Road Through Love

By Carlos González

Jennifer felt like life couldnt get any better until tragedy struck, leaving her to fend for herself in a world almost as cold as her heart will grow to be. Joel, from the time he could remember, experienced nothing but turmoil. Things finally began to look up until misfortune placed him back at the depths of despair.

Jennifer and Joel will meet to combat their demons together. Death, prostitution, drugs, and a vindictive ex-boyfriend, who will stop at nothing, will not make it easy for them. Will love win? Join Joel and Jennifer as they embark on a journey of love where danger awaits at every crossroad.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Jul 5, 2018
• ISBN: 9781984538703

Book preview

CHAPTER ONE

I can’t do it anymore, Jennifer cried hysterically into the phone to her best friend, Carla, who had called while Jennifer was painting her toenails. I mean, I left before when our relationship got bad. Went up to Pennsylvania to live with my parents, which I am not doing again. She paused, reaching for a Kleenex that sat on top of a cherry oak nightstand next to her bed. But it’s the worst it’s ever been. I don’t know how I let him persuade me each time to come back.

You’re in love, honey, Carla said.

But it doesn’t feel like love. She blew her nose and tossed the Kleenex in the trash bin, completely missing her target, unable to get up because of the wet paint on her toenails. I’m giving my all, Carla. His comments to me are always disrespectful. Hurtful. I can literally feel my self-esteem diminishing.

You have to leave, baby, Carla persuaded.

I don’t feel attractive. I don’t know what to do. Again she lost control of her emotions and cried hysterically.

Adam’s a fuckin’ jerk. It’s no secret. He doesn’t deserve you, Jen. You’re beautiful and should be with a man who makes you feel that way.

It was true. Jennifer Taylor was breathtaking, but lately bags and stress took a temporary effect on her skin, making her twenty-eight-year-old face seem thirty-eight at times. Black hair cascaded like a waterfall down her back, stopping just inches above her butt. She had a body to die for, standing five feet and six inches, with curves to kill for, B-cup breasts that were in perfect proportion with the width of her shoulders. A creamy-beige and slightly tanned complexion for skin that she constantly moisturized. She literally had all the cosmetics her magazine subscriptions raved about.

I don’t know, Jennifer said, releasing a sigh that she could feel on her toes as the cool breeze dried the paint. I’ll have to figure something out.

Before it’s too late, honey. So the sooner the better, Carla said.

Carla and Jennifer had been best friends since high school. They knew each other’s secrets, fantasies, fears, and dreams as if they were their own. They empowered each other and never fell out of contact as best friends sometimes do when there were thousands of miles separating them from each other. Carla was happily married and living in New York City with her attorney husband. Jennifer was in a relationship that was best described as a cyclone in the middle of Armageddon to Lucifer himself.

I was watching a program the other night, and do you know what? Carla asked and waited for her best friend to respond before continuing.

Huh? Jennifer questioned.

It said that majority of America’s most grisly murders are those of domestic disputes. Can you imagine that? I mean, think about it. There was Dahmer! Gary Ridgeway! John Wayne Gacy! The Mansons, for crying out loud! Yet the detective being interviewed said the most disturbing homicides take place in households between lovers.

This made Jennifer laugh out loud. It’s not that bad, Carla. I think I would know if I was living with a psychopath. Oohh, shit, Jennifer said, noticing the headlights beaming through the bedroom window. Adam just pulled in. I have to heat up his food. I’ll call you back tomorrow, OK? I love you, Carla. Jennifer felt bad she had to end the call abruptly, but Adam would be fucking pissed if his dinner wasn’t hot.

She greeted Adam at the door as he stormed past her without a hug or a kiss. Your dinner’s heating up in the microwave, she said, securing the locks on the door, turning while tying her robe shut. Something about Adam’s appearance disturbed her. He was glistening; his eyes were dreamy, dazed, and confused—a sickening sight, really.

You eat it! he barked as he made his way out the kitchen with a needle in his hand.

I thought you stopped that? Jennifer asked angrily, leaning on one leg with her hand on her hip.

I don’t have a reason to stop, Adam replied.

That right there was exactly the snide comments he would make that she tried to tell Carla about—the same comments that attacked her self-esteem. What does he mean he doesn’t have a reason? I am your reason, you goddamn moron, she thought of saying but quickly discarded the idea.

