Looking In Read online

  Copyright 2017

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used factiously, and any resemblance to actual person, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Cover art provided by Jay Aheer of Simply Defined Art – www.jayscoversbydesign.com

  Editing provided by Pam Ebler of Undivided Editing – www.undividedediting.com

  Proofreading provided by Judy Zweifel of Judy’s Proofreading – www.judysproofreading.com

  Interior Design and Formatting provided by Stacey Blake of Champagne Book Design – www.champagnebookdesign.com

  All rights reserved. This book is licensed to the original publisher only.

  This book contains sexually explicit material and is only intended for adult readers.

  Copyright and trademark acknowledgements

  The author acknowledges the copyright and trademarked status and trademark owners of the following trademarks and copyrights mentioned in this work of fiction.

  Silver Surfer

  Spider-Man

  Superman

  Uber

  Mancy’s

  American Cancer Society

  Pringles

  Burger King

  This book contains scenes of abuse and self-harm

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgements

  About the Author

  To Rod

  The one who saw below the scars, and stood by me anyway.

  You are my Adam.

  “MOTHER FUCK!” I CURSED at my GPS for the umpteenth time. Stupid thing had to be on the fritz. No way in hell was it possible that the store my brother recommended was in this sketchy-ass neighborhood. I hated this side of Toledo. The buildings all looked old and run-down, burned out husks and boarded-up houses lined the streets. The buildings that were supposed to house businesses stood predominately empty. It reminded me of Afghanistan, and I hated it.

  “Just look for the giant Silver Surfer on the front of the building,” my brother, Ryan, had said.

  “What the fuck is a ‘Silver Surfer’?”

  Ryan had laughed. “Trust me, you’ll know it when you see it.”

  Ryan promised me that it was the best shop in town to find what I was looking for. While I doubted it, based on its location, it was that very location that made it so convenient, given its proximity to the hospital.

  I had driven up and down Sylvania Avenue multiple times and saw absolutely nothing that I would even remotely consider to be the “Silver Surfer” thing.

  Pulling into a gas station, I pulled my phone from the side pocket of my cargo shorts, and made sure all of the doors to the truck were locked. I glanced through the window to make sure I wasn’t being watched. After almost fifteen years in the military, and over half of those in a war zone, you develop some habits that become so ingrained they become second nature. This wasn’t exactly the best area of town, either, which didn’t help.

  I pulled up my internet app and typed in “Silver Surfer.” Images began populating my screen a second later. Sure as shit, there was a silver dude on a silver surfboard, flying through…space? What the fuck? Was someone high? Had to be. No one other than a pothead could have come up with something as psychedelic as that. It had to be a colossal joke. But at least I knew what I was looking for.

  I pulled up the name of the shop in the browser and double-checked the address with what was plugged into my GPS and found that the last two digits were flipped. Pulling the piece of paper from the same pocket that had held my phone before, I compared the address on the phone to the one on the paper. Yep, leave it to Ryan to fuck this up. But, given the circumstances, I really couldn’t blame my brother. A lot was going on, all at once, and the last thing Ryan needed to worry about was giving me a bad address.

  I entered the new address into my GPS and slid back out into traffic.

  Less than five minutes later, I found it. Big, old, two-story building with the giant silver flying guy dead center over the doors of the shop. To the left of the comic shop was a coffee shop with no name over the door, only a giant cup with a chip taken out of it. To the right, a small used bookstore, the sign over the door reading Beatrice’s Books. The front of the shop was painted blue, with a giant Superman painted into the window on the left side of the door, and a giant Spider-Man painted into the window on the right side of the door. Now, those two characters I recognized. Why hadn’t Ryan told me to look for them instead of the silver bozo?

  With no obvious parking on the street, I pulled around to the back of the building and found a parking lot meant to accommodate all three shops.

  I pocketed my cell, climbed out of my truck, and set my alarm. Throwing up a silent prayer that my truck would still be there when I returned, or at least be in one piece, I walked around to the front of the building.

  I seriously did not expect to find what I did when I walked into the store. While the shop wasn’t wide, it was incredibly deep. The front of the store had a cash register on the right on top of an L-shaped glass case. On the left were games of every variety. The perky girl with pink hair and a nose ring asked, “Help find you something?”

  I knew I must have looked lost. “Not sure yet.”

  Shelves lined the walls on either side of the store, floor to ceiling, with books neatly arranged. Over these shelves were signs that read, “Trade Paperbacks,” “Avengers,” “Captain America,” “Fantastic Four,” “Justice League,” “Spider-Man,” “Teen Titans,” “X-Men.” Some of the names I recognized, some I did not. Multiple free-standing shelving units stood in the middle of the sales floor. Each one contained a multitude of individual comic issues. Bizarre, Japanese inspired stuffed toys and model space ships hung from the ceiling.

