Read Murder Takes a Dare: The First Marisa Adair Mystery Adventure (Marisa Adair Mysteries Book 1) for Free Online

from the room.
     

CHAPTER THREE
     
    “Hi, my name is Marisa, and I am an addict.”
    As the rest of her fellow group members seated in a circle of hard chairs completed the round robin of identifying themselves by first name only, Marisa thought about how much her life had changed in the past months. An educated professional woman of thirty-nine, she had spent years juggling two diametrically opposed lives. One life was chaotic, with drinking, painkillers, and time and money spent in her favorite place, a strip joint. Her other life was conservative, which included her career as a human resources director, juggling her issues with her dysfunctional family, and hiding her problems from her friends. She thought she had everything under control. Thought…no, deluded herself she was in control, until the lines between the two lives blurred and crashed in a truly blazing explosion.
    With the maelstrom of addiction always in her mind, moving in the dizzying 3D movie motion of sometimes closer, sometimes further, she felt the one key to her at times tenuous grip on sanity was this group.
    In the slightly dusty room of the church, the bookshelves haphazardly cluttered with Sunday school books and bibles and the corners piled with rakes and hoes, nearly twenty men and women were arranged in the circle. Late afternoon sunlight muted by the dirty windows fell on clothing ranging from shorts or jeans, t-shirts, and sandals to suits, ties, and dresses. The expressions on the faces ranged from indifferent, bored, or preoccupied, to upset, guilty, resentful, and sorrowful. People discussed thoughts and behaviors they never shared with spouses, siblings, parents, or therapists. In this room, they could discuss emotions and actions without fear of being judged or ridiculed.
    As her thoughts flew to Jonah’s murder earlier in the day, Marisa was vaguely aware of the addiction group progressing through its series of prosaic readings. The members took turns reciting the basics of the program, like any 12-step group, such as Alcoholics Anonymous. Some of the members stumbled over the larger words, while others read aloud with well-educated ease. The listeners didn’t exhibit impatience and readers were never corrected for any mispronunciations.
    When the readings ended, Marisa forced her mind away from Jonah. The rest of the group deserved her full attention.
    Marisa felt the vague, niggling sensation of someone watching her. Across the circle, she caught the dark molasses eyes of William.
    She repressed a tiny, involuntary shiver. In the latter part of the meeting, the group always broke up into small groups. The small setting, outside the larger meeting, was meant to offer a therapeutic environment of open, caring support.
    She’d been in small group with William on previous occasions. Now, however, she went out of her way to never be in a small group with him ever again.
    Marisa felt able to offer compassion to everyone she’d ever met in the group…except William.
    In the small group several weeks before, William had shared his conviction years ago for molesting his young step-daughter. Although he had stated he wanted to overcome his addiction and never commit his crimes again, he had admitted he still felt attracted to children.
    Marisa couldn’t bear to speak to him or be near him.
    The reading of supportive words was over.
    His serpentine tattoos seemed to move with a life of their own as Jason, tonight’s leader of the group, raised his muscled arms, palms up to the group. As soon as he had everyone’s attention, he tossed out a subject for discussion. “How do we deal with stereotypes related to addiction? For example, a flasher suffers from a form of addiction. The flasher hates the behavior, feels guilty about his compulsion, and suffers through arrests and court appearances. Many people see flashers as jokes, as objects of ridicule. What can we do as addicts to deal with this prejudice?”
    Unlike a pebble thrown in a