The Drowning Child

38

Shannon Fuller was lying on her living room sofa in the dark, staring at the television. It wasn’t on. Her son had been murdered, her property had been trampled on, her house and bar had been torn apart, she had spent hours putting it back together again, then she had shut out the world, crying on and off all night. She had heard the vans arrive again this morning, heard the search teams talking, shouting, laughing, told Seth to take care of everything.

She got up slowly, sat on the edge of the sofa, bent down and picked up the pile of damp tissues from the floor. She put them in the garbage in the kitchen and wandered out into the bar.

Seth was leaning on the counter, playing with a piece of card. He jumped when Shannon came out.

‘You scared the crap out of me,’ he said.

‘It’s very easy to scare the crap out of you these days,’ said Shannon. ‘What time is it?’

‘Lunchtime,’ said Seth.

‘You didn’t fix any food for them.’

He shook his head. ‘No. I’m sorry. I didn’t want to disturb you.’

‘That’s OK,’ she said. ‘I’m glad you didn’t.’

She looked around the bar. ‘I guess everyone will steer clear of us now,’ said Shannon. ‘We’re bad luck, we’re too sad, or we’re crawling with police.’

‘John Veir was on the news this morning,’ said Seth. ‘Someone torched his house.’

‘What?’

‘Well, not torched – lit his garbage can on fire.’

‘Are they OK?’ said Shannon.

Seth nodded. ‘They’re linking it to that missing inmate...’

‘Really?’

Seth nodded.

Shannon walked around the front of the bar, pulled up a stool in front of him. ‘Could you get me a Coke, please?’

Seth was about to turn around when Shannon placed her hand on top of his, pressed down on it hard, so he couldn’t move it.

‘I’m drawing a line right here, right now,’ said Shannon. ‘I agreed to trust you that wherever you were the night Aaron died is your private matter. I watched you lie so easily to that FBI agent. And I lied for you. You’re jumpy as hell. I’m not sure why, but you’re going to have to be honest with me about everything from now on. So let’s start with what’s in your hand.’

She grabbed his wrist, turned his hand over and he opened his palm. There was a business card in it. She looked up at him. ‘Special Agent Ren Bryce? OK... what’s going on here? The truth: now.’

Seth let out a breath. ‘Nothing.’

‘Nothing is never nothing with you, Seth Fuller. You’re thinking of contacting an FBI agent? Talk to me.’

He weighed it up, his shoulders sunk, he opened his mouth to speak.

Shannon smiled. ‘You’ve been doing that since you were four years old: slumping your shoulders, dragging yourself into a conversation you really don’t want to be a part of.’

He smiled, but there was sadness in it. ‘You got me.’ He paused. ‘Let me pour your Coke.’

He handed it to her, took his time getting eye contact. ‘You have to promise me you won’t judge.’

‘Have I ever judged you?’ said Shannon.

‘No,’ said Seth. ‘No. I’m sorry, but... there’s something that’s been on my mind about John Veir...’

‘John?’ said Shannon. ‘What about him?’

‘Did he ever tell you about Franklin J. Merrifield... and me?’

‘You?’ said Shannon.

Seth took a deep breath. ‘Merrifield was dealing in BRCI—’

Shannon put her hands over her face. ‘No, Seth. Please don’t tell me—’

‘You promised not to judge.’

He took her hands gently away from her face, squeezed them.

‘I’m sorry,’ said Shannon. ‘Go ahead, sweetheart... but, you’re breaking my heart, here.’

‘So Merrifield was dealing heroin and TNT—’

‘Heroin!’ said Shannon. ‘You—’

‘No!’ said Seth. ‘I didn’t do heroin, I swear to God.’

‘TNT, then?’ said Shannon. ‘I don’t even know what that is.’

‘Fentanyl... patches.’ He lowered his eyes.

Shannon’s eyes were lit with anger. ‘Jesus Christ, Seth. Fentanyl? And you were taking it?’

Seth nodded.

‘What?’ said Shannon. ‘Chewing patches? I saw a news program about that. It’s an overdose waiting to happen. It’s, like, fifty times stronger than heroin.’

Seth looked away. ‘About a hundred, actually. And I only did it once.’

‘Jesus Christ – once is all it takes! What were you thinking? That patch is for putting on your skin! To slowly release it – if you’ve got cancer or you’ve had an operation or... it’s not for you! And after getting off heroin, you don’t have a clue what your tolerance is like. Why would you gamble with your life that way?’

‘I know, I know,’ said Seth. ‘I haven’t touched it since that last time with Merrifield. I swear to God.’

‘When was that? What happened?’

‘Like, eight months ago,’ said Seth. ‘That’s what I’m trying to tell you about. This one night, I got a patch from Merrifield. You know how Fent makes you; sleepy, slows your breathing and shit. I started nodding out, but it was weird, I was kind of aware that this wasn’t good. And I remember Merrifield, he was still in the cell with me, I remember thinking, “He’s going to let me die right here, he doesn’t give a shit if I die right here.”’

Shannon was shaking her head, struggling to hold back tears.

‘Then John Veir showed up,’ said Seth.