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“Then give him the $30,000,” Tristan said indifferently.

“No. As I said, you were under tremendous stress. And those aren’t even my words—they come from Evans. Sure, Frank Chelsea spent a night in the hospital. You’ll probably have to cover those costs, but with the psychological report from Dr. Snider …”

“The what?” At the same moment, he remembered that Dr. Snider had informed him about it. “Oh yeah …”

“You weren’t in a good state,” Carol continued. “I didn’t even realize it, or I would have canceled the release concert—trust me. But it was too last-minute. Evans is now determining who is accountable for the damages from canceling the concert, especially now that we have this medical report.”

“I don’t want such an assessment to—”

“Tris, calm down. Nothing will be made public. And with Dexter Evans, it’s in the best hands, trust me. We only want the best for you. But if you just give Chelsea $30,000 like that, it’s not sending a good signal. Everyone will come afterward and want money from you.”

“I understand,” Tristan muttered. “But what’s wrong with wanting to handle it in a civilized manner?”

“If you want to do good, then donate it if you want. You can do whatever you want with your money. But when it comes to these things, let the lawyers handle it.”

“Okay. I actually thought I came here to sign a settlement or something …”

Carol laughed. “I’m glad you came. You’re also looking better again. On Monday, you were like a ghost on two legs. Are you taking the pills?”

Tristan nodded.

“That’s good. I hope they’re helping.”

Tristan shrugged, finding it hard to confirm.

“Do you want to grab something to eat? There’s a new Japanese restaurant around the corner. Or is there something else you’d like to talk to me about?”

“Yes, but we can discuss it over food. I love Japanese.” Tristan finished his soda and got up from his chair.

35

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Needle

It was already ten o’clock when José drove down the narrow street, wondering why Milo’s Chevelle was missing from its usual spot. But it was a good sign because it meant that Tristan had finally mustered the courage to get behind the wheel and drive somewhere. The only hope was that it wasn’t off a cliff or into a wall.

The next surprise came when the visitor’s parking lot in front of Leaf’s cabin was occupied.

Isn’t that Nathan’s car?

Oh no.

José parked in the next available spot and walked back to the cabin. It was eerily quiet as he climbed down the wooden walkway into the woods next to Nathan’s car. Perhaps it was because there was no wind. Without the rustling of leaves, the forest felt dead. It was also strangely silent on a Friday night—no chatter or music could be heard at all.

José climbed the stairs to the balcony and glanced at the small wooden table. Two empty glasses sat beside a full ashtray.

“Leaf? Are you there?” José asked, pushing open the door, which was only slightly ajar.

A heavy, sour smell hung in the air. José knew what it meant and entered the dimly lit and smoky apartment. The kitchen was piled with dirty dishes, the trash overflowing, and empty bottles littered everywhere—whether beer or hard liquor. In the living room, Nathan was peacefully asleep on the bench by the window, clutching a pillow as he snored. Leaf lay completely passed out on the couch. Motionless. Almost too motionless. José approached him and shook his shoulder.

“Leaf. Wake up.”

But Leaf didn’t stir. In the kitchen, José searched for a glass under all the clutter and filled it with water.

“This is gross! Can’t you see that?” he exclaimed, returning to the living room. He poured the cold water onto Leaf’s face without hesitation. The desired effect didn’t occur, leaving José momentarily paralyzed.

Panic gripped him all of a sudden as he scanned the table, finding only a few burned candles, several narcotics, glasses, bottles, powder, spoons, and a syringe.