The Last Whisper in the Dark: A Novel by Tom Piccirilli

Author:Tom Piccirilli [Piccirilli, Tom]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Tags: Suspense, Thrillers, United States, Psychological, Mystery; Thriller & Suspense, Literature & Fiction, Psychological Thrillers
ISBN: 0345529006
Amazon: B00B0LP5FI
Publisher: Bantam
Published: 2013-07-09T05:00:00+00:00

The fatigue hit me on the drive home. The ass-kicking, adrenaline high, and three days of overmedication had me crashing, almost literally. I was weaving so badly on the LIE that I exited the first chance I got. I took the back streets to the house. I pulled into the driveway and nearly plowed into my father’s car. JFK knew there was something wrong and crawled out from under the porch and followed me inside. I climbed into bed and he lay at the foot of the mattress.

My phone kept ringing. I had it on vibrate which was even more annoying as it danced across my nightstand. I stuck it between the mattress and the box spring. Over the next couple of hours it went off a few more times and I felt the vibrations like the massaging magic fingers of a cheap nooner motel.

Every time the phone went off I was roused from troubled dreams that immediately drew me back down into them. I sweated out the pills. At some point I got up and took another Perc. I listened for Dale’s voice. I saw myself at the top of the Montauk Lighthouse, holding hands with Kimmy on the catwalk deck. It was windy. Her wedding veil passed in front of my eyes. I think we jumped or maybe I pushed her.

When I woke up Collie was sitting in a chair beside the bed, holding an uncapped bottle of beer, watching me sleep.

“Hey,” John said. “Your dad let me in. He told me to just come up.” He proffered the beer. “He really puts them away, doesn’t he? It’s barely … I don’t know … one in the afternoon, and he had a row of empties along the porch rail. He handed me a couple of bottles. I guess he wanted me to give you one.”

I reached for the Percs. I threw another one down dry. I was running out. I had to raid a few more medicine cabinets. The pill got stuck halfway down my throat. I grabbed the beer and took a deep pull. It wasn’t until the bottle was a third of the way empty that I realized it was nonalcoholic.

I wondered if giving John the extra beer was my father’s way of letting me know he was trying to quit drinking. I wondered if I would question every action of his from here on out.

“Those are Percocet, aren’t they? Threw my back out once doing some handheld camera work. You shouldn’t be drinking with them.”

“It’s nonalcoholic, John,” I said. I got up and washed my face, dumped the beer down the sink, combed my hair, and threw on fresh clothes. I had the twenty g’s in a hidden cache behind the toilet tank. I grabbed half of it and stuck the wedge at the small of my back, nestled in my waistband. When I returned, John was looking at the backyard. He’d opened the window a half inch and an icy autumn breeze blew in. I liked the feel of it.

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