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2
Tate stares at thephone on the couch and wills it to stop ringing. He closes his eyes and drops his head against the back of the couch when it does just that. But then it starts again. He curses and grabs it off the seat. ‘What?’
‘Where the fuck have you been? I’ve been ringing you for ages.’
Tate winces at Gregg’s shrill voice in his ear. ‘I was asleep until you woke me up.’
‘Are you drunk?’
He looks at the empty twelve pack of beer on the coffee table in front of him. ‘No. Just tired.’
Gregg snorts. ‘Is that so? Cause it sounds like you’re fucked. It’s only ten in the morning.’
‘I’m not drunk. Did you just call to get on my case or do you want something?’
‘Charming. I was calling to see if you want to grab a burger later.’
He rests his feet on the table, wincing as he accidentally knocks over a bottle which takes out all the others like dominos. ‘Fuck.’
‘What’s wrong?’
‘Nothing. Just dropped a glass. Listen, I’m just going to crash. I’ll catch you another time.’
Gregg snorts. ‘Yeah right. That’s the third time you’ve blown me off this week. What’s going on? You were a grumpy bastard over Christmas then just upped and left. Shane’s kids barely got to spend any time with you. They haven’t seen you for six months. Do you not think you could have maybe spent more than a pathetic two days with them?’
Tate peers into the bottle in his hand and tosses it on the couch beside him. ‘You done?’
‘Don’t be a dick, Tate. What’s crawled up your ass?’
‘I’ve been with you every single fucking minute of the day for weeks. I need space.’
‘Fine. I hear you loud and clear.’ Gregg ends the call. Tate stares at the phone then dumps it on the couch beside him.
Everything Gregg said adds to the impressive load of guilt he’s already buried under. He decided to leave his parents place and come home when he’d shouted at his four-year-old niece. It wasn’t her fault. She was excited to spend time with him after so long and hadn’t given him a moment to himself the whole day. When she asked him to read her a story, refusing to take no for an answer, he’d snapped. She’d run off in tears to Shane and he’d felt like a complete bastard.
He’d apologised to her and she’d quickly forgiven him... well, as much as a four-year-old can, but he didn’t want a repeat. If either of his nieces were nervous around him or didn’t trust him, he’d never forgive himself.
He doesn’t even remember what excuse he used to explain why he needed to leave. Work was his usual go-to excuse. Whatever he’d said had done the trick and less than an hour after shouting at Tilly, he’d packed his bags and left.
Since that fucking photo arrived, he’s seeing things he knows must be memories, but they’re so unfamiliar he doesn’t know how to deal with them. The nightmares started the next day and with them came the end of any sleep. Every time he closes his eyes he sees the woman from the photo. He can’t make sense of the nightmares. They’re just flashes of images like snippets from a horror film – complete with lots of screaming and lots of blood.
He knows he should talk to his adopted parents about this, but he can’t. He’s given them enough headaches over the years without adding this to it. They’ve always been cautious about the attention his career choice brings with it. If they thought a fucked-up fan had not only sent him something like that, but hand delivered it to their house, they’d freak out. It’s not the first time he’s got something less than complimentary sent to him and it wouldn’t be the last. It is the first time it’s contained personal shit though.
