeuvre her out of the door. It was a cowardly move, he knew, but she had done him a favour in a roundabout way. He might dislike the girl, but he certainly wasn't mean enough to hurt her feelings by kicking her out in an obvious fashion.
When the door closed behind her and silence returned, Adam sighed with relief. At long last, the weight had gone. Instead, he felt peaceful - and strangely amused. With the veil of apathy lifted from his eyes, he gazed around and took in the hideous state of his apartment.
"You've turned into a slob," he scolded himself, "and you should be ashamed. No wonder Mac sent Haylen. This place looks like a crime scene in need of a clean up."
The question was, where to start? Adam decided that the kitchen was as good a place as any. Mugs, plates and half-eaten food littered every surface. He wrinkled his nose at the stale smell and opened a window. Fresh air - when had he last felt that on his face?
Filling the sink with hot water and zesty bubbles, he rounded up the crockery and stacked it in a precarious heap. Elma's empty pie dish was the crowning item and therefore the first to be washed. He dipped it into the water - and froze.
Wait - Elma...
The dish slipped out of his hand and sank to the bottom, beneath the suds. Adam glanced at the wall that divided his own apartment from the one next door. His expression was one of furtive guilt.
In the midst of his own self-pity, he had forgotten all about his lonely neighbour. Had she been knocking? Lately, he had spent so long on the couch instead of in his bed that he didn't even know. He had eaten her food and, in return, he had neglected her.
"Fix it, Adam," he muttered fiercely.
Leaving the dishes to soak themselves clean instead, he collected his keys and headed for the door. It was there that he encountered an unexpected problem.
He still couldn't bring himself to leave the apartment.
Every time he reached for the doorknob, a bolt of fear shot through him and his hand fell back to his side. The image of a single eye rose before him, puffy and red. They were watching. What if they were outside right now?
"You mean, what if you're going crazy?" Adam amended, clenching his fists and forcing himself to try again. So much effort to achieve such a tiny victory. He could feel the sweat running down his brow as his hand closed around the knob and began to turn it. No more fear...
The door swung open.
"I win," Adam said, stepping out into the corridor.
Thankfully, there was no one else in sight. He scuttled across to Elma's door and knocked on it urgently.
"Elma? You there? It's me..."
For what seemed like an age, there was no response. Adam had just decided to go back and fetch her spare keys when he heard the shuffling sound of slippers on carpet. He waited for the rattle of the chain but, instead, Elma opened the door and stared at him expectantly.
"Where would you like me to sign?" she said.
"Um... sign?" Adam's sharp eyes took in her dishevelled state. Her blouse was stained and her skirt was full of creases. Her face, though bright enough, was... wrong, somehow. As though a completely different person had taken up residence behind the wrinkled softness of her skin.
"For the parcel." She peered at his hands and frowned. "Where is it? I've been waiting for days, young man. Don't you know that?"
Adam shivered.
"I'm sorry, Mrs Bryce," he told her softly. "The parcel got lost. If you give me some details, maybe we could find it together."
Suspicion scored deep lines across her brow. "Are you trying to trick me? My husband isn't here, but he'll be home any moment. Perhaps you should leave."
I can't, Adam thought in desperation. "Mrs Bryce," he tried again. "Elma, please. It's Adam."
She caught his gaze and held it, pinning them both together as time stood still around them. He waited, afraid to move in case he broke the spell. "Oh!" she said at last - and this time, the voice was truly Elma. "Adam. What are you doing out there? Come in at once and take some tea with me. Poor boy, you look exhausted."
"I am," he breathed.
Following her into the apartment was like stepping into a furnace. For some reason, the heating was ramped up even higher than usual. The next thing he noticed was a familiar acrid smell that mingled with the ever-present cinnamon. He stiffened.
"Elma - is something burning?"
"Of course not. I'm just making some shortbread." She beamed at him. "Come and see. If it's ready, you can be my chief taster."
Adam forced a smile onto his face, but his heart was sinking as they stepped into the kitchen. The smell was even worse here, and he could just make out a trayful of blackened lumps through the glass of the oven door. "Oh, I'd say they're done alright..." he sighed.
Elma opened the oven and they both gagged. Threads of grey smoke spiralled out into the room; a silent warning of the danger that had almost overtaken them. Reaching past her, Adam turned the dial to zero and used a nearby tea-towel to protect his hand as he yanked out the tray and threw it straight into the sink. A stream of cold water turned the smoke into steam and the poor forgotten shortbread into charcoal soup.
"I don't understand..." Elma said in a small voice. Adam flung the kitchen window wide open. Over their heads, the smoke detector gave out a mournful series of chirrups - too little, too late. He climbed on a stool and turned it off as the steam drifted out to mingle with the haze of a New York afternoon.
"Could have happened to anyone," he reassured her.
