Neon Nights Chapter 23

A very different Stephanie Summers greeted Marc when he approached her holding cell. She shared the space with a stout Latina woman who pulled off a look that straddled the line between maternal and vicious. The woman sat silently on the top bunk, her legs hanging off the side, a casual demeanor that indicated it wasn't her first time through a place like this. Stephanie's confidence in such a tight space appeared shattered as she lay curled up in a ball on the bottom. Her hair was disheveled and dirty, and a faint whimper came from her bunk.

"Stephanie, this is Detective McKinley. We met yesterday. I need to ask you some questions about your husband."

No response. "Stephanie?"

The woman up top spoke in a cold and measured tone.

"Bitch is scared to death. She can't open her mouth to speak at all. Very irritating quality."

"I can imagine in a roommate."

Stephanie stirred and lifted her head to look at Marc. Her lip was swollen, a reddish purple that looked painful and disgusting. If you added in her black eye from the accident, she would have instant credibility should she ever decide to fight professionally.

Marc looked up at the woman on the top bunk. "Did you try to get her talking or something?"

"That was from her first roommate. She wouldn't shut up, so the girl let her have it. Then they moved her in here with me, and she hasn't said boo."

Marc nodded and asked Stephanie again if she was ready to talk. Stephanie sat up slowly on the bunk and nodded. He motioned to the officer on duty, and she came over to move the woman down the hall.

When they got to the interrogation room, Stephanie slumped into the chair and kept her eyes away from Marc's.

"Rough couple of days, huh?" Marc asked. The woman said nothing.

"Want a Coke or something?"

She nodded, and Marc poked his head out the door to request a Coke from an officer walking down the hall.

"How are you feeling?"

Her fiery personality came back with the flick of a switch. "How do you think I'm feeling?"

Marc shrugged.

"Bad?"

She rolled her eyes and lifted her cuffed hands above the table, shaking the chains for effect.

"Yeah, sorry, getting arrested on a weekend is never good."

The fight left her as fast as it had arrived, and she slunk back into the seat, acutely aware again of her predicament.

"David said something to me about Alec being a fraud. Something to the effect of being able to take down his whole career. What do you know about that?"

The question turned her frown upside down. "Everything."

Marc smacked his forehead in exasperation.

"Why don't people answer me more specifically when I ask a question?"

"He's a naughty boy, my husband," she said. "I got that. Tell me how he's naughty."

Her confidence returned like a rocket, and she slid her chair back and put her feet on the table, a cold and calculating smile working its way across her face.

"I need to be out of this jail now. All charges dropped. Then I'm happy to deliver the dagger to his heart."

Marc knew it was coming and was unsurprised when it arrived, much like the final bill you received from a doctor's visit that contained all the charges your insurance company failed to highlight

you'd be responsible for even when you paid for their "Cadillac Policy."

He put his hands behind his head and scratched at his neck.

"Tell me something first because I'm dying to know. Have you guys ever liked each other, or did you hate each other since day two?"

She cocked her head, confused at the question. "Why day two?"

"Because there has to be a single day that two people get along well enough to end up married, even if all the rest are terrible. Maybe that one day was so special it made all the rest worth the sacrifice."

His answer seemed to satiate her, and she looked at him with the menace gone from her eyes.

"Yes," she said softly.

Marc looked at her. "Yes, what?"

"Yes, we liked each other … a lot. He was like a dream. Larger than life. The pinnacle for a girl in her twenties. Plus, I had a kid, and Alec never seemed to care. He raised Ryan like he was his own. Took him to all the shows, really made him feel like he had a dad, not like his real dad who hit the road a few months in. We were wild, and then the wild became mild over the years. Then it became flavorless, like a company that makes hot sauces and finally has to make one with no spice to satisfy the masses.”

“Why not just divorce? Why did it have to go this far?"

"Spite. We grew to hate each other so much that to give in was to lose.”

It took Marc a second, but he clued in on something she said.

“Wait a minute, was Ryan friends with two kids named Avery Bass and Jameson Yates?” Marc asked.

“Yeah. Ry and I don’t talk much anymore. He kind of sided with Alec through everything and it hurt, you know.”

Marc smiled. “You don’t say.”

A stern woman in a grey uniform greeted Carly when she pulled up to the gate at the Dunes.

"How can I help you?" the woman asked tersely.

"Hi, Tammy. I lived here for years. I saw you almost every day." The woman looked unconvinced and annoyed.

"Do you live here now?" the woman asked. Carly shook her head.

"Um, no. Have I seen you recently?"

"Are you visiting a resident? This is a private community."

Carly looked at her daughter, who was old enough to wrap her head around the insanity often accompanying adult interactions.

"Kyle Lane."

The woman looked at her up and down. "License, please."

Carly grew exasperated and removed her license, conspicuously flashing her badge in the process.

The woman seemed to miss the subtlety of the gesture.

After two minutes, she handed Carly's license back and opened the gate without another word.

When they pulled away, April called out the obvious. "She wasn't very nice, was she mommy?"

Carly smirked at her daughter. "No, she wasn't, honey."

"I don't like coming here," the little girl said, a slight tremble quaking in her voice. "I don't want to be nice to the crown lady."

Carly pulled into the aquatic center parking lot and looked at her daughter.

"It's okay, sweetie. We don't know the crown lady, and we should start calling her by her name, right? It wouldn't be nice for someone to call us something that might be hurtful to us."

