Detective Jack Stratton Box Set Read online

When Jack turned the corner of the building, his eyes widened. Replacement was leaning seductively against his old car, posing like a hostess on a game show showing off the prize. Jack rubbed the back of his neck. Her posture was doing more to show off her features than the car’s.

  Jack inhaled deeply. He and Replacement had been raised in the same foster home, but years apart. Jack had moved out long before Replacement arrived at Aunt Haddie’s. Back in the days when Jack would go visit Aunt Haddie and his best friend, Chandler, Replacement would follow him around like a lovesick puppy. She had a crush on him then, and clearly she still did now.

  All that could have made sharing an apartment a dicey proposition. But it was easier than Jack had thought it would be. They got along well. Really well.

  “And the winner of the Locate Your Own Car Contest is . . . Jack Stratton!” Replacement tossed her hands over her head and clapped.

  “That’s the prize?” he said drily. “I won my own car?” She just smiled.

  As he walked forward, he scanned the back alley.

  Clear.

  His years in the army and as a police officer had changed him. Now something as mundane as walking into a new area generated instinctive responses. He could no longer simply go somewhere; he was always on patrol.

  Head on a swivel. Look for anything out of place. Identify possible threats. Drive yourself crazy.

  “Not only did you win the car, but you also get the company of the beautiful hostess.”

  “Great,” he grumbled. “Now get in.” The corner of his mouth curled up, but he tried to hide his smile.

  Replacement ran around, slid into the passenger seat, and flashed Jack her biggest grin. As he looked at her still-bruised face, he realized how tough she was. The last traces of black-and-blue from her black eye were fading. There was still the slightest yellowish discoloration along her jawline, but that would disappear in another week or so. She was a lot tougher than she looked.

  He smiled back at her and then checked his own reflection in the rearview mirror. The last month hadn’t been kind to him, either. He looked rough. He was glad to get away and try to forget what both of them had just been through. He let the engine warm up for a few seconds, and then slid the seat back to accommodate his large frame. The Impala purred deeply. He gave her a little gas and then backed out.

  They rode along in silence until they pulled onto the highway. He liked that about Replacement. She loved to talk, but unlike most girls, she didn’t think it was the end of the world if he asked her to be quiet.

  However, today the silence felt off. And Jack knew why: she was devising a way to ask him for the umpteenth time whether he really wanted to go through with this.

  I don’t want to go. It’s the last place I want to go. I don’t want to see her.

  That was another change in his life. Before, his anger and bitterness had kept his mother out of his thoughts. Now he was dreaming about her every night. It had been almost twenty years since he last saw her, but lately she had haunted him. Long blond hair, clear blue eyes—she was beautiful and, in his mind, unchanged by time. But he wondered what she looked like now. He pressed on the gas.

  “Did you get any sleep last night?” Replacement asked.

  “Some. Maybe an hour. Sleep deprivation. Isn’t that how they torture people?”

  Replacement’s voice was slightly higher than normal. “I could drive. You can sleep on the way.”

  “I’m good.”

  “We can always stop overnight someplace or something.” Her voice rose nervously.

  “Seriously, I’m fine.” He looked over at her and noticed the trees whizzing by outside her window. He looked down at the speedometer.

  Ninety-five miles per hour. Yeah . . . I’m fine. He took his foot off the gas.

  Replacement let go of her death grip on the door handle. “Okay, let me know if you want me to drive.” She made the offer with a strained smile.

  The awkward silence took over once again—the kind of uncomfortable void where both people want to talk, but neither one knows what to say or where to begin. It was the kind of quiet Jack hated, but the only way to stop it was for him to talk about where they were going, and right now that option seemed even less desirable.

  Replacement folded her hands in her lap. “We’ll just go out there and see what happens. It’ll be okay.” She gave a quick nod of her head.

  “Okay. Really? We’re going to a mental hospital to see my birth mother.” His lead foot kicked in again, which he only realized when cars started swerving to get out of his way.

