by Annie Jocoby
Nick just nodded, mute for once. Then he said “Holy Christ, how did you do it all those years?”
Ryan just smiled wryly and said “Now you know why I was so high all the time.”
In the morning, Alexis woke up, and, surprisingly, she was lucid, and, even more surprisingly, she was willing to check herself into the hospital. “Yeah, sure,” she said, when Ryan told her that he was taking her to an exclusive mental health facility for evaluation and treatment. She evidently wasn’t manic anymore, but had swung down to depression, because she was laying on the couch, one arm draped over the side. “I don’t really care what you do. My life is over, anyhow.”
At that, Ryan called his work, and got her on her feet. Nick was on the other side of her, and they marched her out of the house and into Nick’s car, which was parked in the driveway. Ryan immediately came back in, and gave me a big hug and kiss, and said “I’m so sorry about this, beautiful. I know that today is important to you, and I’m behind you all the way. I love you, more than you can ever know.”
I just nodded. “Good luck with her,” I said. Then went back into the house to wait for the sitter to arrive. Helena was from the same agency as the last girl, Janelle, and I went through the same drill about explaining about Dalilah and her specialness. Dalilah was sitting in her playpen, then looked at Helena and said “Mommy go to court. Daddy go to hospital. You watch me.”
Helena looked at me “She’s seven months old?”
“Yes,” I said. “Here, give her these Winnie the Pooh books to read, and these puzzles to work,” I said, giving the girl some of Dalilah’s favorite little puzzles. “She’ll be fine, she’s a wonderful little girl.”
“I guess so,” Helena said. “Take care.”
At that, I left for the courthouse for my deposition.
Chapter Fifty-Seven
I dreaded this deposition, for some reason. For one thing, I was going to the courthouse for the deposition. This is where Cindy wanted to hold it, in one of the courthouse conference rooms. This meant that I could not bring my gun with me, and I felt a little naked without it, to tell the truth.
There was also a matter of knowing what questions were in store for me. I knew that I had absolutely nothing to hide, but that the attorney was, no doubt, going to go on a fishing expedition with this. I would imagine that he was going to ask me all kinds of objectionable questions that would never be allowed in court, mainly to find out what my weaknesses would be.
How right I was with this assumption.
“Mrs. Gallagher,” the attorney, Greg Schultz, began. The man was around 55, and he was an imposing figure at 6’5”, and around 200 lbs. His thick hair was completely grey. He was dressed in a megadollar suit, much like what Ryan wears to his job, and his shoes were black and buffed to an impeccable sheen. Next to him was Rochelle, looking subdued in a dark suit with a silk orange shirt underneath. Her dark hair was pulled back in a severe bun, she had on glasses, and her teeth were fixed. “Mrs. Gallagher, I understand that you spent some time in a treatment facility just recently,” he said.
The man was not beating around the bush.
“Objection,” Cindy said for the record. “Lack of relevance. You may answer the question.”
“Yes,” I said.
“Why did you spend time in this treatment facility?”
Cindy renewed her objection, then directed me to answer.
“I had a drug addiction,” was all I said. I wasn’t going to give him more than what he asked, at any point. I was annoyed that he was going there, although I fully expected it. I also knew that none of these answers could be used on the record, because they weren’t relevant to my mental state at the time of the attack. He was just trying to get me off-balance.
I was determined that he wouldn’t succeed.
The deposition continued like this, with one objectionable question after another about my stay at the Beverly Hills Hospital, my divorce from Ryan, my rape, my drug addiction. All of these events were after Rochelle attacked me, so none of these events were in the least bit relevant to the matter at hand. Yet I had to dredge all this up. I was feeling more stressed, anxious and irritated with every question that I had to answer, and I knew that Schultz’ strategy was to break me down mentally before he would ask me the relevant questions.
I was more liable to slip up that way.
I didn’t care. I didn’t have anything to hide, so he couldn’t trip me up.
He had been asking questions for four hours, so Cindy called for a lunch break. I could tell that Schultz was none too happy about breaking, because he had me on the ropes, and was going to go for his knock-out punches soon.
“Can I take you to lunch?” Cindy asked.
I simply shook my head. “I’m going to stay here during the break, if you don’t mind,” I said. I had to compose myself, and the best way I knew how to do this would be to just contemplate in solitude.
At that, everybody left, including the court reporter. I stared out the window, feeling resentful that Ryan wasn’t there with me. He was with his ex-wife and best friend, instead. Granted, said ex-wife was a mess, but so was I. I just didn’t show it like Alexis did. I really needed him, even though he couldn’t actually sit in on the deposition. I needed him in the waiting room, so I could see him during my breaks.
I then tried to call him, but the call went straight to voice-mail.
I closed my eyes, and took deep breaths. I tried my CBT exercises, because negative thoughts were crowding my headspace like no other time since I got back with Ryan. I started to feel a little bit better, then I started to meditate. I felt better still.
After lunch, the attorneys, Rochelle, and the court reporter crowded back into the room, and I felt ready to tackle the next round of questioning.
Schultz didn’t waste time. “Mrs. Gallagher, did you have practice self-mutilation in your younger years?”
