Chapter 3

3

Bodhi

The pounding in my head was so severe that I swung at the guy taking the hammer to my head.

Turns out that guy was me, and the punch bounced off my temple, creating even more pain. Instantly nauseous, I rolled even as I heaved. The sound of retching drowned out everything else as my entire body ached and burned, my insides attempting to eject themselves.

Vaguely, I heard someone complaining and then yelling for me to stop, but you can’t stop an exorcism, and that was exactly what this felt like.

Even as I hurled, I recoiled at the acidic, burning pain eating away at my esophagus and making my ribs scream with pain. Eventually, I stopped, spitting one last time over the edge of whatever I was lying on, and then collapsed, trembling and weak. My arm fell over the side, my knuckles landing with a splat in warm, chunky spew.

I gagged again as the pounding continued and the room spun despite my eyes remaining closed.

“Hey! Get me the hell outta here! It’s against my rights to lock me up with the human version of Slimer!”

Brynne loved Ghostbusters.

Bang! Bang! Bang! “If I get sick, I’m suing!”

Jangling keys drew closer, and I squeezed my eyes even tighter, trying to shut out everything. I didn’t know where I was, but that didn’t alarm me. I was used to it.

I did wish they’d shut the fuck up, though.

Clanking followed by the click of a lock and then a door creaking open assaulted me.

“Jesus,” someone muttered. “He alive?”

“Unless all that retching killed him, then yeah.”

A muffled curse. “Let’s go. Across the hall.”

“You could just let me go.”

“Your wife could just post your bail.”

“Fuck you.”

Their voices died down, and I appreciated the peace. Sadly, it was short-lived.

A few jabs on the side of my leg roused me. “Hey, kid.”

I made a sound.

“You sick? You need a doctor?”

“Looks to me like the kid’s hungover.” A new voice joined.

“Think he’s got alcohol poisoning?”

Wouldn’t be the first time.

“If he did, he probably doesn’t now.”

“I don’t get paid enough for this shit.”

This time, the jab and voice were much more forceful. “Hey, kid.”

Slowly, I pried my lids open, the overhead light like a direct high beam to my irises. I grunted and threw up a sticky hand to shield them as I peered through watering slits.

“You need a doctor?”

“No,” I croaked, not even recognizing the sound of my own voice.

“Get up. You can’t lay there.”

“Leave me alone,” I mumbled.

A hand slid under my arm and hauled me up as though I weighed nothing at all. The forced movement made me angry, and I yelled.

“You’re being moved to a new cell.”

Cell?

Wobbling on my feet, I leaned into the hand holding me up and gazed around. Cement floor, cement walls, metal bars… Fuck . I was in jail.

“Where am I?” I asked, fear spiking my blood. It was a nice reprieve from the alcohol.

“You don’t know?”

“If I knew, I wouldn’t ask.”

“California.”

Thank God it wasn’t Mexico. Those jails were hard to get out of.

“How long have I been here?”

“Twelve hours.”

“And he’s still drunk. Maybe we should take him to the ER.”

I glanced toward the other officer standing in the cell.

“No,” I refused. “Just let me sleep it off.”

The officer holding my arm tugged me around. “Let’s go.”

I stumbled over my feet and then gagged, sagging almost to my knees.

The cop let me droop, letting go of my arm and skittering back to avoid the spray.

I swallowed it down and breathed through my nose, trying to stop the spinning of the room. After it became clear I wasn’t gonna puke again, the cop guided me across the hall to an empty, clean cell.

I collapsed on the cot, the hinges squeaking and my knotted hair falling over my face.

“If you’re gonna puke again, use this.” The officer set a plastic bucket near my head.

Not bothering to lift my head or clear my hair away, I asked, “What did I do?”

“You don’t remember?”

A vivid image of fire flashed behind my eyelids, and my stomach clenched. Grabbing the bucket, I started puking again, my entire body straining as it turned itself inside out.

“Sober up,” the officer called, locking me in the cage. “Then we’ll talk.”

