Fractured Steel

by T. J. Loveless

  “Our father had it planned out. You just had to go and fuck it all up.” He stood and leaned over me. “You are not afraid. Good, it will give me longer to play with you.” In a lightning move, he slashed the hunting knife across my face.

  Burning pain screamed across my nerves and I rolled away, trying to hold my skin together. I grabbed the rail and pushed the nurse call button. I couldn’t get the rail down, and screamed through another slash across my lower back. It went deep, warm liquid spreading quickly. The pain was lost in the foam. I grabbed a tray and hit him as hard as I could in the head several times. He held up an arm, laughing. Another slash landed across the meat of the muscle going from my neck to my shoulder. The pain was leaking into the foam, I didn’t have much time left.

  I rolled off the bed, hitting the hard tiled floor. On the bed was a small crank lever, and I pulled it. The small bit of metal came out, and as Kyle leaned over to grin at me, I thrust it into his neck. He reared back, as the nurses ran in.

  Weakness, and a floating sensation, surrounded me, and I smiled. The pain was nonexistent, and if I let it, I wouldn’t have to deal with the pain anymore. I could simply float away, far from the cluster fuck of my life. I wouldn’t have to worry about espionage, long hidden secrets, or trying to survive the mental agony of memories. I batted away the hands trying to help. “No, let me bleed out!” I screamed.

  A picture of Five Alarm, standing proud and sniffing the wind, overtook my sight. His cloudy eye, scarred body, missing ear, and yet, he was willing to survive.

  I held the memory close, let the darkness overtake everything I was.

  Chapter Twenty Eight

  One hundred twenty two stitches. Eight days in the hospital. Five months since Rupert originally approached me in the stable yard. A total of forty three humans killed, fifteen horses, three dogs, and my sanity.

  Fall roared into the Laramie Valley, cooling the air and turning the leaves to create a beautiful painting of golds, reds and greens. A new house and stables, a life in which I had to live with memories no human should have.

  Standing in the courtroom, I winced when the judge banged the gavel. I was subpoenaed to testify, but first I was appointed a therapist due to self-harm and suicide attempt. I had an appointment in two days. I touched the attorney’s arm and nodded at the door. I couldn’t stand to be in a crowded place, my skin itching, a permanent buzz in my ears. Everyone was suspect, and watching my back impossible with so many people around.

  My heels clacked on the hardwood floors, and I counted to fifty. I was going to visit Aiden, being held in Denver, whether they liked it or not. He was one of the few still living that had yet to betray me.

  My cousin, Maria, moved into the new house. She was my driver and cook. I put the house in Denver up for sale, telling her to think of my home as hers.

  The German government had spent a fortune rebuilding my place, filling the coffers until they spilled over.

  Doc, at six months, was a whopping sixty pounds and growing. He was a great dog, but I had a hard time bonding.

  Maria met me at the front of the courthouse, driving the new Jeep Grand Cherokee. I sat in the passenger seat, belting myself in, and putting a hand over my eyes. I squeezed my temples, a pounding headache trying to gain footage.

  “I have aspirin in the console,” Maria whispered in the quiet of the SUV. She handed over a bottle of water.

  “How am I supposed to testify? That took all of twenty minutes.”

  “You’ll find a way.”

  She drove through Cheyenne, finding the I-25 south from Lincoln Way. Only the preliminaries were being held in Cheyenne, the rest to be done in Denver at the Federal Court House. It was a strange legal maneuver, and I didn’t understand any of it. The attorney said it would all be sent down at a later date.

  The ninety minute drive to Denver was silent. I kept my eyes closed, unable to watch the heavy traffic. I’d learned the lesson early on, and the reason Maria drove. I panicked, and would have black outs.

  Maria navigated the streets easily, turning into the parking lot of the facility Aiden was kept. I changed my heels for a pair of Sketchers, and took a deep breath. She put a hand on my arm, nodding once and letting me go.

  “I’m going to the realtor’s, and over to the store for some supplies. I’ll be back in time, okay?” She held my gaze with her beautiful brown eyes. She understood. The rest of the world seemed to judge me at every turn.

  I nodded and got out. I straightened my spine, and jogged to the doors. I looked around, trying to find anything out of the ordinary. The scars pulled the skin tight, and my face hurt.

  I went through all the necessary paperwork, pictures, pat downs and waited. I heard my name and jumped. I briefly contemplated changing my name. Anytime it was spoken, I waited for death to appear.

  I was led into a small room, with a wall of tiny cubicles, bullet proof glass partitions, and old style phones for visitors to speak to the inmates. The officer pointed, gave me a small smile, and nodded once. I got a lot of that from law enforcement, and never quite understood it.

  I sat on the stool, as did all the other visitors. Once settled, a door on the other side of the partition opened and men in bright orange jumpsuits paraded in. Aiden walked sedately to our joined cubicle and sat down.

  I looked him over, hair too long, face and body lean from weight loss. I picked up the phone and waited. He raised his head, and I put a hand on the partition. He grabbed the phone, and put a hand over mine.

  “You look like hell,” I gave a weak smile.

  “I miss you too.” His voice was low, but his brown eyes were bright. “You look wonderful.”

  “The scars are healing nicely. It’s not the same without your snores on the other end of the room.”

  “That’s why you look like you’ve been punched in both eyes?”

  I snorted, “Smartass, and yes. How are you doing?”

  “They have me on lockdown, but thanks for the books. I need them for company.” He traced my hand. “How is Five and Doc?”

  “Five is in bad shape, and Doc is a big bugger. I think Chuck chose the one who would weigh in at one fifty,” I chuckled.

  “I heard you were subpoenaed.” He looked at me, gaze filled with sympathy.