She helplessly watched as he loaded the syringe with a blue-like substance he retrieved from a wax bag with a stamp that read game over. She had been finding these baggies all over the house and didn’t know what the hell they were. He wrapped a belt around his biceps and tapped two fingers on his forearm, which stimulated veins as a few bulged. He inserted the needle in his arm, and she instantly saw his facial muscles relax. He was in a state of euphoria.

That stuff’s gonna kill you, babe. You better stop.

He ignored her.

Have you seen my laptop?

Huh? was all he could say as his chin literally touched his chest and he slouched on the couch.

This image of Adam made her consider leaving now. No shoes on his feet, no shirt. Just faded-blue denim jeans. His black hair was combed back, glistening, as if he’d just come in from the rain. She knew that she should leave now, but she couldn’t. She couldn’t just leave her job. She decided that the three checks she was to receive this money, she would save every penny. And just when the rent was due and Adam thought he was gonna make her pay again—for the fourth straight month—he would realize that she was gone, along with Garfield, his cat.

She sucked her teeth at the image before her, no longer concealing her disdain, turned away without a care in the world, and made her way to the bedroom.

CHAPTER TWO

J oel had been out of jail for almost two months. He wasn’t quite home free, as his parole provision stated that he would have to attend the halfway house for a three-month period. His was called Kintock. It was located in North Philadelphia on Erie Avenue. A block in virtually every direction from drug infestation, murder, and mayhem.

His transition had gone smoothly. He completed his drug and alcohol courses, although he didn’t have much of a drug problem, using it only recreationally. He had a full-time job at the Coca-Cola factory just two blocks away from Kintock. (There, he was an electric pallet operator.). His pay was nearly fifteen dollars an hour but had to give a quarter of each check to the halfway house. Lodging and food are what they claimed; their reason for the mass rape.

He made a couple of acquaintances that he intended to maintain contact with to pursue business ventures and potential partnerships. God knows the backbreaking work at the factory was not for him. Once he found something more suited upon release, he would quit.

He had money saved up and put to the side—money the police did not seize three years and two months ago. A hundred and twenty-five grand. He still had his vehicle, a black current Infiniti G-35. They were unable to repossess it because it was in his sister’s name. It hadn’t been driven since she took it out of the impound and put it in a car storage lot. So coming home and dealing with the everyday struggle of rebuilding would not be a problem of his.

Background checks ensured that the best gig without a degree or diploma that an inmate could obtain was temporary jobs—ones that paid so poorly that illegal Mexican immigrants wouldn’t take. So when one did take it, it was a dead end, and that person would grow tired of it and transgress. A man without a plan for his future often reverts back to his past—it was one of his favorite expressions, and he lived by it daily, planning goals for every task.

Joel had a few female friends that offered their help. Just weeks ago, he’d managed to weed the list down to two. Reese was an Irish girl with fiery-red hair; creamy, freckless skin; and green eyes that seemed to always be concealed by the newest pair of designer shades. Her curly hair ran down to the middle of her back. She had a runner’s build but never ran. It seemed like she had a different pair of tights for every day of the month, which hugged her thighs and hips like baby monkeys on their mother’s back. She was beautiful, but not quite as beautiful as her unknown opponent.

Jules was the epitome of the word beautiful. Tall with a modelesque figure and the walk to go along with it. Dark-brown locks running down her back, light-brown hazel eyes, manicured fingers, and pedicured toes on feet that spent more time in heels than Versace herself.

It wasn’t the physical appearance that gave Jules the leverage over Reese. It was the ambition. She was career-driven and shared a lot of the same likes and like-nots as Joel. Jules was his ideal girl. And lately he’d been thinking of the most gentleman-like way of informing Reese that he wanted to go in another direction. Alone. He involved the opinions of his two friends Quincy and Stan, who never disappointed with advice.

You should sit them both down together and tell the truth, Sam suggested.

Nah! That’s gonna upset Reese if you do it like that. A phone call is how I would do it, Quincy said, as the three men leaned on bunks that belonged to them.

They were in the cubicles of their dorm room. Their beds were lined in order—Joel’s against the wall, with Quincy’s in the middle and Stan’s on the other side of Quincy’s rack.

I think a phone call is a coward’s way, Joel stated, jumping up on his top bunk as his feet swung involuntarily.

There’s no easy way to do it. What you’re trying to avoid is unavoidable, Stan said, taking off his lime-green Polo shirt with the pink horse logo. It’s inevitable that Reese’s feelings are gonna be hurt. You guys love each other?

Hell no! Not yet. I mean, I’m really not sure, Joel said as he fooled around with the DVD player lying on his bed. Not yet. A strong like. I could see myself loving her one day though. I’m just more passionate about Jules.