___________

This one time, I watched a cow give birth. Actually, I hid my eyes the entire time because the little I saw at the beginning made me lightheaded and mildly traumatized. Anyway, about thirty minutes after the calf was born, it stood up and started to walk. It was wobbly and clumsy, tripping over its own legs and stumbling around.

That’s what I felt like right now.

The inside of my mouth was filled with cotton, so dry that it hurt to swallow. My head felt split open, so intense that even my hair hurt.

My throat was on fire, stomach achy from all the vomiting I had done. I didn’t know how long I’d slept off the alcohol or even what day it was, but the second I was coherent enough, I was escorted into an interrogation room with dim lighting and cobwebs in every corner. The room was cold, making my arms prickle with goose bumps as I sat in the folding metal chair at a table that looked like it belonged at a yard sale.

Sniffing, I stared down at my hands in my lap, noting the chipped nail polish and knuckles speckled with dried blood. Tilting my head, I tried to remember what happened but was distracted by the bonfire scent of my hair.

The door opened, and a man dressed in slacks and plain button-up shirt walked in with a folder under one arm and a bottle of water in his hand. He uncapped the bottle and set it in front of me before sitting on the other side of the table.

“You allergic to aspirin?”

“No.”

The sound of pills shaking in a bottle filled the room, and then a couple white pills were deposited beside the water.

I stared at them but made no move to take the offering.

“You need a doctor?”

“No.”

“You gonna take those meds?”

I shoved them in my mouth and chased them with some water. I was grateful the water was room temperature because I didn’t trust my system enough to handle the shock of something cold. I didn’t say thank you. It’s not like he gave me this shit because he cared. It was probably in the cop handbook somewhere to try and be nice before they questioned the perp.

Joke’s on him, though, because I had no answers, only questions.

“How long have I been here?” I asked.

“Thirty-six hours.”

“What are the charges?”

“Trespassing, assault, harassment, and second-degree arson.”

Well, if there was any lingering inebriation inside me, that cleared it out real quick. Stupefied, I glanced up. “I’m sorry, what?”

He turned smug. “You’re looking at a minimum five years in prison.”

The water I swallowed threatened to come back up.

“Now, are you gonna answer the questions I have?—”

“I want my lawyer,” I said, the words practically automatic now.

He sighed. “Yeah. Figured you’d say that.”

He slid a cordless landline over the top of the table and stared at me expectantly.

Shifting, I chipped away at what was left of the polish on my nails. “I don’t know the number.”

The man flipped open the folder, grabbed a business card, and slid it next to the phone. “Same guy as last time?”

Embarrassment heated my cheeks, and I avoided eye contact as I grabbed the phone and dialed. He answered on the third ring.

“Mr. Gold?” I said. “This is Bodhi Lawson.”

“Mr. Lawson.”

“I, ah, I need a lawyer. I’m in jail.”

There was a lengthy, charged silence on the line.

“H-hello?” I stuttered.

“I can’t help you,” he deadpanned.

“What?”

“I am no longer on retainer for services you might require.”

My stomach twisted. “Since when?”

He sighed. “Since I had to go to Mexico to get you out of that hellhole. Don’t you remember, Bodhi? Your father said it was the last time he would bail you out.”

My heart twisted. “I’ll pay you, then. I have my own money.”

Another awkward silence. “I’m sorry, but my calendar is full.”

“I’ll pay double your rate.”

Another pause. “What are the charges?”

“Arson.”

He made a sound and then disconnected the call.

I sat there for long moments, listening to the dial tone buzz in my ear. Then I pulled the phone down and redialed his number.

He didn’t answer.

I laid the phone on the table.

“You want a public defender?” the officer asked.

“What are your questions?” I replied.

He shuffled some papers on top of the table, then said, “I’d like you to walk me through your actions forty-eight hours ago at the address of 22614 Delaplane Road, Malibu.”

I wrinkled my nose. “I don’t know that address.”

“You don’t know a Rick and Maeve Cobalt? They have a son, Lucas Cobalt.”

My lip curled at the mention of Lucas, and unruly hate swept through me. “Well, considering Lucas is rotting in a cell for killing my sister, yeah, I guess I could say I know them.”

“And is that why you set fire to their home? Was this an act of revenge?”

