Scars from a Memoir (28 page)

“She'll be happy to hear that. So am I.”

I gave his hand a final squeeze and stood, bending down to kiss his forehead. “Good-bye, my sweet Henry.” I turned around and joined the guard in the hallway before Henry could respond. I didn't want to hear him say good-bye. It was hard enough having those words come out of my own mouth.

Outside the elevator, a man was mopping the floor. The back of his bald head was covered with tattoos of spiderwebs and skulls. There was also an inked teardrop under his eye. He looked so much like Que. Que had a big family, and all the men had similar looks. But none of them had the same tattoos, and Que's had stood out in my mind.

As the guard pushed the down button, the prisoner turned toward us. My breath caught in my lungs. It
was
Que.

“Checking on your boy D?” he asked.

“He's not my boy,” I said.

He glanced at the guard and then back at me. “What, my lady's killer was too much for you?”

So he did know Dustin had killed Renee, which meant that he knew the situation had involved me. It would be easy for Que to piece it all together; there was no other explanation for Renee's death. Que's gang wouldn't have killed her. They gave her free drugs and let her hang out at their house…and she wouldn't have associated with Dustin if it hadn't been for me.

“I had nothing to do with it,” I said. “That was all D.”

“She was your friend, boo. You got some real b's to be doing that to a friend.”

The guard must have felt the tension in Que's tone because he moved between us.

“Wasn't just my lady, though. Michael's up there too. How does that feel, boo? Feel good knowing he's up there because of you?”

“This is your only warning,” the guard said. “Shut your mouth. Now.”

When the elevator door opened, the guard put his hand on my back and guided me inside.

“I'll see you one day, Nicole, and you can explain it to me then. That's right; we'll have a nice little chat about my lady.”

From what I could remember, Que's sentence was pretty long. He wasn't getting out anytime soon, but once he did, he wouldn't come to me for answers. Anything he wanted to know was right here in this prison; Dustin and his gang were somewhere in here too.

The sun was higher in the sky, but the temperature was still cool. There was a crisp smell in the air, and a dusting of snow covered the ground even though spring was just a few weeks away. I zipped up my jacket, trying to find some warmth. My bones still shivered. It wasn't from the breeze.

Near the sidewalk, a taxi was parked down the street with its lights on. I raised my hand, and the cab pulled up to the curb.

“Where are you going, ma'am?” the driver asked as I got in the backseat.

I gave him the address to Mark's apartment and reached inside my purse to get my cell phone. There was a text from Mark, and just as I started reading it, the other door to the backseat opened and someone climbed in.

“Excuse me,” I said. “This is my taxi—”

The locks clicked and the driver turned around. “I told you I'd see you again, Nicole.”

Martin, the last messenger Dustin had sent, was in the driver's seat. Ignoring the man sitting next to me, I turned toward the door, reached for the handle, and yanked, but it wouldn't open. The window wouldn't smash when I banged my elbow against the glass. As I began to scream, the man beside me put his hand over my face. But it wasn't his skin that rubbed against my lips; it was a piece of cloth. His other arm reached across my body, pinned my arms down, and pulled me against his chest. I tried to kick my legs. I couldn't. My mind began to cloud and my lungs tightened.

Everything turned black.

-33-

MY HEAD FELT HEAVY AND SORE. The back of my neck throbbed. My chin pressed into my chest; I lifted it, slowly opening my eyes. I expected it to be bright, making my sensitive pupils hurt even more. But the overhead light was off, and the small window by the ceiling was covered in tinfoil, only letting in a crack of sunlight. There was hardly anything around me: a cement floor and walls and a set of stairs. I was in a basement, and it smelled like one.

Where the hell did they bring me?

I was in a chair in the middle of the room, my hands bound behind my back, my ankles shackled to the wooden legs. The ropes he'd bound me with were just tight enough to keep me in place, but they were also wrapped in cloth so they didn't burn or bite my skin. My jacket and purse were gone; I was dressed in my cotton long-sleeve, with spots of drool on the front and soaked jeans. The scent of urine rose from my pants.