Is Jules as passionate about you as you are of her? Quincy asked.

More, Joel replied.

Then keep ’em both, Quincy said as he laughed at his own humor.

I can’t do that. I’m twenty-seven-years old. I’m not eighteen anymore.

You’re right, man. It’s time that we find meaningful relationships. Ones that have substance, Stan said, then he dropped to the floor and knocked out another set of fifty push-ups.

Joel already knew how he was going to address each woman—over a dinner. The one with Reese at a restaurant and the one with Jules at her place—lots of candles and aromas for the latter one. Things were finally starting to turn out better than he had expected. He had money to fall back on, complete freedom just weeks away, and most important of all the three, the most angelic woman he’d ever met.

*     *     *

Joel knew he couldn’t wait it out too long. His feelings were intensifying for both women. As much as he enjoyed Reese’s companionship, his heart was truly with Jules. Reese was smart and patient. She cared about Joel greatly and offered her assistance each time he faced a dilemma. He wondered whom she would seek out to help her now with her own soon-to-be dilemma. He hoped himself, ensuring that she wouldn’t walk away loathing him.

Joel had asked his case manager, a petite, sweet Muslim lady named Ms. Dennis, who always wore veils that concealed her forehead, for a social pass, which would grant him furlough status from Friday till Sunday night. She granted it without delay. He showed an employee’s respect and never received misconducts for norm infractions. She had absolutely no problem rewarding him for good conduct. Besides, he was one of her favorite clients. Conversations with Joel were always stimulating. He was charming, extremely charismatic, and brutally honest.

Ms. Dennis appreciated honesty in conversations and got more than she bargained for each time they talked.

Now was the hard part: being honest with Reese.

*     *     *

He waited for his guest to arrive at Blanco’s on Market Street in downtown Philadelphia. The restaurant was an upscale one, with a stage on a mezzanine. A grand piano and a drum set were vacated tonight as no artist were on the manifest. Gold-plated chandeliers hung high above. Maître d’s in tuxedos scurried about with hundred-dollar platters and multi-hundred-dollar bottles of champagne. Tonight the place gave off a festive feel.

Joel’s palms were sweaty as he fidgeted nervously, awaiting Reese, who still had about twenty-five minutes until she would be considered late.

She walked in at twelve till six, wearing a black three-quartered-length jacket by Ralph Lauren. Talk about being superfluously donned … especially for the bomb I am about to drop on her, he sadly thought to himself.

A bus boy immediately approached her asking to take her jacket and reservation info. He helped her out of the overpriced jacket and the sight immediately took away his breath.

I’m making a mistake, he thought to himself again—one of the thousands of thoughts that crossed his mind daily.

Her escort chaperoned her to his table. Joel got up, looking appealing himself in a purple button-up, tan slacks, and black Italian shoes. He pulled out a chair for her and helped her take her seat. You look amazing, he complimented her on her skintight blue dress that hiked six inches above her knees while he took his own seat.

Thanks, babe, she said, taking in his facial expressions and reading them like a magazine. She knew that look and knew immediately that something was wrong. What’s the matter? You look disappointed.

I am. But let’s eat first, he said, pointing at the menu that lay before them on the table. Then we’ll talk all about it, he finished, letting out a sigh, scanning his eyes down the variety of entrées Blanco’s offered.

He decided that before dessert arrived, he would begin the ending of him and Reese.

So we’ve been seeing each other now for two months, he said, wiping a damp napkin on his hands and placing the napkin on the plate that minutes ago held his medium-cooked steak. He looked up at Reese’s face, which was always like his first time seeing her. So beautiful. The fiery blazed hair pronounced every Irish feature. Her voluptuous, pouty pink lips coated by a thin sheet of cherry gloss. He recognized a look of surprise as if she thought he was about to purpose. And this turned his stomach even more, making him sick on steak and disappointment. And I’ve loved every second of it. The time we spent. You are an amazing person. I’m truly honored to have had the privilege to know you. But …

She tensed up as her eyebrows hiked up a bit. But? she questioned, positioning her head on a tilt, nearly resting it on her shoulder. It was impossible to mask the hurt. She felt betrayed by some goddamned Benedict Arnold merely by his use of the word but.

Yeah, I’m kind of in between a rock and a hard place, Joel said, as he sighed and wiped his mouth with his hand. My heart is somewhere else, Reese, he confessed.