  Replacement frowned, pulled her legs up in front of her, and put her chin on her knees. “What should I call her?” Her nose crinkled and she tilted her head. “Patricia? Ms. Cole? Patty?”

  Jack shook his head. “I don’t know. I don’t even know what I’m going to call her, let alone what you should.” He tried to slow down. “I can’t call her . . .”

  “Mom?” Replacement lifted her head off her legs. “Why not?”

  “Because she threw that title away.”

  Jack heard the wind between the Impala and the guardrail streaking by again. He looked down at the speedometer. Ninety-eight. Damn. He took his foot off the gas again and moved into the slow lane.

  “I don’t have any clue what I’m going to say to her,” he said. “I haven’t seen her since I was seven. Besides, the doctor said she’s not all there. She was a hooker and a drug addict for twenty years. That had to have taken a toll on her. I suppose I should feel pity or something . . . but I don’t.” Jack cracked his knuckles. “You’re not supposed to hate your mother. And when I was a kid, I didn’t know enough to hate her. I thought all that crazy stuff was normal.”

  He looked straight ahead; he didn’t want to see Replacement’s expression, especially if it was pity. “It wasn’t until I was adopted that I got to see how a mother was supposed to act. And the more I learned what a mom should be, the more I realized how bad mine was. That’s when the hate started. The more love my new mom showed me, the more I hated Patty.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  Jack leaned back in his seat, one hand on the wheel and the other resting on top of the seat back. Occasionally he had to force himself to slow down and back off the bumper of the rare car that didn’t get out of his way. They were silent for a long time. Jack hoped Replacement would fall asleep, but she didn’t. She kept glancing over at him, looking fidgety.

  “Can I ask you something?” she asked at last. She sounded uncharacteristically timid.

  “About what?”

  “You growing up. What do you remember about your mom?”

  Jack shuddered. “Sometimes I wish I could forget. Nothing good.”

  “Nothing? Not even one nice memory?”

  Jack forced himself to focus on the road. “I think I blocked out those times. At least that’s what a couple of shrinks told me. They asked me the same question. There had to be something good, right? I remember slaps. I remember screaming.” Jack exhaled. “The weird thing, though . . . those parts weren’t the worst. She was actually paying attention to me then, so it wasn’t so bad.” He looked over at Replacement. “Screwed up, huh?”

  Replacement shook her head.

  Jack rolled down his window to let the air sting him in the face. He leaned his head out and inhaled. Then he straightened back up. “We lived in a bunch of places; they were all dumps. There were times when she would have a ‘party’ with a man, and she’d have to find someplace for me to go. She used to work out a deal with the landlord. I would end up stuck in the janitor’s closet. It sucked. It was like getting solitary confinement, but I was four, five, and I didn’t know any better. It was worse when I was all alone—when I didn’t know if she was coming back or . . .”

  Jack arched his back and flexed his hand. His chest muscles tightened as he thought of the memory.

  Replacement’s lips pressed together. She shook her head. “I never realized how messed up you had it.”

 
“Thanks.”

  Replacement settled back into her seat and put her feet on the dash.

  After another few miles, Jack clicked his tongue.

  “What?” Replacement asked.

  “I just thought of something. I wonder if I can find out my real name.”

  “I tried to find it online. You’re just listed as ‘boy.’”

  “Yeah.” Jack’s eyes followed the lines in the road. “It’s crazy to think about it. How can anyone not know his own first name? But she only ever called me kid or brat or moron, usually with swears attached to the front and back. She probably forgot it herself because of all the drugs.”

  “You named yourself?”

  Jack nodded.

  “Why did you pick Jack?” Replacement asked. She tried to smile, but Jack could see his hurt reflected in her eyes.

  “It was the last thing she said to me: ‘You don’t know jack, kid.’ To me it meant—nothing. You know the expression, ‘you don’t know jack’? It means you don’t know anything. And that’s what I was. Nothing. Jack.”

