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their
problems were largely due to the fact that they had had a child. He thought Sheila was looking for something
different, and had always assumed that was why she’d been cheating on him for
so long. But Sheila having another child tore away at that theory and led to
the realization he didn’t want to deal with. She didn’t want something
different, she just didn’t want him.
    He looked at his
still silent daughter. “And are you okay with it?” he asked.
    She nodded. “Are
you?”
    He let the
question linger before saying he was.
    “You sure?”
    He gave the most
sincere smile he could muster.
    “I couldn’t be
happier for her,” he said. “Couldn’t be happier.”

 
 
 
    CHAPTER TWELVE

 
 
    It was time. And it couldn’t have
come sooner.
    He needed a fix
more than ever. His body and mind felt as if they were falling apart,
disintegrating into a puddle of mud. He wasn’t even sure if he could wait for
the night. The urge to soak in some more was too hard to ignore. But he had to.
It wouldn’t work if he went too soon. So he barricaded himself inside all day,
downing as much Ambien as needed to ward off the urges, and slept almost the
entire day. Something that was becoming all too familiar between hits.
    But the night had
finally come. It was a little before midnight. If he went out now, he’d have
enough stored up for the next day. And it would be needed. If he didn’t have a
bounce-back outing, things would start to fall apart.
    So he dressed in
his usual nondescript gear, the same outfit he always wore—jeans, dark
T-shirt and a baseball cap pulled low on his forehead. The muted outfit enabled
his long, lean frame and unblemished skin to blend in and not draw much
attention. Someone would have to be trying to recognize him to actually
recognize him. And he never gave them that chance. Except maybe the guy in the
alley.
    He opened his car
door and nestled into the seat. He paused as he slipped the key into the
ignition, wondering if it’d be better to take a taxi rather than let his
unsteady hands and reflexes navigate the streets of Manhattan. He took his hand
off the key and held it out in front of him. There was only a small quiver. The
tremors from earlier were almost gone. He took stock of himself. He definitely
felt better than he had most of the day. Maybe because he was so close to
getting a fix. Perhaps the adrenaline pumping through his veins masked the
frayed nerve endings that seemed to be falling apart. Or maybe it was because
the triple dose of Ambien had worn off, or perhaps the caffeine he’d pumped
into his system was taking effect. He didn’t know, but he felt better. Much
better. Definitely good enough to drive.
    He turned the
engine on, backed out of the spot, then made his way downtown, having decided
to hit the Lower East Side again. There was little traffic, so the shot
downtown was quick. He was able to find a spot on Essex Street. Keeping his
head down as he shut the door, he walked down the sidewalk avoiding eye contact
with any passersby. He crossed the street when he came to the end of the block,
taking note of the smokers outside the bars as he continued walking, feeling
his antennas pop, but holding back as he looked for a spot to duck into the
shadows. But while the Lower East Side was great for its bustling young crowds,
its buildings, like pretty much every other area in Manhattan, were packed close
together, the developers having taken advantage of every bit of space they
could get their hands on. He kept walking until he noticed a small recess
covered by some scaffolding that went all the way through, which worked fine
since he’d be able to exit through the other side. He didn’t know what type of
foot traffic he’d get, but figured he’d settle in there for a while to see if
he got any bites. He sat down on a brick ledge about ten feet from where he
entered, his dark clothes covered by shadows, his hat pulled down.
    Watching the
vibrant young walk