Wicked Burn

by BETH KERY

  Niall’s eyes burned when she clenched them shut.

  “I don’t think I can, Anne. I’m really swamped. Please tell Meg hello, though. Tell her . . .” Niall swallowed hard. Of course she would still be going to Vic’s farm for Christmas. To think otherwise just because of what had occurred last night was pure catastrophic thinking on her part. She really needed to shake herself out of this pervasive gloom. “Tell her how much I’m looking forward to seeing her, Tim, and Ellen for Christmas.”

  Anne wheedled and scolded and then became duly concerned when that didn’t work. She hung up without a further fuss only when Niall pacified her by agreeing to have dinner with her at The Art the night before she left with Vic for his farm.

  “Bring that gorgeous hunk of a cowboy playwright with you, if you can,” Anne encouraged slyly. “Oh . . . I better go. I’m going to be late for Meg.”

  Vic paused in front of Niall’s front door when he arrived home that night at seven P.M. He’d stopped attending every performance of Alias X several weeks ago, although he was still in his office, backstage, or with a member of the technical crew more often than not for at least three nights out of the week.

  The show ran smoother than a pricey piece of software on a premium hard drive. The reviews continued to be excellent, and his company usually performed to a full house. He’d started to long for the wide-open space of the farm instead of obsessing about the play, so he figured things must be going pretty well. After Christmas he planned to return to his regular schedule of spending only two or three nights in the city.

  At least he had hoped to do that, if he could talk Niall into spending a good portion of her weekends with him on the farm.

  Vic couldn’t believe that just last night he had been feeling so content, like nothing could interfere with the smooth roll of his world. How quickly that had all crumbled to ash when he’d turned and seen Niall’s face last night.

  It had been like all those nights he’d awakened her from her dreams. Except that last night she’d been fully awake and he’d looked straight down into her wide eyes . . . right into the heart of her nightmare.

  It made him feel like a shit to know that he’d caught a hint of her suffering early on, before they’d become more involved, and that he’d made a point of not seeing it. Now that he was ready to acknowledge everything about Niall, however—including her painful past—she was shutting him out.

  He didn’t know what the hell to make of that fact. The only thing he knew for sure was that he was tired of it. At some point during the past five weeks, he had decided that he wanted in. Not just in Niall’s body, but in her mind . . . in her life.

  Seeing Jenny on the opening night of Alias X had allowed him to resoundingly finish a scenario in his mind that had long been in need of a final act. He’d thought he’d accomplished that by refusing to see or speak with Jenny, but that particular coping mechanism had just served to make her bigger and bolder in his mind than she had ever deserved.

  Opening night of Alias X had taught him something valuable—Niall had as much in common with Jenny as a butterfly did with a viper.

  His face stiffened at the thought, and he knocked loudly on Niall’s front door. His little butterfly was being buffeted by some turbulent winds, and Vic was determined that she tell him what was going on, so that he could offer her some insulation against them.

  She answered almost immediately. His eyes flickered over her in concern. She still wore her clothes from work, a narrow black skirt, black pumps, and an emerald green silk blouse. His gaze lingered for a moment on her elegant, pearl-entwined neck. He couldn’t quite fathom how Niall always managed to convey a sense of timeless, classic beauty and at the same time seem so earthy . . . so utterly touchable. Despite how lovely she looked to him at that moment he noticed the paleness of her cheeks. Her lips trembled slightly as she smiled. Vic stilled an overwhelming, and increasingly familiar, urge to enfold her in his arms and shield her. From what, precisely, he couldn’t say.

  Neither could she, and therein lay the problem.

  “Hi,” she greeted him huskily before she moved back in the doorway. “Come in.”

  Vic didn’t speak as she closed the door and led him into the living room.

  “Can I get you something to drink?” she asked brightly when he sat on the couch.

  Vic scowled. “I didn’t come over here for a social visit, Niall.” He called himself a foul son of a bitch when he saw her smile fade.