What do you mean, Joel? was all a stunned Reese could muster to say, obviously hurt by her boyfriend’s—or who she thought was her boyfriend—confession.

I have a lady friend whom I am crazy about, he said and felt relieved that the words he thought impossible to speak had actually come out.

So you’ve been cheating on me? Reese placed her hands on her lap, looking up at a distant chandelier as she shook her leg uncontrollably.

Ask no questions and get told no lies, he remembered a famous politician saying. And was there ever a justifiable time to lie? If there were, Joel felt now was as good a time as any.

No, he replied, knowing that her feelings were hurt. The proof was etched all over her face. It’s not like that at all.

Then what’s it like? You’re fucking leaving me for some bitch you’re not even romantically involved with? she stated skeptically, looking him in the eyes with utter disgust. You’re fucking despicable. We talked about children, a life, marriage! And this is the fucking thanks I get? Fucking jailbird. Reese got up without looking at Joel and stormed back to the reception area.

Reese! he hollered, to no avail. She was too far, too angry, and the clattering of glasses and incessant talk drowned out his plea for her not to leave. It was too late. She was gone. He dropped his head in his cupped hands and rubbed his burning eyes vigorously.

Will your missus be rejoining you, sir? the maître d’ asked, holding a billfold in his hand. Joel looked up at the gray-haired waiter.

No, she’s not coming back. He extended his hand to receive the billfold. She’s gone. He put his head back into his cupped hands and wanted to cry.

Before the dreaded idea popped in his head of choosing between the two women, he knew it would be a decision he would hate to make. Now he hated himself for making it.

CHAPTER THREE

Y eah, let him in, the Italian man said. He had huge tattooed arms and muscles that were created and formed in prison. He was dressed in a white tank top and black sweatpants.

The doorman obliged his superior’s demand, stepping to the side as the sunlight illuminated the inside of the poorly lit quarters belonging to one of the biggest dope dealers in Jacksonville, Florida.

You got balls, Adam, the Italian said, reaching for a plate on the coffee table his black Barretta rested on. You owe me fourteen hundred bucks, and that sad look on your face tells me that you don’t have my goddamned money. He rolled up a crisp hundred-dollar bill, sticking it in his right nostril while simultaneously lifting the plate to his nose. Why not, Adam? he finally finished, a bit dramatic with a snort, and let his head fall back as the cocaine took effect on his brain.

I’m working on it. I swear, Joey, Adam said, not wanting to piss off the guy, especially after just snorting a line of the stimulant.

Adam knew Joey was all about business. Good business. Bad business. Mean business. As long as the son of a bitch made a profit, it didn’t matter much what kind of business it was. For the right price, Joey would sell you his kids and mother if you were interested in buying them.

I’m getting impatient, Adam boy. You need to work harder. I want my fucking money, he said while rising from the couch and walking to the kitchen, out of view of Adam, which deeply distressed him. Adam looked around, counting all the bodies that guarded Joey. They hadn’t moved a muscle from their post. Like waxed mannequins, only moving if and when their boss said so.

Moments later, Joey returned with four cans of beer. He threw one to each of his guards. Adam put his hands out to catch the one that flew in his direction, but it flew over his head and was caught by the guard who let him in. All four men laughed at Adam’s stupidity. How dare he come into the home, drug dealer or not, of a man he owes money to and expect hospitality!

Sit down, Adam, Joey said, cracking his can after pointing to a seat across from his own. I know you didn’t come here for a beer, you dumb son of a bitch This, too, brought about laughter from the gangster’s henchmen.

You’re gonna think I’m really crazy for this now, Joey. But … I need another front. Right now, it’s the best possible way that I can get your money back immediately, he said, looking up at Joey, who seemed to grab at his crotch every ten seconds or so. Might wanna get that checked out, Adam thought to himself. Jennifer gets paid this week. Friday. I’ll have the entire seven hundred plus a portion to chip away at my already-existing debt. He had a very poor appearance, deep bags that belonged to a dead body.

You’re goddamned right you will, and if you don’t have it … well, I’ll put your balls on a trophy and put ’em up there, he promised, pointing to the mantel above the television that was mounted on the wall. Johnny, get this scumbag twenty bundles.

Adam was sick from the heroin and desperately needed a fix. Like right now. It felt as if he was dying on the inside. Everything was painful. Nothing was comforting except the act of stabbing a needle into his arm. Not even thoughts of doing so comforted him.

