Reckoning (Sacrifical Duet Book 1)

by Riley Ashby

  I’d never get to ask her.

  I downed what was left of my alcohol and stumbled toward her, the journey taking longer than it should have as my feet refused to listen to my brain, but eventually, I made it to the bed and sat next to her. She shifted slightly, hand moving beneath the pillow, but she didn’t wake.

  “I’m sorry, Maddie.” I didn’t expect the words to come out so hoarse. I cleared my throat and dropped the glass to the floor; it thudded and rolled a few inches before slowing to a stop. “There was so much more I wanted to do for you. More I wanted to do for myself. But now …” I extended one finger and touched that scar gently; it was softer than the rest of her skin. “You just do the best you can.” A chuckle escaped me. “That’s silly. Of course you will. You always do.” My hand back in my lap, I sighed heavily. “Not me.”

  Bending over made my head spin, but I did it anyway, wanting to be close enough to kiss her one last time. But I froze inches from her cheek, remembering how much she’d hated me first for violating her, then for keeping her from her family. I exhaled heavily and sat back up. I wouldn’t get a last wish. It was the least I could do to respect hers.

  I fell against the bed several times as I walked around it to the bathroom, then shut the door behind me as quietly as I could. Only once the lock was turned did I flip on the light and pull from my pocket the sedatives that I used when I couldn’t sleep from the pain of dislocated ribs, a smarting black eye, emergency surgery to set a broken finger or toe when I fucked up at work and Conrad disciplined me at home. Joshua gave one to Madeline the night her parents were here, but I had just filled the prescription. There were plenty left.

  I remembered my empty glass on the floor of the bedroom and thought about going to retrieve it, but I didn’t want to walk anymore. Looking around, I realized I was on the floor, back against the tub, laughing at my predicament. How did I get down here?

  Pulling myself to my feet had the unintended consequence of spilling the pills all over the floor. Falling to my knees, I picked them up one by one and placed them in my palm. I kept a tight grip on them as I crawled to my feet and turned on the faucet. How many of these could I take at once? I squinted at the pills, which seemed to have doubled. That was fine.

  Three in my mouth, a drink of water. Then three more. Then three more.

  These worked fast; that was the point of them. And I was drunk enough that they seemed to double in strength, and then I was falling, the remainder of the pills clattering into the basin while I collapsed to my knees and knocked my teeth against the edge of the counter.

  I tasted blood on my tongue, and my head hurt so much, but I was finally falling asleep for the last time, and there would be no more pain for me over there. Wherever that was. No chance of anyone finding me and fucking it up for me again. Maddie was asleep, and Joshua wouldn’t bother us. Not after last time.

  The word faded at the edges until it was suddenly black, and I was left with nothing but the unsettling awareness of my own pulse, slowing beat by beat, and the smell of Madeline’s shampoo before I felt nothing at all.

  Madeline

  It was a struggle to breathe normally when he entered the room and even harder when he sat next to me. I nearly jumped out of my skin when he touched my back. Was he tracing my scar? My hand closed tighter around the porcelain, and a corner cut into my palm. I’d deal with that later.

  But his words didn’t make sense.

  It sounded like a goodbye.

  And then … nothing more. No kiss or further caress, though I could sense his hand hovering just above my skin as if held back by an invisible wall. And then with one final exhale, he was gone.

  The lock to the bathroom door clicked shut, and there was quiet for a while. But then he stumbled, and I heard the crack of bone on tile, the scattering of something small against a hard floor, and his strained laughter. I sat up cautiously, still holding my weapon. What was he doing in there? The room suddenly felt cold, as if he had opened the windows to let in the fall night air, but a look over my shoulder assured me they were closed. Releasing my makeshift knife for the moment, I grabbed the shirt I’d tucked underneath his pillow and pulled it on, then rearmed myself and crept out of bed toward the bathroom. Should I call his name? Maybe the element of surprise would be better. Standing on my toes, I felt around on the top of the doorframe with my free hand until I found the emergency door key, turning it as quietly as I could in the lock until the door swung into the room and was able to step into the light, only to find Meyer sprawled unresponsive on the floor, empty bottle and loose pills strewn about his body

  I probably should have just let him die. It seemed like something anyone else would have done in my situation. But the moment I saw him, I forgot every vendetta, the anger and hurt I’d been nursing and feeding for the past three weeks.

