Page 56 of Five Minute Man
The Covendale Valley Historical Society was trying to take her house away.
* * *
ADAM COULDN’T REMEMBERever feeling so sick, and it wasn’t only because of whatever chemicals were still sloshing around in his system. Even with the rush put on it by his old friend and Chief of Police, Sam Brown, the results of the tox screening analysis would take several days to come back. However, the nurse at the clinic who had drawn his blood had said his symptoms were consistent with the ingestion of some form of benzodiazepines, more commonly known as “date rape” drugs.
That was hard for Adam to accept. He had heard about those kinds of things before, but the news stories usually involved young, naive coeds, not thirty-two-year-old male contractors. According to the nurse, the reality was a lot different than the media-fueled perception.
Benzodiazepines were more prevalent than commonly believed, and went far beyond the Rohypnol, or “roofies,” referenced and sometimes glamorized in Hollywood movies, she had told him. Surprisingly, some of the top names in prescription tranquilizers fell into that category.
While those mainstream drugs had legitimate uses and were often prescribed for things like anxiety or panic attacks, they were used illegally for recreational purposes, as well. When combined with alcohol, it was not uncommon for the user to experience anterograde amnesia—loss of memory while under the influence—dizziness, confusion, lack of coordination, and nausea, which pretty accurately described Adam’s last twenty-four hours to a T.
He was drinking water by the gallon in an attempt to dilute and flush as much of the stuff out of his system as possible. With each passing hour, he was feeling more like himself. In another day or two, his physical malaise would be nothing but an unpleasant memory.
Too bad therealdamage could not be so easily undone.
When Brandon had told him about the pictures, he didn’t want to believe it. He knew Eve had some major issues, but that? It seemed surreal. Yet, he knew by the heavy, leaden feeling in his gut that it was not some horrible nightmare. Those vague images in his head, of things he hadn’t wanted yet hadn’t been able to stop, were all too real.
All it took was a look back in his phone’s message log to see the proof. He had felt like throwing up again when he had seen those. There was nothing like looking at high-pixel, digital images of your half-naked ass engaged in various non-consensual sexual acts with a crazy, obsessed, psycho ex-lover.
As humiliating as it was for him, he couldn’t even imagine how Holly must have felt. If he had seen pictures like that of her, he would have completely lost his shit.
God, she must fucking hate him. And he didn’t blame her. He had been so stupid to think for one minute that Eve would step aside gracefully and let him get on with his life, but never in a million years would he have ever imagined she would go to those lengths.
He should never have agreed to meet with Eve. He should have followed his gut and gone right to Holly’s after work. He might not have been in time to stop her from getting hurt, but he would have been there for her. By her side. Holding her hand. Ensuring the EMTs and doctors were taking good care of her. And then he would have taken her home and watched over her. There would not have been any hurtful texts or photos, and she would have been safe and warm in his arms.
Instead, he was here, trying to flush God knew what out of his system, and Holly probably never wanted to see him again.
What was that saying? Hindsight is 20/20? Looking back now, it seemed all too easy to see the pattern of obsessive, borderline psychotic behavior. It was the stuff of Hollywood thrillers, and he’d had a starring role. Eve Sanderson needed some serious help.
Those mortifying pictures were now in the hands of the Covendale Police Department. Thankfully, his friend had assured him that the images would be kept private, unless absolutely necessary. Hopefully, that wouldn’t happen.
After Adam had spent an hour or two in Sam’s office with the door closed, the police chief had opened up an official criminal investigation. Not only had Eve’s actions been morally reprehensible, but they were illegal.
Adam was confident the blood test would prove the existence of a foreign substance. He didn’t do drugs; never had. There would be statements taken from character witnesses, interviews with his crew to show that he had been stone-cold sober before leaving work. But Sam had told him quite honestly that, while that might make him look good, it didn’t prove he hadn’t ingested the drugs willingly. Recreational drug abuse was not limited to punk teens and street addicts, especially when widely accepted, white collar stress-busters were involved.
He didn’t like it, but that was the least of his worries. He was more concerned about Holly. As the level of Eve’s obsession became increasingly clear, so did Adam’s certainty that the recent series of unfortunate incidents surrounding Holly was not coincidental.
Sam’s expression had grown progressively grim when Adam had expressed his concerns. The chief had been aware of the fire at Holly’s, but the situation had taken on a whole new perspective when Adam had told him that Eve knew about, and was jealous of, his relationship with Holly. Adam had also told his friend about Holly’s flat tires and Max’s sudden unexpected sickness only a few days earlier.
Those were just the things he knew about. Holly wasn’t the type to openly moan and complain when things went wrong. Had there been other things that she might not have mentioned?
Sam’s advice made the situation even worse. “If all this came about because Eve was jealous of your relationship with Holly,” he’d said, “then, for now at least, the best thing you can do is stay away from your girl. Until we can find something that will hold up in court, let Eve think her little plan worked and that Holly wants nothing more to do with you.”
Adam didn’t like it one bit. However, if it was the only way to keep Holly safe, he would do it.
