ROUGH DRAFT of Loser || WlW

Eighteen

I tap my fingers against the steering wheel as I turn into the parking lot of the nearest liquor store. Zachary asked me to pick up a two-liter of Mountain Dew on my way home from Grace's apartment. He's been going through soda like crazy, guzzling it like his life depends on it. I've heard it's something alcoholics do when they're trying to avoid liquor. Maybe he's trying it for the drug problem.

The lot is empty. I park in the front row and make my way to the glass doors. Something crashes in the alleyway, followed by a loud groan. I stop in my tracks, staring at the space between the liquor store and the little Mexican restaurant, where the light melts into darkness. Another gurgling groan comes from the alley.

"Hello?" I call out. For a second the image of my mother dashing from the darkness races through my head. I shiver.

The sound of objects being shuffled around echoes until the only noise is the shuffling of feet.

I swallow and take a step back, my eyes straining to see through the darkness. "Um, you okay in there?" I call out again. My heart pounds faster as the footsteps shuffle closer. My breath is stuck in my throat as a disgruntled man stumbles from the alleyway and begins to topple over. I jump forward and catch him by the elbow before he hits the ground. "Sir? Are you okay?"

It's not until he lifts his chin to make eye contact with me that I realize I'm steadying Brittany's father.

"Mr. Davis? What are you doing here?" I glance down the alleyway again.

He mutters something but his words are so slurred I can't make out what he's trying to say. The stench of alcohol is potent as if it's seeping from his pores. He holds up a bottle of tequila and motions behind me. "He sent me booze but I hadda piss," he explains motioning back to the alley.

I nod. "Someone sent you to get alcohol?"

He nods once, his mouth ajar as he pulls in a shallow breath. He clicks his key and the lights on his Maserati flash. "It's time I head home."

The words are pushed together and only half coherent but I piece them together and grab his elbow. "I'll give you a ride, Mr. Davis." I give him a gentle nudge toward my dad's car.

Zach's mountain dew can wait. If Mr. Davis drives like this, he'll get himself killed. I can't imagine what that would do to Brittany right now. She's been through enough this month.

Mr. Davis doesn't object, only nods and leans on me as I drag him to the car. He's a big guy, over six feet tall with a healthy gut from his desk job, so it takes over five minutes to get him tucked in the car. I've never seen someone dressed in business professional clothes in that car.

"Let me know if you feel sick," I order, turning the key in the ignition.

He lets out a half grunt and leans his head against the window. I turn the radio so that a 90's rock station is playing in the background. Mr. Davis is snoring by the time I pull into their driveway. I give him a nudge but there's a string of drool hanging from his lip and his eyes are flicking back and forth under his eyelids. I get out of the car and make my way up the long curved driveway to the large wooden door and knock.

The door cracks open for a moment and then all the way.

"Jordan?" Brittany leans up against the doorframe. The light from the porch shines on her face. Her mascara is messy, her eyes red. Even her hair is tousled. She sniffles and dabs at her eyes with the sleeve of her sweater. "What are you doing here?"

"Your dad's in my car." I point over my shoulder. "I can't get him to wake up." As an afterthought, I add, "Are you okay?"

She nods and hugs her sweater closer to her body. She's about to say something when a burly guy in a flannel appears behind her.

"What's taking so long?" he snaps.

"Dad's blacked out in the car by the curb. Can you go get him?" Brittany's eyes are focused on the ground as she crosses her arms over her chest.

The man sighs and pushes past her without responding.

"That's my Uncle Kenny," she explains. "He's..." She lets the sentence hang in the air as she shakes her head. "Thank you for bringing my dad home." She rolls her eyes. "It's like he doesn't care about anything anymore. They would rip him apart if they found out a government official was blacked out drunk in the parking lot of some liquor store."

"Don't worry about it. I don't think anyone else saw him."

Brittany looks at me. "Thank you though. Seriously." She half-smiles.

Uncle Kenny pushes past me with Mr. Davis draped over his shoulders. He disappears in the back for a moment before he comes back and cups his hand around Brittany's shoulder.

She shivers and shrugs his palm off.

"Mind taking me home?" He asks her and then looks at me. "I had a few too many," he explains, making a motion with his hand like he's drinking a beer.

I nod once, force a half-smile.

"I'll grab my purse," Brittany says as she walks away.

Her uncle's eyes linger a moment too long, trailing the length of her body. He looks at me again and then at the floor.

"Ready?" Brittany asks, pushing past both of us.

I try to get her to look at me, but she won't.

Her uncle makes my skin crawl. Maybe it's the way he stares at her, the way his eyes linger in all the wrong spots, or the way Brittany's mascara was smudged under her red-rimmed eyes when I got here. Why was she crying? Maybe I'm jumping to conclusions but instead of thinking about it, I ask, "Could I come with you?"

Brittany's eyes meet mine. Her lips pull into a small smile as she nods.

Her uncle lets out an irritated grunt and moves past us toward the car. "Let's move then."

The ride is silent. It's not until we're at her Uncle's house that he moves around to the driver's side window, leans in, and says, "Will you be home this week?"

Brittany stares at him. "No."

He rolls his eyes and makes his way toward his house. Once he's out of earshot, she says, "Thank you." Her voice waivers as she pulls away from the curb.

I shrug. "I needed to get out of the house for a little while."

Her eyes narrow at me for a moment.

Before she can call me on my lie, I say, "I went to a party the other night."

She raises an eyebrow at me. "Congrats, nerd. First time?"

"I –"

She smirks. "I'm joking."

I laugh once and rub my eyes. "Sorry, I'm not used to," I clear my throat, "this whole thing."

"Having friends?" she asks, turning up the road to her house.

Friends. The word makes me blush. "Yeah, I guess." I shake my head. "I think I have some more information about the night Claire went missing."

Brittany pulls into her driveway, lets out a long sigh, and runs a hand through her hair. "Let's talk about it tomorrow?" She looks at me. "It's been a long day."

I nod. "Okay, sure."

"We need to talk to Mia's mom." The sentence is harmless but I almost choke when she says it.

My mind races back to the printout of the Twitter feed. The single paper that proves I had motive to murder Mia. And now Brittany wants to go talk to her mom.