  His chest rose with a shallow breath, then fell.

  Whatever Meyer had been through in his thirty years of life to turn him into this monster didn’t warrant a death sentence. He’d been nasty, cruel, and outright violent with me, but despite all that, there was a gossamer ribbon linking his heart to mine. What happened when the heart on one end of that thread ceased to beat? Would the other one stop along with it?

  Another inhale, then the discharge of breath.

  I fell beside him to feel his face. His skin was cool, but that was normal. Was he colder than usual?

  His chest didn’t rise again.

  Maybe I’d finally lost my mind. But I didn’t want to lose half my heart along with it.

  He had to wake up. There wasn’t any other option.

  I slammed my fist against his chest.

  He coughed.

  “JOSHUA!” I screamed as I tried to roll Meyer on his side. He was so damn heavy. “JOSHUA! GET IN HERE!” I finally got him up off the ground, and I worked on prying open his mouth. God, should I make him vomit? I tried to think. He could choke. But what else could I do? I grabbed the pill bottle off the floor, black type swimming before my eyes as I struggled to read but couldn’t hold my hand still. Oxy. Was that an opiate? I didn’t know!

  The bedroom door slammed open behind me, and I sobbed in relief as Joshua burst into the bathroom. “Please help,” I begged, turning to look at him. “He’s having trouble breathing.”

  “Christ,” he muttered, falling down beside me and pulling out a nasal spray. “I just got this yesterday.”

  I stared at him in horror as he jammed the tube up Meyer’s nose and pushed the plunger, delivering the anti-overdose drug to his system. “Has he done this before?”

  “Once,” he said grimly. He reached into his jacket and handed me his cell phone. “Call the doctor.”

  “911?”

  Joshua looked at me in horror. “No, God no. His father will know. Dr. Yang is in the contacts.” He pressed his head against Meyer’s chest. “He has a strong heartbeat. Do you know how long he’s been under?”

  “Not long.” My hands shook as I searched for the doctor’s phone number. “It was just a few minutes.”

  “Sometimes, that’s all it takes.” Joshua grabbed my shoulders. “Hold yourself together, Madeline. He’ll be fine.” He looked down and frowned. “You’re bleeding.”

  I stared at my palm with the phone ringing in my ear. There was a deep slash across my palm, the piece of porcelain I’d intended to use to kill Meyer on the floor by my knee. “I …”

  “Forget it,” he snapped and grabbed the phone from me just as the doctor answered. “Make sure he keeps breathing.”

  I placed my head against Meyer’s chest, listening to the slow thudding in my ear, the rush of blood through his arteries that continued to flow despite his best attempt. As Joshua spoke to the doctor, telling him how much Meyer had taken, counting out the pills left on the floor, I spread my blood against Meyer’s chest while I gripped his shirt for dear life.

  His palm met the back of my head, gently stroking my hair, fingers twining with the strands as his chest rose with a deep, stra
ngled breath.

  I sat up, grabbing his face, and he placed his other hand over one of mine. He groaned, the first sound he’d made since I came in. “What …?”

  “Don’t talk,” I barked out. I swallowed and tried to soften my voice. I could yell at him later. “The doctor is coming.”

  He shook his head slightly brow furrowed in pain. His eyes were still closed. “Not hospital.”

  “No, of course. Your dad won’t find out.”

  “Yang is on his way.” Joshua knelt beside me once more. “Open your eyes for me, Meyer.”

  He squeezed his eyes tighter for a moment, then pried them open slowly. He fixated on me, mouth trying to form words, but no sound came out.

  I put my hand over his mouth, then jerked it away, afraid it would hinder his already labored breathing. “It’s fine, Meyer. Everything is going to be okay.”

  “I hope your head hurts like hell.” Joshua snapped his fingers in front of his face, and Meyer looked at him instead. “Keep your eyes open. You might OD again once this wears off.”