April nodded.

"Just because your dad and I don't always get along doesn't mean he doesn't love you a ton. Who knows? You and Tiara might have fun. Maybe you’ll find out there’s something you like to do together. Try to have an open mind, okay?"

The little girl nodded and wiped away another tear threatening to escape her eye. Carly reached over and gave her a big hug and a kiss on her forehead, which inspired the girl to sit straighter in the seat.

They pulled up to the circular driveway in front of the house that had been her home for so many years.

The Bermuda grass was littered with white balloons, streamers, and a towering "yard card" that called out the special occasion. The obnoxiously giant wedding ring symbols on corrugated plastic begged the entire neighborhood for acknowledgment of the special day.

No simple courthouse ceremony for these two.

Tiara walked out of the house and waved at them. She wore a thigh- length white dress with spaghetti straps, heels, and diamonds that glistened in the afternoon sun off her wrist, neck, and ears. There wasn’t an ounce of fat to be easily discovered. Carly opted to stay in the car as the woman approached the passenger side window.

"Hi, April, so happy you could come!" the woman said, a cheerful authenticity resonating in her words.

Tiara looked through the window at Carly and clasped her hands over her heart.

"This means a lot to me, thank you," Tiara said.

Carly mumbled a "you're welcome," then kissed and squeezed her daughter's hand with more force than needed, as much for her comfort as her daughter's.

Tiara opened the door for April and helped her with her backpack. Carly put the car in gear, and they waved at her. As she started to roll out of the driveway, she caught a glimpse of her ex-husband leaning casually against the front door in a white Tommy Bahama shirt and khaki shorts, flashing her a shit-eating grin and miming a sarcastic salute that would make any Armed Forces personnel want to break his fingers.

Marc climbed the steps of his porch and heard claws grating across wood floors on the other side of the door. When his key reached the second lock, the noise became more intense, and the hammer-like tail slammed into the door so fast it would make a drummer envious. Marc knew the game and moved himself to the side of the door so as not to have his legs taken out by the missile when it was released from the launch site.

Clark exploded onto the porch, and the dilemma on his face was clear as soon as the barrier was removed—say hello to the human or pee.

After two seconds of frantic circles and indecision, his tongue swirling wildly with excitement, nature's calling won out, and he scampered down the steps so fast to relieve himself in the front bush that he nearly went head over heels.

Marc walked down the steps and hunched down to hug the dog, which landed him on his butt on the bottom step as Clark barreled into him.

"No more late nights soon, buddy. Just me and you living the dream."

His phone dinged, interrupting the moment, some Silicon Valley hotshot's idea to create an eternal Pavlovian response in the human race.

That person probably got a promotion, while humanity got a demotion.

"And I will throw this phone in the ocean on the last day." Bonnie: Are you home? I need to talk to you.

Marc sighed and thought about his response.

Marc: Just got here. Headed back out in a few hours. Come on by. Do you have a referee?

Bonnie: I'll see you in 15. None needed … this time.

With so little time before Doomsday, Marc decided to head down to his sanctuary, a three-bay garage his father helped him build in the backyard. In it sat Marc's toys: a 1972 El Camino he was restoring in one bay, an Africa Twin Adventure Motorcycle in the second, and everything water-oriented in the third—neatly arranged surfboards, paddle boards, kayaks, kites, and his newest obsession, a foil board and wing.

No sooner had he pulled his tools together to work on the car than he heard a set of tires pull onto the gravel driveway. Walking out of the shed, he strolled up the yard with Clark in tow.

Bonnie was sitting on the porch swing when he came around the corner of the house, rocking gently on the old gray wooden seat.

"You're early."

"I sped to get here," Bonnie said. "You know I'm a cop, right?"

A tear fell down her cheeks, but she managed to chuckle through it. "You okay?" Marc asked.

She shook her head.

"Not really. Logan is having a terrible time with Kerry's death." Marc looked out over the front yard and sighed.

"What can I do for him? Name it, anything." Bonnie stared out across the yard.

"I don't know. He's a mess right now."

"Should I take him to do something? Fish, surf?"

"Maybe. I know he needs someone other than George and me. It's easy to push your parents away when they are trying to help. Not so much the cool uncle."

When she finished the thought, her eyes watered again.

A mother always struggled when she couldn't fix her child's pain. "Can I get you a coffee?" he asked.

"Yeah, that would be great, thanks."

Clark ran past, unaware of the gravity of the situation but helping to lighten Bonnie's load by pressing himself up against her legs and

making himself available for a scratch on his stomach. She obliged, and for a moment, her face lightened.

Marc handed her a cup of coffee, and Bonnie nodded a thank you.

"She was such a big part of our life for so many years. She felt like my daughter. I don't know how she could do something so stupid!"

The tears went from a trickle to a deluge, and she wiped her eyes with her shirtsleeve, trying to stem the tide.

Even with all the hurts that family could cause one another, and the two of them had done more than their share, there was something in his soul that felt a shared pain when his sibling was hurting. This was the same woman who read him bedtime stories when he was scared, taught him to swim, drove him to his first high school dance, and bought him his first beer.

He wanted to right this horrible wrong for Bonnie, Logan, Jack and Anna Baker, and anyone who had been given the gift of a few minutes in this remarkable young woman's presence.

Marc wanted to fix it … and he would fix it.