  It all reminded me of Ryan’s room when we were kids, but on a much, much larger scale. It was no wonder that this had been the store my brother had suggested. Ryan and Lucas had to be in nerd-heaven every time they walked into the place.

  I wandered a bit, simply perusing. I wasn’t sure what I was looking for, simply hoped that it would jump out at me if I ran across whatever it was. That’s the way I normally shopped for gifts. Never with a list, just a basic general idea of what I was looking for.

  As I wandered, I found a wide staircase leading to a lower level. Taking it, I found tables upon tables, neatly set side by side with white boxes. Inside these boxes were more individual comics, but, unlike those on the first floor, each of these had been slid into plastic sleeves which were taped closed.

  I remembered this look from Ryan’s collecting days. Back issues, some, from the looks of them, dating back decades. Briefly, I wondered if any of these boxes held the same issues my brother had owned.

  At the back of the lower level was another door with a sign hanging from it that said, “Game Room.” Curious, I opened the door. Inside were more table
s with chairs. Six heads turned simultaneously, which kind of creeped me the fuck out. Four men and two women were playing a game of cards, but not with any kind of deck I’d ever seen. They had creepy drawings on them of dragons, vampires, and elves. Were they casting some sort of evil spell? I chuckled at my own humor and left the room.

  I could literally spend hours in this store. Hours I did not have.

  Heading back up the stairs, I wandered back over the walls, and started scanning the names of the books on the spines as I slowly walked. I was so wrapped up in what I was doing that I literally ran into another guy.

  Turning to the guy I’d run into, I said, “Sorry, didn’t see you there. Wasn’t paying attention.”

  The guy was standing next to a stack of books that came up to his knees. He reached down and grabbed one, sliding it onto the shelf, presumably right where it belonged. “S’okay, it happens. Totally my fault. I should have been looking.”

  I gave him a quick once-over. The guy was younger than I was, probably by a good five years. Slightly disheveled brown hair, long-sleeved shirt hiding thin arms. Long sleeves in August? Really? A lanyard hung from the guy’s neck with a name card inside. Slightly baggy belted jeans, but not so baggy that they hung below the guys ass cheeks, which seemed to be so in style those days. Striking, crystal-blue eyes captured my attention, and I was immediately hit with the strangest sense. Almost like déjà vu, but I knew I’d never met the guy in my life.

  “You work here?” I asked, then immediately felt like a jackass. Duh! The guy’s wearing a name tag.

  “Yeah,” Name Tag guy said, “looking for something?”

  “Yes, but not sure what.”

  Name Tag guy quirked his mouth. “Who’s it for? Son, daughter?”

  “No, nephew.”

  He seemed to like that answer, and I wasn’t sure why. “Gotchya. How old?” he asked

  “Thirteen.”

  For the briefest of moments, darkness passed through Name Tag guy’s eyes, almost imperceptible, like a flicker of a memory, and gone an instant later.

  “Thirteen,” Name Tag guy repeated. “Who’s his favorite superhero?”

  I mulled it over for a moment, and shrugged my shoulders. “No idea,” I admitted.

  I felt awful. I should know this. I knew my brother’s. Superman posters hung on every wall of his room when we were kids. Superman action figures stood on every bookshelf. He had a Superman lunchbox and backpack, for Christ’s sake.

  But I knew next to nothing about my brother’s son. In that moment, I resolved to change that.

  “Hold on, let me text my brother.” Pulling my phone free from my side pocket, I fired off a text to Ryan.

  -Who’s Lucas’s favorite s-hero?

  The response was almost immediate. Ryan must have had the phone in hand when he got the message. Probably reading on his phone or playing a game, I guessed.

  -Spider-Man. came his response.

  -Gotchya. TY. How’s he doing?

  -OK, for now.

  -Ok. Hang tight. B there soon.

  Turning back to Name Tag guy, I said, “Spider-Man.”

  “I know exactly what he needs. Follow me.”

  I followed the guy to the other side of the store. The guy moved with an easy grace, almost like a bird in flight. We reached the other side of the store and stood in front of a bookshelf labeled “Spider-Man.” And, of course, a giant Spider-Man was hanging from the ceiling as well.

  Observant, aren’t I?

  “I assume you probably don’t know what he might already have.” This was not a question, but a statement. Name Tag guy obviously picked up on the fact that I didn’t know my nephew very well.

  I’m a massive shit.

  Name Tag guy scanned the bookshelf for a moment, finger tapping his chin, obviously knowing exactly what he was looking for. Finding it, he slid the book from the shelf and handed it to me.

  “Essential Spider-Man number one. There’s a whole series of them.”

  I took the book and looked it over. It was thick, which I liked. That meant Lucas would have something to occupy a lot of his time for however long he was laid up in the hosp—

  No, don’t think about it. Don’t think about how long he may be there. Think about him getting to go home.

  “What’s so special about this?” I asked.