You got until the end of this week to make good on your word, Adam, or you’ll be meeting him, he said, pointing to a slim but no-nonsense-looking fellow wearing sunglasses, and you don’t want to meet him. No one does. He stood up and pointed at the man who was holding a brown paper bag. He tossed it to Adam, who caught it out of midair effortlessly like a quarterback pass to a wide-open receiver. Now get the hell out and find my money! he screamed loudly, scaring the crap out of Adam.

Adam ran out of the house and never looked back. Nor did he have any intentions of making good on his word. He intended to steal Jennifer’s money and seek dope from another dealer in Jacksonville. But for the time being, he had twenty bundles of the best stuff in town. To hell with everyone else, Adam thought. Yeah, fuck Joey, his conscience added.

CHAPTER FOUR

Y es, how can I help you, ma’am? a Hispanic teller from behind the rowed counter asked while displaying a smile that seemed to be permanently engraved on her face—sort of like a clown’s.

Yeah, I’m, um, moving back to Pennsylvania next week, and I would like my mailing address changed, Jennifer said.

One moment, please, the teller replied and began punching keys into a computer on her desk.

Jennifer was leaving tomorrow for Pennsylvania. She changed her mind from moving (chapter 1). She planned on driving and didn’t expect to arrive in the Keystone State until Saturday. Sunday, at the latest. She wanted to drive up in peace and tranquility. Sightsee a bit, stopping at a few historic landmarks. Definitely Gettysburg. Absolutely Washington, DC.

And you want your new address to be? the teller asked again with that exaggerated smile.

She was pretty, and Jennifer couldn’t help but to look into her mouth. Jennifer had white teeth—at least she liked to believe that she did, visiting her dentist regularly—but this woman’s teeth were Crest-commercial, making Jennifer take a mental note of another dental visit very soon.

She gave the teller her mother’s address in Dorneyville, Pennsylvania.

Will that be all? the bank employee asked.

Yes, she answered.

OK, you’ll be contacted in the mail in ten to fourteen business days.

OK. Thank you so much, Jennifer said cheerfully.

You’re very welcome.

Jennifer rushed out of the bank and jogged to her blue RSX Acura. She had a few things at the house that she wanted to pack before Adam came home … if he came home. She hoped not. It would be a lot easier to leave if he wasn’t there. She pulled out her cell phone and texted Carla, her best friend, about her newest plans, despite having told Carla that she would not be joining her mother in Pennsylvania. But hey, wasn’t this what family was for? Being there for one another in times of crisis? Maybe even helping confused family members find answers to tough situations?

She finished the text and instructed Carla not to call because she couldn’t talk at the moment. She floored the pedal and raced to what, after tomorrow, would be a part of her past forevermore.

*     *     *

Jennifer had gotten out of the shower, preferring to air-dry, and walked to her bedroom naked. She found a clean blue towel in the closet and wrapped her hair in it, setting it on top of her head, making her resemble Marge Simpson. She put on a robe without tying the strings as her private parts remained exposed. She preferred it this way unless someone besides Adam was around.

She had packed up all her expensive clothes and left all her house appliances where they had been. She decided not to take them for two reasons: first, it might tip off Adam that she was leaving. And second, her mother would have all these items she was leaving behind. She was leaving behind a great deal of possessions, but their quality paled in comparison to what was at stake. She needed to free herself from this prison, this loveless gulag. She put Adam’s cat in a bed basket in the back seat of her car in the driveway. Adam wouldn’t even notice Garfield’s absence. She was sure to crack the window open for fresh air throughout the night for the cat. She was sure that if she left Garfield behind, he would surely end up either in the ASPCA for neglected animals or end up on someone’s or something’s menu. He was a lot safer with her.

She entered the kitchen and turned on the cappuccino machine. Prrrrrrr! chimed the phone hanging on the wall by the Frigidaire. Jennifer and Adam both had cell phones, but Adam had a brother in county prison who called collect too often, especially since it was her, and not Adam, who was footing the bill.

Hello? she said sharply into the mouthpiece.

Jen, it’s me. I won’t be coming home tonight.

OK, she replied.

An awkward pause fell over him. Probably because she would always protest when he announced he wouldn’t be in. Or that he would be in but just arriving very late. But tonight, there would be no protest, and tomorrow there certainly would be no Jennifer.

Yeah, so don’t wait up for me, OK?

OK. She hung up, completely over him.

She already felt invigorated. This may not be as hard as I thought, she wondered to herself.

An hour or so later, she heard the front door bust open. She went to investigate the intrusion and was confronted by a tall, slender Italian-looking man wearing shades, with black slick-backed hair. Where’s Adam? he questioned menacingly.

