Lash

by L. G. Castillo

  “You’ll be more comfortable with the pillow.” His voice was gentle as he tenderly lifted her and tucked the pillow behind her head. “You’re not always going to feel this way.”

  Naomi’s eyes pricked with tears, and her throat grew thick. As much as she and Chuy fought, she knew he loved her, and it pained her to know she’d hurt him. She wished that he wasn’t the one to find her that way.

  “I want to believe that,” she said softly.

  He brushed her hair off her face and kissed her forehead. “Then do. Have faith, Naomi. We’re family. I’ll always be here to help you, no matter what.”

  She blinked. It was the same thing she’d heard in her dream. What were the chances of that happening?

  “Where’s Welita?” She hated that she was putting her grandmother through this. Though now reflecting on it, it would have been worse for Welita if she had died. She was so focused on her own misery; she wasn’t able to see how it would affect others around her.

  “She’s in the chapel, praying for you,” he said. “She should be back in a few—”

  “My granddaughter is not crazy! No, I don’t want to talk with anyone about putting her in a crazy house.”

  Naomi and Chuy looked at each as they heard Welita arguing in the hall.

  “Oh, boy. Welita sounds like she’s in full form.” She wasn’t sure whether to be relived or afraid that her grandmother was taking charge.

  “You should have heard her earlier. She kept looking over the nurse’s shoulder whenever she wrote into your chart. She told the nurse that she saw something on the news about medical mistakes and wanted to make sure that she didn’t make any.”

  “Great. Now the nurse will have it in for me.”

  “Or pity you.” Chuy grinned, trying to lighten the mood. He moved back to the seat near the window. “For once, I’m not the one in the hot seat.”

  “Thanks a lot.” She didn’t know how he did it, but somehow Chuy always found a way to make her feel better.

  The door swung open and Welita marched into the room. A woman with short chestnut hair, dressed in a navy skirt suit followed close behind her then stood off to the side.

  “Ay, Mijita. You’re awake.” She dropped her heavy purse in Chuy’s lap.

  Chuy grunted. “What do you have in this thing?”

  Welita ignored him and headed straight to Naomi. “I prayed so hard for you.”

  “I’m sorry, Welita.”

  Welita wrapped her arms around Naomi. “Mijita, you know your family is always here for you.”

  “I know.”

  “You need to let us help you. If you’re sad, don’t keep it to yourself.”

  “I know, Welita.” It felt so good to be with her and Chuy. She hated being in that dark hole she’d placed herself in since her father’s death. Part of her was glad that they knew she was having a difficult time. She felt a burden being lifted, knowing that she wasn’t alone in her grief.

  Welita pulled back and kissed her cheek. “Don’t ever do that again.”

  She gazed into Welita’s eyes and saw that she had really scared her grandmother. It was not an expression she had ever seen on Welita. Silently, she vowed she wouldn’t do it again.

  “Excuse me, Naomi. I’m sorry to interrupt.” The woman stepped beside the bed.

  “Who are you?” Naomi asked.

  “I’m Mrs. Cynthia Watson, a psychological intern assigned to you by the hospital.”

  “Maybe now is not the best time.” Naomi knew what the woman was there for. She’d been flagged as mentally unstable.

  “I’ll make this quick. Perhaps your family would like to step outside for a moment? Give us some privacy?” Mrs. Watson glanced at Chuy and Welita.

  “I’m her grandmother,” Welita said. “I’m staying.”

  “Naomi is a legal adult. She has a right to her privacy.”

  “We don’t keep secrets in this family.” Welita stood and placed her hands on her hips.

  Naomi glanced over to Chuy nervously. Mrs. Watson didn’t know what she was up against when it came to Welita. Chuy shrugged his shoulders.

  “Mrs. Watson, whatever you have to say, you can say it in front of my family,” Naomi said.

  “As long as you give your consent, I guess that’s fine. In most cases, I like to talk to the patient first and then bring in the family. It helps with building trust and rapport in the therapist-client relationship.”

  “Her relationship is with her family,” Welita huffed.