This time there was not an objection.
“Yes,” I said.
Then there was a series of questions related to that, and to my prior suicide attempt. I answered all of these questions calmly, not meeting anybody’s eyes. This was still so humiliating for me to talk about.
Then Schultz passed me a picture that was marked as Exhibit G, Exhibits A-F being various documents and pictures that I had to identify. I looked at the picture, and tried to make my face impassive.
“Mrs. Gallagher, is this you?”
The picture was me, completely nude and lying on a bed and posing. This was the picture that was taken on Spring Break around 13 years prior, during one of my many drunken escapades that week, by some random hookup.
Cindy registered her objection about the relevance of the photo.
I knew what Schultz was trying to do. He was trying to shake me up by my knowing that he had ahold of this photo, and he probably got it off the Internet. Which meant that I was right about my earlier suspicions – this humiliating photo was probably viral and making the rounds. I had consciously not followed my name or my case on the Internet, so I had no idea that this photo was out there, although I suspected it.
“Yes, that’s me,” I said. “I looked good, didn’t I?” I asked, looking him right in the eye.
I wasn’t going to be intimidated by this jackass.
Cindy then objected to the lack of foundation for the photo.
I tried to compose my thoughts, but it was difficult to do. The presence of the photo had the desired effect for him, in that I felt that I was off my game now. I was prepared for the other questions that were asked.
I was not quite prepared for this.
Schultz smiled an enigmatic smile, then launched into a series of questions about the actual attack. In rapid fire manner, he asked question after question, and I was distracted to say the least. My mental defenses were worn down, and I felt confused.
“When did you arrive at Ms. Anderson’s house?”
“I don’t remember.”
“When did Mr. Gallagher arrive
there?”
“I don’t remember.”
“When did the police arrive?”
“I really don’t remember. I was unconscious by then.”
On and on and on it went, and I was in a fog by then. I didn’t remember many details of the attack, anyhow, because of the coma. I only remember the searing pain of the torture she put me through.
I knew that, by the end of the day, I probably provided ample ammunition for their cause and their story.
I trudged home, feeling that I had been beat up in a fight. Before I left, Cindy told me that she would be scheduling Ryan’s deposition next, so I knew that he would have go through similar torture soon.
But when I got home, I discovered that what happened in that deposition room was not, by far, the worst thing to happen to me that day.
Andrew was standing in the living room, holding a screaming Dalilah.
Helena was nowhere to be found.
Chapter Fifty-Eight
Ryan
Alexis is pulling her bullshit again. I really need to have some kind of sympathy for her, because I know how much she has always struggled with her illness, but it’s difficult sometimes. I hate to be selfish, but it always seems to come at the very worst time.
Like the day my wife has to go in for her deposition.
“Where are we going?” Alexis asked from the backseat.
“To your house to get you some clothes, then to the treatment facility,” I tell her.
“The same place I always go?”
“Yeah, that place.”
She said nothing more, just looked out the window.
“I have to start meeting different people,” Nick whispered. “Why do I always end up with such nutcases?”
“Come on, now, Nick, you’ve known Alexis for as long as I have. You have always known that she is unstable. Always. Yet, here you are, thinking that she’s suddenly going to be this different person.”
“Rielle is another one,” Nick said. “I swear to god, that woman has some kind of personality disorder. Like narcissism or something. She literally cannot see any point of view but her own.”
“How are the settlement talks going?”
“They’re not. She wants just about everything. The Lake Como house, the Mission Hills house, all the paintings, half of the money, everything. She’s demanding $50,000 a month in child support, and $25,000 a month in alimony. That’s on top of what she’s demanding in the property settlement. I have no idea why she thinks that she’s entitled to all that. She’s demanding well over half the property.”
“What does your lawyer say?” I ask him, thinking again about how I had to force Iris to take a single penny from me.
My wife really is one of a kind.
“Pound sand. She wants everything because she’s going to have primary custody of the kids. Not that I want that, either, but she’s talking about me being unfit because I’m some kind of sex addict or something.” Then he shrugged. “Eh, maybe she has a point. I have had a lot of partners of both sexes over the years.”
I didn’t say anything. My best friend is the biggest manwhore I know, but he always has been. I don’t think that he’s addicted so much as he just likes sex. A lot. I have never been able to see him and Rielle together. She’s so uptight - if you put a lump of coal up her ass, you would have a diamond in less than a year. Nick is the opposite of that. He’s a free spirit sexually.
At least he always plays safe, which is important. One thing about Nick, he always, always, always uses condoms. Or so he says.
We arrived at Nick and Alexis’ house, which was soon going to be just Nick’s house. “Nick, go in there with her and make sure she gets dressed ok,” I said. “And make sure that she packs a bag with about a week’s worth of clothing, shampoo, conditioner, toothbrush and whatever toiletries she needs.”
“Sure,” Nick said, getting Alexis out of the backseat of the car. “Come on, Alexis, let’s go in and put some clothes on you, and get a bag packed.” He was talking to her like a child. I wondered if he was aware of this fact.