  “I’m fine.” The words were forced through his teeth but still sounded weak. I jerked my hands away, leaving a trail of red blood on one cheek. He looked at me again, then touched his face.

  “You’re not fine.” Guess the time for yelling was now. “You almost fucking died. You might still die.” I stood and walked away. I couldn’t fucking look at him right now. Jesus, what was his plan? He was just going to leave me here? What would have happened when Conrad found out his only son had died while I was in the next room?

  I knew what would have happened. He would have annihilated me. I probably wouldn’t have lasted the day. The idiocy of my own plan revealed itself to me in the same instant. Killing Meyer would have been an instant death sentence for me. And here we were, both trying to do each other in on the same night without realizing it.

  Meyer’s voice was stronger now, but still thick. “Maddie …”

  I froze. Not Mads. Not Madeline. Maddie. The name he’d called me just before he tried to kill himself.

  When had that happened?

  “Goddammit, Meyer.” I fell next to him again, not caring how my knees rang when they clacked against the tile. “You tried to leave me.” My voice cracked into a sob halfway through the sentence.

  Joshua helped him sit up against the tub. He was breathing heavily, but his lungs sounded clear. He reached for my hand once more. “You’re bleeding.”

  “I wanted to kill you.” Whoops. Why did I say that?

  He coughed out one mirthless laugh. “Beat you to it. Well, tried to.”

  God, I could just slap him.

  He rolled his head toward me. One hand lifted, a finger tapping against my closed lips. “Why didn’t you let me die?”

  I huffed out a breath, assured for the moment that he wasn’t going to suddenly expire. I opened my mouth, but nothing came out. There was no explanation why I brought my sworn enemy back to life, not one I wanted to share with him.

  He nodded and closed his eyes when I didn’t speak, and I was surprised to see tears fall down his face. Men didn’t cry, at least not men like Meyer Schaf. “I’m so tired, Maddie. I couldn’t live in fear for one more day. Every day is a struggle to get out of bed, go to work, and see him there. I flinch every time he raises his hand.”

  I tried to tamp down my anger. He lived in fear? He was afraid of being struck?

  “I just can’t do it anymore, Maddie. Having you is just another test that I’m bound to fail sooner or later. You’d be better off without me around to fuck things up.”

  My fingers dug into his forearm. “What the hell do you think would have happened to me when I woke up and found you dead?”

  “I left a note,” he whispered. “For Joshua.”

  Before I could reply, Joshua’s phone pinged. He leaped to his feet and ran from the bathroom. “Doctor’s here. Can you get him into bed?”

  I threw Meyer’s arm around my shoulders and helped him to stand, his heavy weight draped over my back while we struggled to the bed. He was still drunk enough to make this difficult even without the added side effects of the pills. Why did Joshua leave me with this task? He fell onto the mattress as Joshua re-entered with an Asian man in pajamas, likely the doctor.

  “I didn’t bother to dress,” he said by way of introduction. He looked from Meyer to me. “Leave, please. I need to be alone with my patient.”

  Meyer spoke before I could reply. “She stays.”

  “I’d listen to the doctor, Meyer.” I dragged my hand from where he clasped it between his. “Focus on not dying right now. I can’t go anywhere.” I ran for the door before he could protest further. I needed some space. And I had to find that note.

  What was I thinking? What was he thinking? And this wasn’t the first time he’d tried this? The man needed antidepressants, not opioids. Was he an addict, or was it something he only took occasionally? I turned to Joshua, who was halfway down the hall. “He said he left a note.”

  “I’m looking for it,” he snapped, and I ran after him, all too aware that my hand was still dripping blood behind me.

  He slammed a door shut behind him, but I barreled through it a moment later, barely taking the time to observe the room we entered, except to note that the bed was well made. He hadn’t even gone to sleep. “Did you know something was going to happen?”

  “I had a bad feeling,” he said grimly.

  “When did he do this before?”

  He paused his searching to stare at me, as if weighing whether or not tell me the truth. “The night you came here.”

  I stared agape as he snatched his suit jacket off a chair, then began searching through the pockets. He cursed as he pulled out an envelope from inside. I shook myself from my shock.