  “I know.” Naomi patted Welita’s shoulder, trying to calm her. “Mrs. Watson, can we move on with this?”

  “Of course. The psychiatrist will be here in a few minutes to ask you some questions and determine whether or not you should be detained—for your safety.”

  “I already told you, we’ll watch over her,” Welita said.

  “I’m sure the psychiatrist will take that into account.” Mrs. Watson pulled out a pamphlet from the folder she was carrying and handed it to Naomi. “After your release, we recommend that you seek psychological treatment.”

  “She’s not crazy.”

  “I’m not crazy.”

  Naomi and Welita spoke in unison.

  Chuy took a breath and was about to say something, but he shut it when Welita threw him a glare.

  Mrs. Watson pursed her lips. “As I mentioned to your grandmother, you can benefit from receiving psychotherapy. We have some good therapy groups in the city. In fact, I know of a fantastic psychologist not too far from where you live,” she pointed to the pamphlet Naomi held. “His information is in there.”

  “I have my own plans for healing her,” Welita said.

  “And how is that?” Mrs. Watson eyed her skeptically.

  “She is going to start going to mass with me every Sunday, and Rebecca will help me watch over her.”

  “And who is Rebecca? A psychologist?”

  Oh, boy. Here we go. Naomi leaned back into the bed. She knew her grandmother’s faith was important to her, but she doubted anyone else would understand or believe that she had a guardian angel named Rebecca.

  “Uh, Welita.” Chuy got up from his chair and placed an arm around her. “I think it’s a good idea for Naomi to see someone.”

  Naomi blinked with surprise. One, he dared to interrupt Welita, and two, he was challenging her. She’d never seen him do that.

  Before Welita could say anything, he continued, “I mean, she can still go to mass with you, but she needs someone to talk to who can help her work out her troubles. It doesn’t mean that she’s crazy if she goes. Isn’t that right, Mrs. Watson?”

  “Of course, Mr. Duran.” She turned to Welita. “Think of it this way, Mrs. Duran. When a person has a tooth pain, they go to the dentist. Well, when a person has emotional pain, they can go to a therapist.”

  Chuy took Welita’s hand in his. “We don’t want her to be in pain anymore, and Naomi’s willing to go.”

  Welita looked at Naomi. “Are you?”

  Naomi looked at both of them, at the concern on their faces. Although she didn’t feel like going, she knew it would put their mind at ease if she did. “Yes, I’ll go. And I’ll go to mass with you, too. Mrs. Watson, I’ll look into this”—she glanced down at the brochure and read the name of the psychologist—“Dr. Ryan Dantan.”

  Mrs. Watson let out a breath and smiled. “Wonderful. I’m sure you will find him most helpful.”

  ***

  In the waiting area down the hall from Naomi’s room, Lash paced in circles, stopping every time he heard someone walking down the hall. From where he was, he should’ve been able to hear if Naomi was awake, but the beeps of the machines and various noises of other equipment muffled any noise coming from her room. When he saw Welita marching down the hall and into the room, he felt a bit of relief. He doubted that she would look so fierce, arguing with the woman in the navy suit, if Naomi was close to death’s door.

  Lash sank into the chair and dropped his head into his hands. How could he ha
ve missed it?

  When he saw Chuy banging on Naomi’s door, it took every ounce of self-control for him to not run across the street, push him aside, and knock the door down himself. There had to be something terribly wrong for Chuy to lose his cool like that, but he couldn’t figure out what. No one had gone inside the house, he was sure of that. He hadn’t smelled smoke so there was no danger of fire.

  When two paramedics jumped out of the ambulance and sped into Naomi’s apartment, Lash felt sick to his stomach. How could he have messed this up? His assignment was simple: Watch over the girl and make sure nothing happened to her. Yet, in less than a couple of weeks, there she was, being carried out on a gurney with blood-soaked bandages wrapped around her wrists.

  A door creaked open, and Lash’s head popped up. The woman in the navy suit walked out and then down the hall. She looked around, making sure no one was watching before knocking on a closed door. A man with crocodile boots stepped out into the hall.