Nick and Alexis came back out not ten minutes later. Alexis was wearing jeans and a sweater, and was carrying a bag. Her face was washed, and her hair was brushed. She looked almost respectable.
“I want to die,” Alexis was saying, after she got back in the car and we drove off. “I want to drive my car off of a bridge into the water and drown.”
“You don’t want to die,” I said. “Your brain chemistry is out of wack again, but we’re going to help you fix it.” Again, I thought. Sometimes I think that I’m going to go through this with this woman for the rest of my life. I sure was glad that I was married to such an understanding woman, otherwise Alexis would become an enormous problem.
“What’s the use?” Alexis asked. “I have no job, no babies and no husband.”
“No job?” I asked, looking at Nick. Nick obviously knows about this, because his face registered no surprise. “What happened to your job?”
“They canned me after the Hermés incident,” she said. “I haven’t had the energy to find a new one.”
I sighed. Alexis was a partner at one of the largest law firms in town. She was not independently wealthy, because her parents cut her off. She relied on her salary, which was substantial – a high six figure. I doubted that she had a penny in savings, and I knew that she didn’t have any property. She ran through everything I gave her in the divorce to support her drug habit and her spending addiction.
I had no idea what she was going to do now for money.
I felt a feeling of dread, knowing that it was going to be a short period of time before she was going to start harassing me again to give her money and property - money and property that would end up going down the drain, just like all the rest of the money and property she used to have. Oh, well, she can’t blackmail me again like she did before. The whole world already knew everything there was to know about me, so who cares anymore?
I turned to Nick. “Did you know about this?”
“Sure,” he said. “I found out the day it happened.”
“Why didn’t you say anything?”
“I don’t know, I guess I didn’t see the relevance.”
Sometimes Nick can be so obtuse.
Now was not the time to try to figure out what Alexis was going to do for money from here on out. Although I was tempted to harangue her about it. I was not responsible for her anymore, but I knew that she would somehow, someway, make me take responsibility for her. If she couldn’t blackmail me into it, she could certainly guilt me into it. Like she has the entire time I have known her.
“Don’t worry about me, Ryan,” Alexis said. “I’m not going to be alive much longer.”
I willed myself not to roll my eyes at that one. She had been saying that forever. Every time she spiraled into depression, she says that she doesn’t have long to live. She always talks about offing herself as well. One day she might be like the boy who cried wolf, and I hoped not, because I didn’t want that on my conscience. But I also knew that, as soon as her meds get straightened out again, she’ll be singing a different tune.
Like she always does.
Then she was crying. “Oh, god, I don’t have anything. Nobody loves me. What I wouldn’t give for you to love me again, Ryan.”
Oh, lord, here we go. I looked at Nick, who shrugged his shoulders.
“Alexis, you’re not with me, you’re with Nick,” I said.
“Stop it,” Nick said. “Don’t remind her.”
“Nick is nothing but a manwhore,” she said.
Then the two of you are a match made in heaven.
The three of us finally arrived at our destination. The treatment facility was in a shady area, surrounded by trees and wildlife. It didn’t compare to the place in Beverly Hills where I took Iris, and where I, myself, stayed after I had a drug addiction relapse. But it was the best place in town.
“I can’t go here,” she said. “You need to take me to a state
hospital. I have no income and no insurance anymore.”
I gritted my teeth, and almost told her not to worry about it. Then I thought I should talk to Nick.
“Nick,” I said. “What do you say we go halfsies on this?”
“Hey, you aren’t in the middle of a messy divorce. I am. I’m not sure if I’m going to have anything more than a barrel to put around my ass after Rielle gets done with me.”
“Why is it always me who has to bail her out?”
“Because nobody else will, buddy. Just you.”
I looked at Alexis, feeling halfway tempted to turn the car around and take her to a state hospital, like she said. Then immediately felt guilty for thinking such a thing. I’ve got the money, and Alexis has been in my life since I was 13. I couldn’t just leave her high and dry. I banished the thought that she has cost me literally millions over the years, with all her rehabs, drugs, rehabs, drugs, spending, gambling, etc., etc.
“Charity begins at home,” Nick said. “Charity begins at home.”
“Well, we’re gonna check her in, but I can’t stay,” I said. “Iris needs me. Today is very important for her.”
“Iris is a big girl,” Nick said. “She can take care of herself.”
“Even so, I need to be there for her.”
“You’re a little obsessed with that girl,” Nick said. “I mean, I can see why. She’s refreshingly not a gold-digger, and for anybody in your position, that’s important. But you almost get stalkery and overprotective with her.”
“Of course, I’m protective of her. Good god, look at what she has gone through, all of which has been directly or indirectly attributable to me. Look at what she’s still going through, with that maniac Andrew out there, literally gunning for her. So, yes, I’m protective of her. She’s the love of my life, and the mother of my child.”
“Listen,” Nick said. “I don’t ask for much from you. I’m asking you this. Stay with me and Alexis today. I can’t handle her alone. You’re used to all of this. I’m not. Iris is fine. Alexis and I need you right now.” Then he raised an eyebrow. The implication was clear – after all he had done for me over the years, I needed to step up to plate for him.