The basement door opened and the overhead light turned on. As the footsteps got louder, so did the creaky stairs until the man from the backseat stood before me. He was average height, with blond shaggy hair, blue eyes, and a scar above his lip. His arms were crossed, and he shifted his weight back and forth as I looked him over. I hadn't had enough time to really study him in the car, but I thought he had looked familiar. Even though it had been a while since I'd seen him, I never forgot a face. I especially never forgot someone's eyes.

“Coke-head Cale,” I said.

When Dustin had introduced me to his friends, he'd told me mini-stories about each person so I'd remember their names. Out of all the
squatters who stayed at our dealer's house and ran drugs with Dustin, I had interacted with Cale the least.

“I thought you would have forgotten.”

I didn't forget any of the names I had turned in to the police, but I wasn't going to say that. I couldn't freak out either. If I hoped to get him to untie my wrists and ankles, I had to stay calm.

I looked toward the stairs. “Where's Martin?”

“He doesn't do house calls. Only deliveries.”

“When did you get out of prison?”

“Couple months ago,” he said, wiping his nose on his sleeve.

“You're using again?”

“Aren't you?”

“I got clean a while ago, but you already know that, don't you?”

He grinned as though he were proud of himself. “You know, someone like
you
should really change her name.”

I had flashbacks of how Dustin had somehow gotten my phone number and called me not too long after I'd moved into sober living. He sent his first messenger after me, then a second messenger, and now Cale. Maybe Cale was right. I could be easily found.

“Are we alone, or did the rest of the gang get out too?”

“Just me…for now.”

Dustin's trial was in three days. I'd already met with Melissa and the district attorney, and they had prepped me for the questions I'd be asked. None of my answers were going to help Dustin. That was why I was here. He wanted to make sure I wouldn't show up to court.

“How long do you plan on keeping me here?”

He smiled again, but this time the grin was devious. “If you're a good girl, I'll let you go after the trial.”

Cale was going to let me go? Didn't he know that as soon as I got out of here, I'd tell the police he had kidnapped me? Ratting him out was the only way I'd get out of all the trouble I'd be in for skipping court.

“Where are you going?” I asked as he moved to the stairs.

“You're hungry, aren't you?”

“Starving.” I couldn't remember the last time I had eaten.

Dustin was crazy, but I'd known exactly what I was getting involved with when I'd first started dating him. I knew he ran dope
from Boston to various hubs throughout New England and New York. Because of the amount of heroin he was pushing, I had to know he was dealing with some hardcore gangsters. He paid for the motel we lived in and gave me money for food and as much smack as I could shoot. Back then, that was all that mattered to me, but this was where it had gotten me. In some shitty-ass basement, unable to move, with a crackhead for a guard.

Mark knew me better than anyone, but that didn't mean he wouldn't eventually think the worst. He'd probably start searching for me soon, if he hadn't been already, checking the streets to see if I was slumped over in some doorway or alley with heroin flowing through my veins. Even if he got the police involved, they wouldn't be able to find me; Dustin would make sure of that. Cale had probably gotten rid of my cell phone so the cops couldn't track the signal. I wondered if Mark had called my parents and Jesse. My poor parents; they had been through enough.

The question my father had asked me when I'd graduated from rehab—“With everything that's happened here, do you really think Boston is the right place for you?”—had never left my head. The words always seemed to echo whenever my past became my present. My name wasn't the only thing that needed to be changed. Boston wasn't the right place for me anymore. I was trying to start over and live as though my addiction had never existed, as though I hadn't ratted out an entire ring of people now out to get me. I was off probation and halfway through my online courses. If I spoke to the rehab center and explained my situation, they would understand why Ihad to get out of here. I didn't know where I would go, but I knew Bangor wasn't the right place for me either. Too many lies had been spread about me, especially after Eric died, and it would be impossible to change my reputation there. I needed to go to a place where no one knew my name. Mark was the only thing holding me back. He couldn't leave the business he'd started. But I couldn't stay.

The basement door opened and Cale appeared in front of me, wearing the same grin as before. His hands were behind his back.

“Are you going to feed me? Or will you let me feed myself?”

“I brought you something better than food.” His hands moved to the front. He was holding a syringe. It was full. And I knew the liquid inside the chamber was heroin.

I shook my head. “I don't want it.”