  Sal! Lash jumped to his feet and got as close as he could to the pair while trying to stay hidden.

  “It’s done,” the woman said. “Ms. Duran has agreed to meet with Dr. Dantan.”

  Sal nodded, stuck a hand into his jacket, pulled out a small, thick envelope, and handed it over to the woman. Before she could touch it, he drew it away. “Don’t forget our agreement.”

  “Of course. I’m a woman of my word,” she said as he placed the packet in her hand. She opened it and sifted through its contents.

  Sal touched her hand. “Don’t count it here.”

  She looked at him, and Lash saw her shudder slightly before jerking her hand away from him. “You do realize that I took a risk with my job for this.”

  Sal smirked. “And you were well paid to do it. Don’t forget, if any word of this gets out, you’ll lose more than your job.” With that, Sal turned and exited to the stairwell.

  As soon as the woman was out of sight, Lash hurried after Sal. He flew into the stairwell expecting to at least hear Sal’s footstep echoing in the corridor. There was nothing. It was as if he had disappeared.

  Lash sped down ten flights of stairs, stopping to listen for Sal at every floor. When he got to the first floor of the hospital, he rushed outside. There was no trace of him. He had a funny feeling that Sal was more than a man working for Luke Prescott.

  Shaking his head, he looked into the cloudless sky. “Are you trying to make my life difficult?” First, there’s Rebecca whom he’d never met, and so far had not seen, assigned to someone in the same family Lash was assigned to. Then there was Luke Prescott and his bodyguard, Crocodile Boots. Something about them both just rubbed Lash wrong. He wondered if they were fallen angels. He knew there were others, but it was hard to tell since most didn’t use their powers out in the open. If they were of the fallen, why were they so interested in Naomi?

  He sighed. There was only one he could think of to get more information—he had to find this Dr. Dantan and the connection between him, Sal, and Luke Prescott. He was going to figure this out, even if it meant showing himself to Naomi.

  9

  After checking out of the hospital, Welita insisted that Naomi move in with her and Chuy. Naomi didn’t resist and was happy to move in with them. Over the next few weeks, she went to mass with Welita as she’d promised. It wasn’t that bad. Standing and squatting throughout the mass was annoying, but the murmurs of prayers echoing through the large church were actually quite soothing, even if it was in Spanish and she had no idea what they were saying.

  Naomi walked past the glass door of the office building for the fifth time that afternoon. She was feeling a lot better and had put off going to the psychologist, thinking she wouldn’t need him after all. However, when she’d asked Welita if she could have her bike back, Welita told her it was time to visit the psychologist. Chuy pressed her even more after Mrs. Watson kept calling in to see if Naomi had met with Dr. Dantan.

  Naomi sighed and pressed her face against the glass, trying to see inside. Chuy had dropped her off ten minutes ago, and she still couldn’t force herself to walk in.

  “You could see better if you actually went inside.”

  Naomi jumped at the man’s voice. She turned around to tell him off. “Why don’t you mind your own—”

  She was at a loss for words as she looked into a pair of the most beautiful hazel eyes she’d ever seen.

  “Is something the matter?” Lash asked.

  Her tongue felt like it was stuck on the roof her mouth. Her brain kept telling her to say something—anything. He was just a guy who happened to be drop dead gorgeous. Nothing special. She’d seen attractive men before.

  “Habla inglés?” Lash winked.

  She didn’t know much Spanish, but she understood that. Who was he to make assumptions about whether or not she could speak English? “I was going to say you should mind your own business.”

  “I was minding my own business, but you’re blocking the door.” He pointed to the glass door behind her.

  Her face warmed. Please don’t let him be Dr. Dantan.

  “If you don’t mind”— Lash gestured for her to move away from the door— “I don’t want to be late.”

  “Are you—” she squeaked. Damn it. She cleared her throat and lowered her voice. “Are you Dr. Dantan?”

  Lash placed a hand on the door and leaned into her. “What would you say if I was?”

  Naomi balked at his brashness. “I’d say screw this. I’m leaving.” She stepped under his arm and walked away.