What do you think you’re doing? I’m calling the co— was her reply just a millisecond before being brought down by a very powerful slap to her face.

She screamed in pain. It felt like her face was being tased. She looked up from the floor, holding her cheek. The towel came loose, and her black hair, still damp, fell over her face. Through the strands she could see the assailant standing over her.

Take whatever you want. Just leave, she cried.

Where’s Adam? He repeated the question. He drew a black Saturday night special from his leather coat. It was impossible for Jennifer to take her eyes off the weapon. She was terrified unlike she’d ever been before. Fear paralyzed her. She couldn’t find words to speak. Her mind was blank. Vision was her only option, and even that was more harmful than helpful as she continued to stare at the little muzzle in his hand. Is he here? he added, kneeling down and placing a firm grip on Jennifer’s chin with his powerfully calloused hand.

She shook her head no. Terror was etched on every square centimeter of Jennifer’s face.

Get up, he ordered her, jerking the handgun at her.

She complied as he pushed her through the living room. Where’s the bedroom? the intruder asked.

Upstairs, she replied, pointing in the direction of the steps by the back door. But we don’t have a safe. We’re broke.

Walk. He began shoving her toward the steps.

She led the way as fear made her trip on every step. Her legs shook uncontrollably, giving out, and she fell. Each time, he forcefully pulled her back to her feet and shoved her forward. He pushed her through the bedroom door with such force that the knob made an imprint into the sheetrock as the door collided with the wall. Jennifer crashed onto the floor as her robe hiked up to her waistline, exposing her buttocks.

You tell Adam this is happening because of his unpaid debts, the intruded stated as he undid his zipper.

Please don’t do this. We’re not together anymore, she pleaded from the floor, pushing down her robe to conceal her butt, hopefully killing his lust with its disappearance. He doesn’t give a shit about me. You think this is going to teach him a lesson? But her pleas continued to fall on deaf ears as the intruder continued to disrobe.

Shut up, bitch. If you scream or attempt to fight back, I’m going to kill you, he promised.

He grabbed her from the floor and forcefully carried her over to the bed. He tossed her on top of the comforters. Somehow he managed to pull his pants down while forcefully placing her on the bed. He jumped onto the bed and spread her legs. She tensed to his calloused touch. He pointed the .38 at her and again attempted to part her legs, daring her to refuse. She didn’t. This time she obliged. For what felt to be an eternity, Jennifer sobbed as this goon raped her. Nobody was here to help her. Not Adam. Not her mother. Not Carla. No one!

She never felt so alone or vulnerable in her life. Or violated. The lowliest of times with Adam seemed like moments of bliss compared to this. She silently sobbed, staring at the ceiling as the intruder grunted with each thrust into her while his .38 remained trained on her temple.

*     *     *

She heard an explosion out front after the rapist left. To her, it felt like it could have been an hour after he finished. Or ten minutes. Her perception of time was as dead as her morale. Her spirit dying slowly, slowing down the mechanics of her body.

She felt Garfield rub his nose on her cheek. Her eyes opened for a brief second, and Jennifer swore she saw blue and red lights flashing brighter and brighter. That could only mean that the lights were approaching. Cop lights? Paramedic lights?

No, wait!

The explosion! Those could be fire response lights.

Not Adam. Not Mother or Carla, she thought.

And then darkness suddenly reclaimed her vision. She saw nothing. She heard nothing. She felt nothing … Dead.

*     *     *

Joel arrived at Jules’s place with a bouquet of flowers in his hand. A sterling silver necklace with a heart-shaped pendant was wrapped around the stems and hung visibly so that she would immediately spot it. He was dapper again in purple wing-tipped Balenciagas, cream-beige Tommy Hilfiger slacks, and a purple polo shirt to match. He wore a Hublot wristwatch on his left wrist and a platinum bracelet on his right wrist that he had acquired from his drug-dealing days. He also sported a fresh fade. The hair on top of his head was pitch-black except for a few strands of salt that was scattered all over his cranium.

He knocked twice and waited.

Through the walls, he could hear instrumentals belonging to John Legend’s smash hit Tonight. He heard the locking mechanisms unfasten. The door swung open, and there stood the most angelic woman he had ever laid eyes on. Her brown hair was curled at the tips as it hung down to her breasts. She went light on the makeup, only a touch of foundation and a splash of orange lip gloss that gave a lustrous shine to the prettiest set of lips since Angelina Jolie’s. She wore a black Victoria’s Secret lace bra and a black garter belt with the matching thong over the top of the garter.