  “Shit. Just . . . come here, baby,” he muttered as he reached for her. She felt so good wrapped in his arms. He pressed her head beneath his chin and inhaled the familiar light, fruity scent from her shining hair. His eyes closed tightly for a few seconds as he absorbed her into him.

  “Are you okay?” he asked gruffly when he finally loosened his hold and she straightened enough to look up at him. Her large eyes shone with tears and something else . . . something that radiated from within.

  “Yes,” she whispered. “I’m so glad you’re here. I’m so sorry about last night.”

  Vic winced slightly. “Why do you keep apologizing, Niall? Just—”

  She held up her hand. “I know,” she said softly. “Just tell you why I get so jumpy sometimes. The thing is, Vic, it’s not all that simple for me . . . or that easy.”

  Her head fell forward as she inhaled as if for courage. Vic felt an inexplicable weight press on his chest and a tightness in his throat as he watched her struggle with her emotions. He grabbed her hand and squeezed it for reassurance.

  A knock resounded down the hallway from the front door.

  Niall’s eyes widened in surprise.

  “I wonder who that is,” she murmured as she stood. “Meg, maybe? She was in town to have lunch with Anne . . . but surely security would have called first.”

  “Mom,” Vic heard her exclaim in surprise a second later.

  “I had to come, honey. Something amazing has happened.”

  Vic stood as Niall returned to the living room with Alexis Chandler at her heels.

  “Oh . . .” Alexis started when she saw him. Her beautiful face stiffened. “I didn’t realize you had company.”

  “Mom, this is Vic Savian. Vic, I’d like you to meet my mother, Alexis Chandler. I never got the chance to introduce you two before . . .”

  Niall paused shakily. Something indefinable passed across Alexis Chandler’s face as she looked at him that reminded Vic of a cloud quickly moving across the sunlight. But it was gone in a millisecond and her icy, impenetrable expression was back in place.

  “Mr. Savian,” Alexis said with a cool nod. “I’m afraid I need to speak with my daughter privately.”

  “Mom . . .” Niall interrupted, obviously uncomfortable with her mother’s brusque dismissal.

  “It’s okay, Niall,” Vic said quietly. He crossed his arms under his chest and met Alexis Chandler’s stare calmly. He didn’t want to make things difficult for Niall, but he didn’t care for her mother’s bitchy attitude, nor did he appreciate the way her presence made Niall’s face rigid with anxiety. He wasn’t going to throw Niall to the sharks so easily this time.

  “Your mother hasn’t been caught up on things. She just doesn’t realize that whatever she needs to say, she can say in front of me.”

  Alexis’s eyebrows rose slightly in surprise at his challenge. Her glittering blue eyes moved over him rapidly, as though she was taking his measure.

  “Is that true, Niall?” Alexis asked. Vic cringed inwardly when he saw Niall’s face. It looked like it’d been bleached. Even her lips were tinged with white. He opened his mouth to apologize then and there for his cockiness. It obviously wasn’t helping Niall any—

  “If it’s true that you want this man to hear about what’s happened with Stephen, then I’ll respect your wishes,” Alexis Chandler continued.

  “Who’s Stephen?” Vic asked.

  Alexis Chandler laughed shortly. “Niall’s husband, of course.”

  Vic squinted at the woman who
stood just feet away from him, as though he couldn’t quite bring her into focus.

  “Niall’s husband,” he repeated flatly. He glanced over at Niall, a grin of disbelief starting to curve his lips.

  His smile was aborted when he met Niall’s eyes.

  “I was . . . I was going to tell you . . .” she whispered.

  He felt as if he hadn’t quite heard her because of the strange noise in his ears like rapidly rushing air. “You were going to tell me what?”

  He saw her throat convulse with difficulty as she swallowed. “About Stephen,” she tried to continue in a choked voice.