  Lash laughed and ran after her. “Don’t go, Nao—, uh, don’t go. I was kidding.”

  A strong hand touched her arm, and a thousand butterflies somehow found their way into her stomach. She looked at him warily, hoping that her body would behave and not do anything embarrassing. It didn’t.

  Her legs wobbled as she stared at his lopsided smile, perfect white teeth and the smattering of stubble along his strong jawline.

  She shook her head trying to clear it. Good grief, what was wrong with her? She didn’t even know the guy, and her body was acting like a hormonal teenager.

  He was long and lean, his long-sleeved black t-shirt emphasizing the muscles on his chest. That was it. She knew there was something suspicious about him. No one in his right mind wore long sleeves in the middle of summer in Texas. That little flaw made her feel better.

  “Hey, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to offend.” Lash pulled his hands up and looked at her wide-eyed. “Would it help if I told you I was getting treatment for my apparent personality disorder?”

  Naomi couldn’t help but smile at the way he looked when he said it. “No need to apologize. I’m not normally like this. I guess I’m not looking forward to meeting Dr. Dantan. So, you’re a patient, too.” Oh, God, now I’m rambling. Focus, woman. Focus.

  “Yep. I’ve been coming to this group for a few weeks,” Lash said as he pulled the door open, and a gust of cold air rushed out. “After you,” he said, holding the door open for her. “It’s the second door on the left.”

  Naomi took a breath and regained her composure. After walking through the waiting room, she stepped into what she assumed was supposed to be an office, but instead looked like someone’s living room. It was not at all what she’d expected. The walls were lined with bookshelves. Curtains covered faux windows that had painted sceneries with rolling hills covered in blue bonnets. In the center of the room, there was a beige sofa with at least half a dozen pillows, a matching love seat, and several wingback chairs. A brown leather chair completed the circle.

  “Come on,” Lash said. “They won’t bite. Well, except maybe for Tori over there. She looks like a biter.” He pointed his head toward a girl sitting on the floor next to the brown leather chair. Her head was bent over a sketchbook; dark blue hair hid her face.

  Tori flipped him the finger.

  “Tori’s just a ray of sunshine, isn’t she? And this here”—Lash pointed to a boy on the sofa who pounded away on a smartphone— “is Andrew. Gam
er extraordinaire. Where’s the doc?”

  Andrew continued to stare intently at his phone as he shrugged his shoulders.

  “He said he was going to run a little late today,” a soft voice spoke from behind them.

  Naomi turned to see a petite girl with large dark eyes.

  “Oh, hey, Ellen. I didn’t see you back there,” Lash said.

  “No one ever does,” she mumbled as she passed by Naomi and sat down next to Andrew. “He had to check a patient into the hospital, but he’ll be here as soon as he can.

  “You owe me twenty bucks,” Lash called to Tori. “I told you Caleb was the next one to visit the padded room.”

  Without looking up, Tori dug into her bag and threw a bill at him.

  “Are you a friend of Lash’s?” Ellen asked Naomi.

  “Lash?”

  “That would be me.” He extended his hand to her. “It’s a pleasure meeting you…?”

  “Naomi,” she said as she placed her hand in his. Again, she felt that strange sensation. She looked into Lash’s eyes and saw them darken for a moment before he quickly pulled his hand away. For a moment, he looked confused.

  “Whoa, static electricity. Be careful with these rugs,” Lash said quickly, turning away from her.

  Naomi looked at him skeptically. With Houston’s humidity, there was no way that feeling was static electricity.

  “So, did you get your DSM label yet?” Lash plopped himself on the chair next to the sofa. Acting as if nothing happened, he gave her another one of his dimpled smiles.

  “DSM?”

  “Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders.” Ellen pointed to a grey book on the bookshelf. “It’s the book that shrinks use to diagnose you.”

  “Oh, uh, no. Not yet. At least, I don’t think so.”

  “Everybody has one. I got mine yesterday,” Lash said proudly. “I’m schizoid.”

  “What’s that?”

  “It means he has problems with emotional intimacy,” Ellen said, looking sadly at Lash. “He’s not interested in personal relationships.”