Hi, baby! Jules screeched, flashing him a very seductive smile while biting her lower lip. You look so cute, she complimented.

Thank you. Trying to keep up with you, supermodel, he teased back.

For me? She immediately recognized the necklace. Thank you so much, baby. I love it. Put it on for me, she said as she passed him the necklace, turning around while smelling the bouquet in her hands.

Joel took the graceful motion in and relished it. There was something artistic about a woman’s movements. Effortless, yet still so sexy.

Jules was tall and slender with a gorgeous build, a golden bronzed complexion. The thong was obscured by flesh as it dove into the crevice of her butt cheeks. Her green eyes were simultaneously paralyzing and hypnotizing.

You always look amazing even with barely anything on, he said, reaching around her neck to connect the necklace.

That’s when you love me best, right, babe?

No, I love you best when I’m in you, he joked, slapping her butt cheeks gently. He wrapped his arms around her, and they shared a passionate kiss right outside of her apartment door.

They entered her quarters as she played hostess for the night. They talked about Reese, halfway houses, his release from the halfway house, and everything else under the sun. Like new couples often do, Jules and Joel made love on every square inch of carpet in her apartment. Floor to bed. Then back to the floor. Bathtub to kitchen table and then somehow back to the tub. Couch to kitchenette chairs and back all over again. The passion was certainly in the air, as was the scent of sex.

Before they knew it, the sun was beginning to peek over the mountains in the far distance. Much farther than the city limits. The distance away looked to be only miles, but it was more like thousands of miles. Even millions.

Somewhere there were two fated to meet—to cross paths and become one. One’s life was once destroyed but improving, while the other’s was once promising, but now destroyed.

CHAPTER FIVE

E xcuse me, sir. Are you a patient here? a curious nurse asked the man as he searched for room 212.

Huh? No. I’m looking for my wife, he replied. His pale, ghostly face was sickening to see. The translucent skin left those to surmise that drugs were to blame for his illness.

Well, the manifest is right there. She pointed to a large board that electronically displayed the numbers to rooms, wings, and on-call doctors’ pager numbers. What division is your wife in, sir? the nurse asked as she stood up from the chair behind her desk.

I made a phone call prior to coming, and the nurse I talked to said D-something. She is in critical con—

That’s the third floor, sir, she interrupted, a bit apprehensive about divulging personal detail with the man who claimed to have a wife in critical condition. Hell, he seemed to be in critical condition, she thought. His translucent skin seemed to be disappearing by the second. In fact, to her, she knew this man was self-medicating. She would have to alert security when he left.

Bath salts, perhaps? she thought.

Adam entered Jennifer’s room as she slept soundlessly, save for the bleeping machine. She was hooked to an IV that was plugged in her arm and had a pilot-like mouth guard that assisted her with her breathing.

Adam knew Joey was responsible. It was definitely that son of a whore with the glasses. The dark sunglasses. Joey’s goon. Those assholes had no clue what type of effect their actions caused. Now Adam would have to seek a new residence. She would be out of commission for at least a month. That meant no money! He needed her to draw out her own money from the bank. Their home sustained fire damage and was pretty much swimming in water from the department dousing out the flames.

Shit! Joey, he thought.

He slowly walked over to a convalescing Jennifer. Machines continued to beep as the rhythmic sound of her breathing could be heard. Both of her eyes were swollen shut. He wondered if she could see through the swelling at all. He knew she couldn’t talk. The machines were clearing out her lungs from the smoke inhalation. The car had exploded after the debt collector set fire to it. Flames began to feed on the wood that supported the house. The debt collector had beat her after the sexual assault, and the last thing she heard was the sirens and Garfield’s purring.

I don’t know if you can hear me. He believed she couldn’t, but he continued anyway. I’m sorry about all of this. It’s all my fault. I filed a police complaint. He lied. He feared that if he did that, Joey would surely kill him. So the detectives will find whoever did this to you.

He walked around to the left side of her bed. On the counter were cards and balloons from coworkers. Get well cards. Loving you cards. All from people with much less significance on Jennifer’s life than him, yet he brought with him nothing but his addiction. His affliction.

I called your mom. Told her you went away to rehab, he said as he fidgeted and ran his right hand swiftly through his hair, smoothing it out. She’s very upset with you, Jenn.

Her face twitched, and he wondered if she could hear him. Was the twitch a sign of communication? He grabbed her hand. If you can hear me, Jenn, tap twice on my hand.