But I did.

But did I really want to get high? I could feel the weight of my one-year chip pressing down on my throat. There were multiple voices in my head; some told me I'd been sober for far too long to ruin it now, and others reminded me how strong I was. The voice of my addiction said dope would turn this basement into a cloud of warmth. But in my heart I knew that regardless of how damp this room was, I didn't need heroin. I needed to wait out the next few days and get the hell out of here.

“It doesn't matter what you want; Dustin wants you to have it. It's his gift to you, and when he gets out, you'll be his gift.”

“You don't have to get me high; I'll give Dustin whatever he wants.”

He shook his head. “This is Dustin's plan, and I can't change it.”

“Plan? What plan?”

To get me addicted and needing dope? I doubted the street pushers in Roxbury would sell to me after my mug shot had been plastered all over the news. That was probably what Dustin was hoping for, and that I'd come running right back into his arms, relying on him like I had before.

“Enough questions.” He pulled off his belt and took a few steps closer.

“No! No, you can't do this to me. I'll do whatever you want; just keep that shit away from me.” My voice got louder with each word.

His lips moved into the biggest smile. “Dustin wants the old Nicole we all remember, the one who needed him for survival.”

“He can have me back. I'm his. Forever. But I don't need heroin to be with him. You've reminded me how much I miss him. I do need Dustin. I-I need him, Cale, and I love him.”

I tried to pull my wrists out of the rope, but the cloth only rubbed against my skin. I rocked in the chair to tip it over, hoping the fall would break the wooden legs in pieces. “Please, don't,” I screamed. “Don't do this to me. I'm begging you! Don't stick that needle in my arm. I'll do anything!”

He didn't respond.

Snot ran from my nose, tears dripped into my mouth, and my sobs convulsed through my body. “Did you hear me? Cale, you need to listen to me. I said I'll do anything!”

He moved behind my back, the chamber of the syringe between his lips.

I closed my eyes, preparing myself for what was about to come, and a memory hit me. A while ago, when I'd lived with Sunshine, the city had shut down from an ice storm and we were stuck inside her hotel room with only a few bags of heroin. We split the bags between us, knowing they wouldn't get us high but would stop us from getting dope sick. We watched the TV, waiting for the weatherman to tell us the storm had cleared and the trains were running again. That didn't happen; the storm was scheduled to last a few days. Sunshine told me what to expect from withdrawal, and that's exactly what happened.

I felt worse now than when I had hugged Sunshine's toilet for two days straight. The high was driving toward me, and I knew what was ahead. How loud I was going to scream for the needle once I started to come down. The beautiful silence of the nod.

No matter how much I squirmed in my chair, shouted for him to stop, or tried to pry my hands out of the rope's hold, Cale wouldn't listen. He slapped my arm, and fresh, untapped veins popped up through my skin. There was a prick when the tip of the needle entered and a slight burn as he emptied the chamber. What came next was warmth. Tingles. Melting. The chair was a waterbed, rippling beneath me. It was amazing.

My chin dropped to my chest. The rope tickled my wrists and ankles. The gray cement walls that surrounded me began to swirl like a tornado, mixing in blue and pink and yellow, and my lids closed. Behind my eyes was the most magical land, lit by a serum of happiness. There was buzzing in my ears. Little bees danced around my lobes, and porcupines stuck me with their quills. The pricking stimulated my sensitive skin. The buzzing was soothing. I was inside the most stunning nightmare, and I was the star.

*   *   *

Addicts never forget the first time they got high. I remembered each of the drugs I'd tried before heroin and how rocked I'd gotten when I had smoked and snorted them. But the highest I'd ever been was the first time I mainlined. The dragon had injected its claws, making me crave its fiery breath, and I had been chasing that high ever since. But it never happened again, no matter how much dope I shot. The only way to ever feel that intensity again would be to take a long break from it—and that was something addicts could never willingly do. I couldn't shoot heroin in prison because I didn't have access to needles, so it had been about four years since I'd mainlined dope. Cale had just given me a taste, and I was right back to the first time I had shot up. I was chasing the dragon. Again. I didn't know how long I'd nodded out for. Maybe hours. Maybe a day. I wanted more. Now.