  “He’s been very ill,” Alexis stated bluntly. “That’s why I came by tonight. I got a call from Evergreen Park just an hour ago. Get your things quickly, Niall.” Alexis’s brilliant smile at her daughter pierced the daze of Vic’s shock. “It’s nothing less than a miracle. Your husband has recovered, darling. And he’s asking for you.”

  Vic put up both his hands at once before he pointed at Alexis Chandler. “Can you be quiet for a second, please?” He focused on Niall. “What the hell is she talking about?” he demanded. Surely Alexis Chandler was batty or something. Niall couldn’t be married.

  She would have told him. He knew she would have. That wasn’t something you just forgot to mention when you were in a relationship with someone.

  Unless you were purposefully trying to keep it secret, of course . . .

  He noticed that Niall seemed to be searching his face for answers just as desperately as he sought them in hers.

  “You can’t be married,” Vic declared in a harsh voice.

  Niall’s expression sagged. Her posture wilted, as well. She lowered her gaze from his. The gesture was silent, of course, but Vic felt like a door had just been resoundingly slammed shut in his face.

  “I am,” she said blankly. “Let me get my purse and coat, Mom, and I’ll be ready to go see Stephen.”

  THIRTEEN

  Niall stared at the fake Christmas tree in the large, airy day room. A Christmas tree that was still up during the third week of January was always a bit depressing, but combined with the fact that this particular one was in a mental institution, the sight turned downright gloomy. All of the ornaments were made of paper, of course, no sharp edges that could be put to a harmful use. Niall actually recognized some of the ornaments from the two previous Christmases that she’d sat in this room . . . and that only added to her sense of gloom.

  The day room might have been more aptly a day arena, as wide open and large as it was. Evergreen Park had been built in the 1970s, during the height of a period of psychiatric optimism. Niall thought that the original impetus behind building facilities like Evergreen Park had probably been good. But the promise of medical “cures” for such virulent conditions as schizophrenia and manic depression had fallen somewhat short of their expected glorious apex. Government funding for such facilities waned as more and more of the mentally ill were farmed out to less expensive nursing and group homes. Niall doubted that anything in the décor of the day room at Evergreen Park had been altered one bit since the 1970s, except for perhaps the new coats of paint that were likely mandated by the health code.

  She sat up straighter when she heard the buzz of the electronic lock on the door that led to the patients’ residential wing. A young male attendant entered the room, followed by Stephen. Despite Stephen’s vast improvements over the past four weeks, it pained Niall to see him shuffle after the younger man like an obedient dog. One thing that had not improved with Stephen’s new medication regimen was his appetite. His clothing hung loosely on his gaunt, stooped frame.

  “Good morning, Eli,” Niall greeted the attendant as they approached her. “Good morning, Stephen. How are you feeling today?”

  “Okay,” Stephen mumbled.

  “He just got a haircut,” Eli said with a smile. “Looking pretty spiffy.”

  “It looks nice, Stephen,” Niall agreed.

  As usual, Stephen didn’t meet her eyes but stared at the floor. He grimaced as he ran his hand over his burr haircut. The color of it—a rich, golden brown—had once nearly perfectly matched Michael’s hue. Niall saw that a good deal of gray was mixed with the brown now.

  Eli laughed at his ward’s distasteful expression over his haircut. “So I guess Rose told you that Stephen wanted to talk to you, right?” Eli asked brightly.

  Niall nodded.

  “Okay. I’ll give you two some privacy, then. I’ll just be over on the other side of the day room,” he told Niall, giving her a significant look. Dr. Fardesh had taken Stephen off his one-to-one status, whereby an attendant was required to be in close proximity to him twenty-four hours a day due to possible suicide attempts or violence toward others. Nevertheless, Stephen was still very vulnerable to stressors of any kind, easily becoming anxious and erratic in his behavior if his daily routine was altered in the slightest.