  His face lit up the moment I asked the question, like how I assume a teacher’s face would when the worst student in class asked the best possible question. His blue eyes sparkled and his cheeks pinkened, clearly happy to give me whatever knowledge he had. “These books reprint Spider-Man stories in chronological order, right from his first appearance. The only downside is that they’re not in color. But I would lay odds that your nephew doesn’t have Amazing Fantasy number fifteen.”

  I couldn’t help but be impressed. Sure, it was only comics, but he had a passion in his words that was almost mesmerizing, like it was the most important book in the store and I absolutely had to have it. He was either a fantastic salesman or he really knew his shit. Strangely enough, I wanted it to be the latter. The thought of him simply trying to sell me something for pure profit bothered me, and I couldn’t quite peg why.

  “And that would be…?”

  Name Tag guy rolled his eyes, like I should just know the significance, and grinned, that light never receding. “The first appearance of Spider-Man.”

  I caught a silent Duh! from him, and inwardly chuckled. He reminded me of Ryan when he was collecting, and how excited he would get for the new issue of whatever comic was his favorite. “Plus, it reprints Amazing Spider-Man numbers one through twenty.”

  “And that’s a good thing? I mean, were there other number ones? This is the absolute beginning? You’re sure?” I teased.

  He rolled his eyes at me, obviously picking up on the fact that I was teasing him. The moment that I knew that he knew I was teasing him, I felt like an ass. I remember how awful Ryan would feel after being picked on at school. And there I was, doing the same damn thing.

  “So, is it safe to assume that Spider-Man’s your favorite?”

  He ducked his head sheepishly, the pink in his cheeks rising to cover his ears, effectively changing his demeanor from excited to embarrassed. “Yeah. Since I was a kid.”

  Shit! I wanted the other guy back. The one that exuded confidence, even if he was only talking about a comic book character.

  I had no idea why.

  I scrambled for something, anything to say. When all else fails, throw your brother under the bus. “My brother’s was Superman.”

  That got him rehooked. Although he rolled his eyes at me which confused the shit out of me. “Everyone says Superman, and I don’t get it. Spidey’s like, the Everyman. He has problems, never gets the girls, and has a perpetually sick aunt. The guy has serious issues.” Then he paused, latching on to something I had said. “Your brother collected?”

  “Dude, Ryan was obsessed. Everything had to be Superman. From the sheets on his bed to his toothbrush. I think my mom had to buy him three sets of Underoos because he insisted on wearing a pair to bed every night for years.”

  He snorted, covering his mouth as he did it. “Three?”

  I grinned back at him. “Three. And a little cape on the back. He’d run around his room and jump off his bed in nothing but those Underoos and pretend he was flying. It was the craziest shit.”

  Name Tag guy bit back a laugh. “He’d kill you for ratting him out, wouldn’t he?”

  “Probably. But I ain’t tellin’. You?”

  He raised his right hand high and placed his left hand on the Spider-Man book I was holding. “I swear to never breathe a word about your brother.” Then he did laugh, and the sound of it was like nothing I had ever heard. Musical and light, the sound traveled straight through my chest and lodged itself in my gut.

  Grinning, I tucked the book under my arm, extended my right hand, and said, “Thank you…um…”

  “David,” Name Tag guy said. “The nam
e’s David.”

  I glanced at the name tag, almost for confirmation.

  Yeah, duh.

  “Adam,” I said, extending my right hand for a shake. David took my hand. All the air seemed to be sucked from my body. A kaleidoscope of colors flashed before my eyes. Energy crackled through my arm and up my neck like jumper cables connecting to a car battery. It was gone in an instant. David seemed to feel it too because his eyes went wide for a moment.

  What the fuck was that?

  I knew something had just happened, something important, but I didn’t have the words to figure out what it was. I let go of David’s hand, and ached for it almost immediately.

  “Well, thanks again, David.”

  David was gently cradling his right hand with his left, glaring at it with confusion written across his face. He mumbled, “Welcome.”

  I beat a hasty retreat to the counter to pay for the book. While the cashier rang me up, I glanced into the glass case and the boxes of cards strewn across the top, eyes landing on a stack of business cards. I handed the pink-haired girl my credit card and snagged two business cards without thought.

  “Receipt with you or in the bag?” she asked.

  “Bag’s fine.”

  She handed me my purchase, and I left the store. Then I paused in front of the Superman window and peered inside. David still stood where I had left him, confusion evident. The same confusion I felt.

  I glanced down at the cement, spared one more glance through the window at David, then headed down the sidewalk in the direction of my car.

  WHAT THE HELL JUST HAPPENED?

  It wasn’t uncommon for “comic book virgins” to come into the store, usually looking for gifts for loved ones, and not knowing what to get. Though I usually tried to avoid situations where I was in direct contact with the public, it was almost a given that at some point, I would have to help. Usually, those interactions were quick affairs: The customer was in, I got them what they needed, and they were gone.