He waited a few seconds, but there was no tap. Which meant she couldn’t hear him. Which also meant she couldn’t see him through her black-purplish eyes. Which to him also meant that he needed to get what he came for and bail like a bat out of hell.

So you were really planning on leaving me, huh, bitch? He broke away from his brace on her hand and walked around to the window, pulling down the shades. All I’ve done for you and that was the surprise I was gonna get? he asked, knowing that she was not going to respond verbally or physically.

He rushed over to her clothes that were neatly folded on a visitor’s chair under the TV in the corner of the room. After feeling the jeans, he dug his hand into the pockets and retrieved her wallet. He flipped it over and emptied its contents on the counter that held the flowers that ran the length of the window.

Where’s the cash, bitch? he again asked.

He checked a couple of compartments in the wallet and finally found her bank card. Still 1985? he asked, twisting the card in his fingers as he turned to face Jennifer. He was sure that was still her code.

The machine bleeped. Her breathing seemed to come more slowly, he thought he noticed. You belong to me. Forever! You’re never fucking leaving me. I’ll kill you first. And with that, Adam exited the hospital room in search of a building exit. In search of a dope dealer. In search of heroin.

*     *     *

Her swollen eyes twitched again as they somehow parted enough for a stream of liquid to fit through as her cheeks and neck became damp with her own tears. She heard every word Adam said. And the only comforting thing about his visit was that the reason her mother wasn’t here was because she was under the impression, because of Adam’s lie, that she was in rehab, but not that she, too, had abandoned her.

Jennifer had a big heart. She was loyal to a fault. Easily forgiving. Naive even, as Carla would always say. It was even hard for her to dislike, so she didn’t know it was possible to hate someone as much as she now hated Adam.

*     *     *

Joel had finished up bidding farewell to Stan and Quincy. Today was the day that the state of Pennsylvania would officially recognize his freedom. His bag was by the door, and he had finished giving the last of his belongings out to those who wanted or needed them. A DVD player with over seventy movies, iPods, and clothing.

Outside, Jules waited for Joel in her blue 2015 Nissan Altima. The sun shined bright. The sky was an ocean-surface blue, giving the false impression of summer. It was very cold out, and the pedestrians on Erie Avenue showed so by the peacoats, the North Faces, and the Carhartts that draped from their shoulders. A few pigeons flew overhead of Joel as he walked the thirty feet from the facility exit to where Jules was parked.

As usual, she was beautiful despite her features being concealed by a huge pair of black Cartier sunglasses.

Joel heard the trunk pop as he approached the rear of the car. He placed his bag inside. He opened the passenger side door and plumped down into the seat.

Congratulations! And welcome home, she said, leaning over to plant a kiss on Joel’s lips as her glasses hindered the full intimacy of the gesture. She pulled back and wiped her lip gloss off Joel’s lips with the backside of her index finger.

Finally. I’ve been waiting for this day for a long time, he replied.

Are you ready? She wanted to make sure, before exiting the parking lot, that he had all his belongings so that they wouldn’t have a need to return. We’re leaving this place in the past forever, babe.

I have everything I need in this car, he said, smiling down at her. But first, go down to the Dunkin’ Donuts just around the corner there, he finished while laying his head back against the headrest.

Let’s go somewhere better to eat. It’s your first free meal, she said both seriously and jokingly.

I just want a Boston glaze. Do you want anything? My treat, Joel asked.

Yeah, a croissant. Egg and cheese, she replied, as she drove out of the parking lot belonging to the halfway house.

He emerged moments later with two croissants, three Boston glazes, a tray with two medium cups of steaming coffee, and the latest issue of Condé Nast Traveler magazine. On the cover was a huge 17.5 million-dollar yacht that came with a Bugatti in the hull of the water vehicle.

I could’ve came in to help you if I would’ve known you were going food shopping.

I just got super hungry, he laughed, barely managing to carry the groceries back to the car. She opened his door from the inside and helped him with the steaming cups of coffee.

We have to go get you a phone now. This is the technology era. We don’t do pigeon couriers anymore. You’re so stuck in the Jurassic era, she playfully teased.

’Cause I’m a raptor, he joked back, making T. Rex arms and growling, and tonight I’m going to eat you alive.

What’s the magazine for? she inquired.

I just wanted to look sophisticated to that beautiful cashier back there, he said, pointing to the Dunkin’ Donuts, which was only half the truth. Plus we— He looked over and saw that she had a look of disgust etched on her face. He