  Since he began to have periods of lucidity just before Christmas, Niall had made a point of visiting him at least once a week, often several times. She’d spoken with Rose Gonzalez and Dr. Fardesh at length about whether it would actually be helpful for her to come, determined to do what was right under these circumstances and not just whatever her parents determined was appropriate. The only reason she’d agreed to come at all was because Dr. Fardesh said that Stephen had begun to mention not only Niall’s name but Michael’s, both during his brief sessions with Dr. Fardesh and with his art therapist.

  “I get the impression that Stephen is trying to work through something, Niall,” Dr. Fardesh had explained last week. “This medication regime we have him on is no cure, of course, but it might be giving him some psychological resources to try and cope, at least minimally, with his past. He’s been drawing pictures of Michael during his art therapy sessions. A few days ago he asked me how old Michael would have been today if he had lived. As you know, that sort of acknowledgment of Michael—let alone his death—has been unprecedented for Stephen since he’s been under my care.”

  Niall had been flabbergasted by the news. To her knowledge, Michael’s name hadn’t passed Stephen’s lips since their four-year-old son’s funeral. It was soon afterward that her husband began to drink heavily and that his behavior became increasingly erratic, agitated, and eventually violent. By the time Matthew Manning’s trial came around, Stephen had declined both physically and psychologically to such a degree that Niall had no choice but to hospitalize him.

  He hadn’t been out of a hospital or psychiatric facility for a single day since then.

  “Is there anything I can do to help?” Niall had asked Dr. Fardesh.

  “Just continue to do what you have been doing: listen and offer him support. You know that Rose told him about the divorce proceedings?”

  Niall nodded. She’d been glad to hear from Rose Gonzalez that she had indeed ended up informing Stephen back in December about their divorce, after he’d shown several weeks of stability. The fact that Stephen hadn’t relapsed when he heard the news, but continued to have an unprecedented period of relative lucidity and stable functioning, had heartened Niall.

  “He’s handled that news very well,” Dr. Fardesh mused. “When he does bring up your name, it’s always associated with Michael. What he’s trying to work through definitely relates to Michael’s murder. He occasionally mentions the name Marchant or the Marchant account. Does that mean anything to you?”

  Niall’s brow crinkled as she searched her memories but came up empty-handed. The name sounded vaguely familiar, but . . .

  “No . . . I don’t think I know that name.”

  Dr. Fardesh shrugged. “Well, whatever the name means to Stephen, he becomes quite agitated whenever he brings it up.”

  “And he brings it up in association with Michael?” Niall asked, puzzled.

  Dr. Fardesh had nodded. “Don’t be too concerned with it. It will either come out or it won’t. These things take time for an individual like Stephen to process.”

  Stephen typically ne
ver said much to Niall when she’d come to visit over the last month. He still quickly became restless and agitated in her presence, although never to the point of violence. But he did recognize her and call her by her name. He’d even recognized Alexis on that initial visit back in December, and Niall Chandler Sr. on subsequent visits. That had created some disproportionate expectations from Niall’s parents, who seemed convinced that Stephen would be back behind his desk at Chandler Financial someday soon, barking out orders and making brilliant business decisions under pressure.

  Her parents continued to cling to these unrealistic expectations despite Dr. Fardesh and Rose Gonzalez’s warnings as to the monumental unlikelihood of them. Stephen needed supervision and assistance in order to maintain his most basic hygiene, continued to shy away from all strangers, and typically spoke approximately fifty words per day cumulatively to Dr. Fardesh and the various other employees at Evergreen Park to whom he was accustomed. If someone didn’t put a tray of food directly in front of him and encourage him repeatedly to eat, Niall had little doubt that Stephen would eventually starve if left to his own devices.

  Niall had taken to just ignoring her parents when they rattled on about Stephen’s miraculous improvements. She was still furious with her mother for what she’d done in front of Vic back in December. But Niall had been so overwhelmed by her own feelings of guilt, grief, and hopelessness when it came to Stephen that she hadn’t yet confronted Alexis about her underhanded, passive aggressive behavior on that day.