I roll my eyes, checking to make sure the safety is on before placing the small handgun in the inside pocket of my jacket. “Don’t insult my fucking intelligence, Lennox.” I place my hand on the door handle. “I’m coming in with you, and don’t even attempt to argue with me.”
CHAPTER 25
Harlow
THE DOOR CREAKS as Galen pushes it in, and I’m instantly assaulted with an abundance of noxious odors the second I step into the dark hallway. My nose wrinkles as the smell of piss and sweat assaults my nostrils. I keep close to Galen while we climb the stairs.
“Watch out for the broken step third from the top,” he whispers, glancing over his shoulder at me. I nod, carefully sidestepping the large hole in the stairs, landing safely on the first floor.
Galen’s shoulders are locked tight as he walks past a few doorways. The bare floorboards threaten to give way underfoot despite how softly we tread. A couple of doors are open as we pass, but I don’t look too closely, avoiding the vacuous eyes of the woman with the greasy red hair slumped against the floor in one of the rooms as they follow our path.
Galen stops in front of the last door, and his shoulders lift as his heavy breaths filter through the eerie silence. I can see how much of a toll this is taking on him.
How often has he had to do this? And how long has it been going on?
I take his hand, squeezing it in a show of support. His fingers thread through mine, and I lean into him, gently laying my head against his back. Every muscle and sinew in his body is corded into knots, his body strung tight with stress. We stay like this for a minute, before he moves, releasing my hand. “Stay right beside me, and keep your wits about you,” he cautions in a low tone.
“I’ll be okay,” I whisper back. “Just focus on your mom.”
He opens the door, and we step inside. The room is long and wide with high ceilings and peeling wallpaper on the walls. An old-fashioned fireplace is boarded up on one side of the room. A bunch of dirty, torn mattresses are strewn around the exposed wooden floorboards, most occupied with prone bodies. I almost gag over the putrid stench of vomit, piss, and shit. Someone has nailed dark cotton sheets over the two windows, blocking out the real world. The only light comes from slivers of daylight creeping through the side of both windows.
I squint as my eyes adjust to the gloomy room.
“Get the fuck out,” a hoarse voice shouts, and some of the people on the mattresses stir, mumbling and groaning.
I step over drug paraphernalia on the floor as I follow Galen to where the man who spoke sits at the far end of the room.
“I’m looking for Alisha Lennox,” Galen says, approaching the man. “Is she here?” His gaze flips side to side as he checks people out.
Nausea churns in my gut as I walk past men and women of all ages and races. Most are sprawled across the filthy mattresses. Some are slumped against the walls with their eyes closed. Others are passed out on the floor. The only thing they have in common is pale skin, sunken eyeballs, gaunt cheeks, and an addiction that is worth more to them than life.
I’m not naïve.
I’ve seen and experienced more than my fair share of dark shit in this world, but there is something so heart-wrenchingly devastating about this scene that is almost worse.
They should take pictures of this room and show it in schools. Maybe then, kids would take drugs more seriously. I smoke weed on occasion, but this right here is exactly why I never dabble in drugs. I never want to lose control of myself or lose my will to live. I’ve experienced both, and I swore to myself it would never happen again. I hate I had to go through such a traumatic experience to toughen me up, but I’d rather experience that than go through this living hell day in, day out.
My eyes dart to the skinny woman in the dirty dress lying on her side on a mattress to my right. Her hands are under her head, and clumps of matted hair cover part of her face, but I still recognize her.
I’m shocked at how much she’s deteriorated since I last saw her four years ago. “Galen. Over here.” I bend down in front of her once beautiful face, and she barely resembles the woman I remember. My eyes lower to the strap tied around her arm and the empty needle still stuck in her vein, and I’m overwhelmed with sadness for her and her son.
Galen hovers over his mom on the other side, pulling plastic gloves from his pocket and handing a pair to me. I watch him gloving up with a heavy ache in my heart. His tormented eyes find mine, and I just want to take away his pain. I put my gloves on as he presses his fingers to her neck, closing his eyes, his shoulders visibly relaxing when he finds a pulse.
“Should we wake her?” I ask, wanting to help but not knowing how.
“We can try.” He shakes her shoulders gently. “Mom. It’s Galen. Wake up.” She arches her back, mumbling in her sleep. “C’mon, Mom. Let’s go home.” She squirms again, but her eyes still don’t open. “This is useless.” He sighs, walking around to me, and I straighten up and step aside to let him by. My heart lodges in my throat, and tears prick my eyes as he gently removes the needle from her vein and unties the strap from her arm. I kick both away, letting them join the myriad of other shit on the floor.
Galen scoops his mom up, cradling her to his chest. I walk toward the door, opening it wide for him to step through.
We don’t talk as we walk back down the stairs, out the front door, and over to the Lexus.
I open the passenger side back door, only noticing the blanket draped across the leather interior for the first time. A couple plastic bags and a couple bottles of water are in the side pocket. Galen moves to put his Mom in, but I hold his elbow, stalling him. “Do you want me to drive so you can sit with her?”
“No, I … Yeah. Would that be okay?”
“Of course. Whatever you need.”
I help them get situated in the back. Alisha is still out cold with her head on Galen’s lap as I drag the second blanket over her thin frame.
“Thanks,” Galen says.
“I need the keys,” I remind him, and he lifts his hips, attempting to extract them from his pocket.
“Let me.” He sits his butt back down, and I dig into his jeans pocket, ignoring how my fingers brush against the side of his cock, fishing out the keys.
Our eyes meet, and a lick of red-hot lust ignites the space between us.
“She might get sick,” he whispers. “I’ll try to keep your car clean.”
I grin. “It’s okay. I’m not Saint.” His lips twitch. “We can clean up later. You take care of your mom.” I lean in, kissing his cheek. “You’re a great son.”
His smile fades. “She wouldn’t be like this if that were true.”
I climb behind the wheel and close the door, wanting to get the fuck out of here. “You’re not responsible for her actions,” I say, as I turn the car around, driving back the way we came. “She’s an adult, and she should’ve been the one taking care of you.”
“I’ve never known anything different.” He brushes matted hair back off her face. “Although it wasn’t quite this bad when Dad and Mya were alive.”
“I’m sorry you lost your dad and your sister. I know how horrible it is to lose someone you love.” A muscle ticks in his jaw, and a familiar hard glaze glints in his eyes. I frown as I look at him through the mirror. “Did I say something wrong?”