"No." She frowned. "I never burn my cakes. Not since I was a girl. Ma taught me far too well for that... I must have... Maybe I got distracted..."
Pain was in her eyes. Adam's heart contracted. "Let's go sit down," he suggested. "When the smog clears, I'll clean that oven for you and we can make another batch. I like shortbread." His blue gaze was appealing but Elma shook her head.
"I don't think I want to any more." Turning her back on him, she shuffled out of the kitchen. He followed her, thinking quickly.
"Then let's get out of here. It's a beautiful day - look. We'll go to that new café on the next block - my treat."
Elma halted.
"No," she said again, and this time her voice was low. He watched the shallow rise and fall of her shoulders as she continued, too ashamed to look him in the face. "I don't go out. I thought you knew that, Adam. Beth-Anne is my lifeline. And you, of course..."
And me. Once again, that horrible flash of guilt. Some lifeline he had turned out to be. "I understand," he said gently, stepping forwards and leading her to her chair. "The city can be overwhelming, okay? I'm having a bit of a problem with it myself, right now..." Selfish, Adam. Elma didn't need to hear about some childish struggle with a doorknob. Clearly, her own fears went much deeper. "How long has it been?"
"Since I went outside this building?" She sat down slowly, dropping the last few inches to land with a soft 'thump' on the pile of cushions. "Five years."
Five years. Adam's world rocked. The shadow that toyed with him now and then had taken full hold of Elma. "What was the catalyst? I mean..."
"I know the term, thank you, Adam." He was pleased to hear her snap at him. The vigour in her tone was encouraging. "Five years ago, my David passed."
"Oh." Lost for words, Adam tried to convey his sympathy by sinking onto a nearby footstool and reaching for Elma's hand. They sat together in silence for a moment. Finally, she took a halting breath and continued. "For the last few years of his own life, this room was... well, his castle, you might say. He couldn't bring himself to venture from it. The world outside had changed far too much for his liking and he chose to hide himself away, wrapped in visions of the way things used to be. He kept me with him." A heavy sentence. Elma peered at Adam, anxious to see if he understood. "My only trips outside were for food and other supplies. One day, I came back to find my husband sleeping in this chair. I couldn't wake him..."
As she spoke, he called to mind the photograph from the last page of her album, and the picture of the weary, embittered old man who still held her captive even from beyond the grave. Into the picture, Elma hobbled, leaning over David's body with a look on her face that held both fear and wild relief. The same look that was on her face right now.
"His funeral was a quiet affair. We had no friends left by then. I came back and I stood in this room like a statue, just staring at his chair. I could hear his voice, you see."
"What did he say to you?" Elma's story was like a magic spell and it bound him tightly. He hardly dared to interrupt, but she seemed to welcome his question.
"He told me to guard his treasures."
Wrenching his gaze away for a moment, Adam stared around the room. So much clutter. So many links to the past. "That's what you meant, before," he said softly. "When you said that your husband's enemy was worry. He was..." The word seemed harsh and he could not bring himself to use it, tainted as it was by the reek of musty rooms and rusting padlocks. Elma finished the sentence for him.
"A miser. Yes." She nodded.
"But you're not."
"Only of memories," Elma sighed. "I value those highly, just as he did. To lose them would be death for me."
"Then why do you stay inside? I'm sorry - I don't..."
With a wisftul smile, she answered him. "I lost the desire to be with other people; strangers - out there. Lost my way, you might say. I let grief be my excuse, when really it was fear, I think. And once the fear took hold..."
Her words were like an echo in his soul. "But you've never been that way with me."
"You're different." Elma gave a timid smile, the first true one that Adam had seen since she opened the door. He felt a sudden flush of warmth and bent his head as she continued. "I feel safe with you, just like Beth-Anne. There's something - a kindness."
"Hey," he burst out, turning pinker by the second. "Stop that. You'll make my head swell. I'm a normal guy, that's all; nothing special. And okay, not normal, I guess - but really, I see that as a good thing..."
Her brown eyes wrinkled at the corners. "You're proving my point, young man; do you know that?"
Adam released her hand and rose stiffly to his feet, anxious to end the conversation now that it seemed to have doubled back on him.
"Tea, then?" he said hopefully. "My turn to make it this time."
"Yes, please. And I'll be giving you marks out of ten," Elma warned him. Her wheezing laughter followed him all the way back to the kitchen. Pushing aside the fluttering worries that clamoured for attention in his brain, he focussed on the happy sound and shot her an arch look over his shoulder.
"Challenge accepted," he said.
-xx-
A/N: I'm still so amazed by the number of kind reviews that I've had for this story. Thank you very much. I've managed to get this chapter up early - hope you enjoyed it! Next chapter - back to the lab. Will things get better for our favourite lab tech now that he has finally had some rest..?