  “Let me see.”

  “I’m reading it first.” The rasp of paper was the only sound in the room as he opened the unsealed envelope and pulled out the letter. Attempting to keep a straight face, he began to read, but he couldn’t stop his frown from deepening the further he read. When he reached the end, he crumpled it into a ball.

  “Hey!” I lunged for the paper, but he held me back as he passed me back into the hallway. “Let me see that!”

  “He didn’t want you to.” There was no emotion in his voice. “I assume that wish remains even though he’s still with us.” In the kitchen, he opened drawers at random, all while holding me back with his free hand from snatching the letter. Producing a lighter, he held the flame to the paper before dropping it into the sink. I burst forward one final time, reaching for the faucet, but the man was a wall. He held me back until the letter was too charred to save.

  “Fuck you,” I spat, but not even that could elicit a response.

  “Let’s go see how he’s doing.”

  Joshua raised his hand to knock on the bedroom door, but I seized the handle and barged in to find Meyer sitting up in bed without a shirt and the doctor listening to his chest with a stethoscope. Dr. Yang raised an eyebrow at me, but I interjected before he could speak.

  “What was in that letter?” I stalked over to the bed but was stopped with a hand on my shoulder as Joshua held me back. “What the fuck did you tell him that I’m not allowed to know?”

  “He’s doing fine, by the way. His heart sounds strong.” Dr. Yang sounded almost bored as he grabbed my hand. “You, on the other hand, need stitches.”

  I looked away from Meyer only to find myself ill at the amount of blood in my palm, the open wound that showed far too much of the inner workings of my hand. “Whoa.” I sat on the bed heavily as the doctor moved in front of me. Joshua handed him something from his bag, and I sucked in a breath at the sting of alcohol against my raw skin. There was pressure on my shoulder, and when I turned my head to see Meyer’s face right next to mine, I jumped. “What the hell are you doing?”

  “What happened?” He stared at my palm wide-eyed.

  “Seriously?”

  He blinked a few times. “Oh, yeah. Att
empted murder. Sorry. Still drunk.” He fell back onto the pillow.

  I yelped at a sharp sting in my hand and looked down to see a needle sticking out of my palm. “To numb it for the stitches,” the doctor explained before handing it off to Joshua and then holding up the needle and thread. “Do you want to watch?”

  “God, no.” I squeezed my eyes shut. I felt the pressure on my palm from the needle, then the strange rough pull of the thread through my skin. I swallowed down the bile in my throat. “Why is he still drunk? Shouldn’t he be better now?”

  “The naloxone only treats the opioid high, not the alcohol. You’ll have to wait on his liver for that.”

  “Is he going to be okay?”

  “As long as he doesn’t OD again when the spray wears off. You should keep an eye on his breathing.”

  When I looked back at Meyer, his eyes were closed against the pillow. “Is he seriously fucking asleep?”

  “He needs rest. Don’t wake him. You can look now.” Staring at my hand, I counted five black slashes across my palm. Dr. Yang spread a cloudy ointment on it, then pressed a bandage on top. “Keep this dry and clean. I’ll take the stitches out in a few days.”

  “Thank you,” I muttered, squeezing a fist experimentally.

  “Don’t do that!”

  Heat rose to my cheeks. “Sorry.”

  “Just try not to do anything with that hand until the skin starts to heal.” The doctor gathered his supplies back into his bag and stood, looking at Joshua. “I assume there’s a room for me?”

  “Same as last time,” Joshua agreed. “I’ll stay up with him and wake you if there’s a problem.”

  “Wait, you’re going to bed?” How could he do that when Meyer was lying here at risk of another overdose? How long would I have to monitor his pulse to make sure he didn’t slip under again?

  “If you want me to treat your boyfriend competently—”

  “He’s not my boyfriend.”

  “—then I need to rest. We’ve been through this before, as you may have gathered. Between the two of you, you can make sure his heart keeps beating and wake me if there’s an issue. Until that happens, let me sleep.” He turned on his heel and walked out the door. I turned to Joshua.