The roar of fire filled my ears as my mind exploded with images of wild red and yellow flames devouring a white structure. I swallowed, tugged on a strand of my hair, and caught a whiff of the bonfire scent.

No. No way. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Suddenly out of patience, the man sat forward with intense, flashing eyes. “Cut the shit, Lawson. We have security camera footage of you dumping gasoline all over the bushes and perimeter of the Cobalt’s guest house. After you were done with that, you punched through a window and went inside where you started several fires, including one on the gas range, and then walked out the front door with a bottle of vodka, lit up a cigarette, and flicked the butt into the puddle of gasoline by the door.”

His description was vivid, enough so that my mind unlocked access to the scene and it played out inside my head, making it impossible to deny.

“It’s not a question of if you did this. We know you did. Do yourself a favor and cooperate. Maybe you’ll get four years instead of five.”

Trembling, I swallowed again. Wringing my hands, I said, “It was their guest house? Not their main house?” I didn’t really need the information. I remembered now. But I was fumbling, trying to make sense.

How could I let myself go that far off the deep end?

I am so fucked.

“That’s right. That’s why it’s second-degree arson and not first. You’re lucky no one was in the house.”

I stood there and watched it burn, feeling satisfaction and a sense of vindication that was nowhere to be found now. I stood there so long that Maeve and Rick came out of the house screaming.

Rick tackled me, and I fought back, smashing my fist in his nose, leaping to my feet.

“You took everything from me! My entire life, and you just sit here in your mansion with your money and your family and collect sympathy like you’re the ones who were wronged!”

The anger I spewed at them rivaled the flames devouring their guest house.

Rick launched himself at me, his fist slamming into me so hard I fell onto my ass.

“My son is in jail for what he did,” Rick yelled.

“Yeah? Well, my sister is dead.”

My words decimated the fight, took the pleasure out of the fire, and I got up and fled the scene. Everything after that was a jumbled blur in my brain. I braced my elbows on my knees and tried to remember.

All I had were flashes. Strobing lights, loud music, and alcohol. So much alcohol.

And now I was here.

“The Cobalts are pressing charges this time. They are well within their rights.”

I snorted.

Slam! The heavy smack of the man’s hand cracking against the tabletop made me jolt, and the chair I was in tipped backward. I sprawled on the floor, knees bent and palms behind me on the concrete.

“Goddammit, Lawson! You just don’t get it, do you?” he spat, disgust dripping from his every pore as he stalked around the table to hover over me and stare down. “You’ve been terrorizing these people. This is not the first time you’ve trespassed, vandalized, and made their lives hell.”

“They deserve it.”

“They aren’t the ones breaking the law!” he roared. “You are! You’ve used up all your chances. The Cobalts are done being sympathetic. Your parents washed their hands of you, and it sounds like your lawyer did too.”

“Fuck you!” I yelled, shoving to my feet.

“Questioning is over. I’ll call the public defender’s office. They can deal with you,” he said. The resoluteness in his voice cut me deeper than anything else in the entire conversation. Like everyone else, he thought me a lost cause too.

Whatever. It doesn’t matter.

He turned his back, heading toward the door. Beside the table, he stopped and turned back. “I don’t get it, kid. You had everything. Yeah, your sister died, but it didn’t have to be this way.” He shook his head sadly. “Now you’re no better than the guy who killed her.”

Something inside me imploded, filling me with adrenaline and anger so fast I let out a cry and launched myself at him. My fist slammed into the side of his head, and he fell sideways into the door. I heard his head knock against it, his grunt.

I went at him again, rage blinding me. I was nothing like Cobalt. Nothing!

The door burst open, and we both stumbled back. The next thing I knew, a loud pop filled the room, and I was blasted backward into the wall. My muscles cramped painfully, and then I started to shake violently. Crumpling to the floor, I lay on my back, quaking and jerking as pain lit me up inside.

A uniformed officer appeared over me, a taser in his grip. He shoved it into his belt and watched me seize. “Adding assault of an officer to your charges.”

The effects of the taser wore off, and I was tossed back into my cell where I officially hit rock bottom.

That asshole was right. I once had it all.

And now I had nothing.