  Replacement inhaled, but she didn’t turn away. She blinked a couple of times, and a tear hung off her lashes. “You’re not nothing,” she whispered.

  “Thanks. I gave myself my middle name, too.”

  “Aunt Haddie is very proud that you picked Alton to honor her husband.”

  “Well, she was the best foster mother in the world.” Jack gripped the steering wheel with one hand, looked over at her, and decided to lighten things up. “She did okay with you, too.”

  “Oh, yeah? I was the pick of the litter.” Replacement made a goofy face.

  Jack searched Replacement’s eyes. Aunt Haddie had told him that Replacement had had it even harder than him growing up. He shuddered at that thought. He tried to drive the list of What Could Be Worse out of his head.

  “What about your father?” Replacement asked.

  Jack laughed darkly. “Whoever got Patty pregnant is about as much a father to me as that sign.” He tipped his head to the speed limit sign, which shook as they shot past it. “She never mentioned him. I doubt she knew who he was, and I never cared.”

  Replacement swallowed and turned her head toward her window.

  Jack slowly burned. He didn’t like lying to Replacement, but he didn’t want to admit the truth even to himself. And the truth was, he thought of his father every day. The older he got, the more he wondered about him.

  The miles went slowly by. Jack rolled the window three quarters of the way up. As he listened to the car’s tires echo against the guardrail, he frowned at the junk that had collected on the side of the road: bags, old tires, a baseball hat. The hat bothered him. Did it just blow off someone’s head, or was it tossed aside? What am I, then? Could she not hold on to me, or did she throw me out?

  The guardrail ended, and Jack stared at the road.

  Either way, it’s trash now. Just like me.

  Jack felt the familiar burn of shame in his chest. His lips pressed together, and his throat tightened.

  Why do I keep thinking about her? It was so long ago, but I can’t get what happened out of my head. I know I shouldn’t let any of that junk define me, but I still do. I’m driving in circles, caught in some loop that I can’t break out of. I want to know why she abandoned me.

  But some things, I guess, I’ll never know.

  2

  Thanks for Scaring Me

  They turned off the highway, and Jack flexed his hands. They hurt. He must have had a death grip on the steering wheel. The off-ramp led to the commercial section of the cute little postcard town they’d just passed. Homes with manicured lawns gave way to auto shops and supply companies. He slowed down as they drove past an empty shipping facility and turned onto a long, curving driveway.

  The mental hospital wasn’t anything like Jack expected. He had been anticipating something like a prison, but this place looked more like a school. Three stories tall, the brick building was set far back from the road, and the grounds were surrounded by a tall metal fence.

  Well, that part’s like a prison, Jack thought.

  Jack stopped at the guard station. An older guard examined his license, then pressed a button that raised the bar blocking the road.

  As Jack drove through the gates, he felt the low burn of adrenaline kick in. Warily, just like when he was in Iraq, his eyes scanned the road. Uneasiness washed over him as the building drew closer, and his breathing sped up to catch his racing heartbeat. Somewhere in that building was the woman who held the answers to questions he had waited a lifetime to ask.

  He thought about asking Replacement whether she wanted to wait in the car, but she hopped out before he’d even turned the engine off. His heart pounded as if he were sprinting, and he could feel sweat on his back, so he left his jacket in the car. The brisk air did little to ease his anxiety.

  “Every place has lepers,” Jack muttered as they walked toward the building’s granite front steps. “They used to round them all up and put them in leper colonies.”

  “That Bible story freaked me out.” Replacement shuddered. “Aunt Haddie read it to me once, and I didn’t sleep.”

  “When she read it to me I got ticked off.”

  “Why?”

  “Jesus healed ten lepers, but only one came back and thanked him. One? Not a good return on his investment.”

  “I don’t think He did it for that.”

  Jack shrugged.

  “But you know, I bet that one leper really appreciated it.”

  “Good point.”

  As they neared the front doors, Jack leaned in toward Replacement and spoke as if he were instructing a squad of soldiers. “Listen. Don’t talk. Stay next to me. And don’t get too close to anyone. Got it?”

  “Keep your hands and feet inside the vehicle at all times.” She flashed a huge smile.

  “Seriously. These people can be dangerous.”

  “They could also be nice and just need some help.” She turned her hands out. “You told me yourself that everyone’s a little crazy.”

  “This is a different type of crazy,” Jack whispered. “There’s the life-has-beat-me-down-and-I-have-a-problem-and-need-some-help type of mental illness. I feel bad for them. Besides, half the time I think I’m one of them. But there’s also the Batman-Joker type of crazy. And that type of crazy will kill you.”

  “Thanks for scaring me.”

  Jack held open one of the doors, and they stepped into a reception area at the intersection of two linoleum-tiled hallways. After speaking with three different nurses, filling out two separate forms, and showing their IDs four times, they were escorted upstairs to the third floor.

  They walked down a long hallway. On the left side, windows covered in mesh and bars overlooked the parking lot. On the right side, big safety windows looked in on a common room. Jack watched the men and women behind the glass. Some sat on couches, watching TV, or at tables that were scattered around the room. No one seemed to talk to anyone else. A few people were talking in the corner, but they appeared to be talking to themselves.

  Twenty-two people and six orderlies. One exit. Key card access. Guard nearest the door has a card. Jack clenched his fist and forced himself to keep moving. Think about what you’re going to say to her, stupid, not how you’d escape if you were in here.

  On the way up, Jack had noted that on the first floor, they had nurses; on the second floor, orderlies; and on this floor, giant male orderlies. Factor in the mesh and bars on the windows, and it was clear that this was the floor for patients who weren’t too stable.

  They passed through a heavy steel door. The man at the door was over six feet and weighed at least two hundred sixty pounds. He stood with his hands at his sides and smiled politely, but Jack saw his hard eyes, and knew that his main role was as a guard.

  A weary-looking man dressed in khaki pants and a white shirt headed their way. He looked to be in his thirties and was just slightly shorter than Jack. His collar was open, and he wore his bl
ue tie loosely fastened around his neck. His worn-out appearance accented his worn-down expression.

  “You’re here to see Patricia?” He shook both their hands. “I’m Dr. Vincent Jamison.”

  Jack nodded. “Thank you for letting me see her.”

  “As I explained on the phone, Patricia has led a hard life. Unfortunately, that’s taken a severe toll on her, both physically and mentally. She may not even recall you.”

  “I didn’t think she’d recognize me.”

  The doctor cleared his throat. “I mean . . . she may not recall she even had a child. Her dementia is very similar to advanced Alzheimer’s. She’s gone weeks without even saying a word.” Replacement’s expression saddened, and the doctor looked over at her compassionately. “There have been a few times when she was quite lucid, too.”

  She’s not going to have a clue who I am, Jack thought.

  “We’ll go in first,” Dr. Jamison explained, “and then I’ll have Patricia brought in.”

  Jack wiped his hands on his thighs. His mouth was dry, and his throat was tight. Why do I need to do this? It’s only going to hurt me more. Why open myself up again?

  The doctor held open the door to a small room furnished with only a table and four chairs, two on each side. There was a door on the other side of the room, and Jack couldn’t take his eyes off it.

  “Please, sit down.”

  Jack and Replacement sat down as Jamison walked over to the other door. Jack’s metal chair scraped across the floor, sending an involuntary shudder through his body. Cold sweat trickled down his back. He wiped his hands on the front of his pants, but he never took his eyes off the far door. The doctor opened it and spoke to someone, but Jack couldn’t make out what was said. Then Jamison stepped aside, and an old woman in a plain blue dress walked in.

  Jack stood up. There had been some mistake. His mother had long blond hair, not short gray hair, thin and wispy. Patty was tall and fit, not frail and bony like this woman.

  Jack cleared his throat as she hesitantly approached. “There must have been a mix-up—” The old woman raised her head, and Jack saw those familiar blue eyes.