  “Don’t pity me. I’ll … figure it out.” I looked away.

  “I don’t pity you, Karen. But I can tell you are having a hard time. You keep looking around, shoulders are around your ears, and frankly, I’m waiting for you to sprint out of here.”

  I lowered my gaze to the small countertop. I couldn’t lie to him, not now, not ever. “Do you think you’ll get out of this?”

  “I don’t know.”

  I heard the small bell, an indication visiting time was almost over. “Aiden?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Don’t leave me to handle this alone.” I let him see into my heart, and watched his eyes widen. He gasped, and leaned forward, forehead on the partition.

  “I’m trying not to. Don’t give up, Karen. Don’t let the darkness swallow you again, no matter what happens. Promise me.” He looked up, tears covering beautiful brown eyes.

  “I won’t make a promise I can’t be sure to keep.” I hung up the phone.

  Chapter Twenty Nine

  I tried to create routine, something to count on. I brought Five into the smaller paddock, and was the only one handling him. He’d lost some of the cantankerous side of his nature, normal after being gelded. But the fire that was him, balls or not, was missing. I’d get a glimpse of his former self, and watch it disappear like smoke on the wind.

  What I wanted was his soul to heal. If he could heal, then perhaps I could too. We worked in the round pen from seven in the morning until nine. I worked with other horses, trying to help Five remember his equine roots. More often than not, he’d attack. Experts told me he was broken beyond repair, to put him down, he’d never heal.

  I told them to kiss my ass.

  For me, it was worse. I
had an appointment with the therapist that afternoon. I’d moved it twice, and informed by the new attorney I couldn’t do it again. I put Five in the small corral, checking the fountain and hay. He’d be all right.

  I dressed in jeans and a t-shirt, slipping on the Sketchers. I pushed my hair back with a headband, and guzzled three beers, plus two shots of Jack Daniels. I didn’t eat breakfast, and the alcohol hit quickly.

  Maria drove, and promised to return when the appointment was over. I walked into the two story office building in downtown Laramie. Inside the door was the directory, Dr. Heather Griggs, second floor, number 214. I took the stairs, trying to get as much exercise as possible. The scars required daily oiling or I couldn’t move, and muscles had to be stretched often or they locked up. I preferred the pain of walking to the agony of trying to untwist myself.

  I took two turns and faced the door. I raised a hand to knock twice. I took a step back, hugging myself, staring at the floor. Twenty minutes early, I took the time to fortify myself.

  I heard the door open, and my head whipped up. The woman before me was approximately late thirties, long blonde hair almost hitting her waist. She was pixie cute, about five foot seven. She wore a pantsuit in dark brown, with matching heels. When I met her eyes, I gasped. They were a bright, forest green.

  I backed away, shaking my head, feeling my way along the wall. I ran into a ficus tree, and fell over. I turned over and tried to crawl away.

  “Wait, Ms. Barnes! Damn it! Wait, it’s okay, come back, you won’t be hurt here!” Her voice was gentle but commanding. “Captain Barnes! Halt and give me twenty!”

  Without thought, I stopped and turned to frown at her. “What the hell?”

  “That’s better. I was afraid of this, but I can’t help my eye color. I’m not related to them in any way, shape or form. Get off the floor, and come inside. It is perfectly safe in here, I promise.” She held out a hand, palm up, showing off new calluses.

  I stood, dusting off, turning so red I had the beginnings of a headache.

  “Don’t be embarrassed. Now, come in,” her hand remained.

  I slipped a hand into hers, and she grasped it lightly. She led me inside the first door, shutting it gently. I followed into the next room, painted a soft taupe color, the only furniture a suede recliner and a leather chair with matching ottoman. No closets, no desks, nothing. The sparse furnishings, in a neutral tone, were relaxing, nonthreatening. I could see anything coming.

  She walked to the two doors, turning the bolts and locks. “We are safe in here. I’m Dr. Griggs. Have a seat.” She stood next to the door, in a neutral body position.

  “Which one?” I tilted my head.

  “Whichever you feel most comfortable.”

  I chose the leather office chair, not liking the thought of having to jump out of the recliner. I sat in the chair, putting my sore leg on the ottoman.

  She took her shoes off and took deliberate steps to the recliner. She sat down, feet tucked under her butt, and sank into the cushions. No notepad, pen, recorder. Instead, she put an elbow on the recliner arm, and looked at me, calm.

  “What am I supposed to say?” I asked, hearing the grumpiness.

  “Anything, all of it, or nothing.” Her body language said she wasn’t going to rush, push, or force me.

  I frowned. Dr. Griggs wasn’t what I expected. I stood, and walked around the room, automatically searching for hidden cameras, checking the door locks three times. I fought not to do it a fourth time. The room was clean. She didn’t move, make any noises, or give me looks to stop. Nor did she try to fill the silence. By slow degrees, my shoulders dropped.

  “Where are you from?” I turned to her.

  “I was raised in Colorado, outside of Colorado Springs. Went to medical school at Harvard, interned at John Hopkins.”

  “Why are you in Laramie?” I raised an eyebrow. Credentials of that caliber meant she could get a high paying job anywhere.

  “I asked to be transferred here three months ago. I got tired of moneyed divas thinking their life was shit because the husband wouldn’t give them anything they wanted, among other things. I wanted small town, with access to big city. And I’m a mountain girl at heart.” She rearranged her arm until she leaned on the elbow, her forearm across the recliner arm, palm up.

  “How long have you been riding?” I pointed at the calluses.

  She smiled. “Thought you might notice that. Took lessons at a young age, bought my first horse three months ago. Been a learning experience.”

  I nodded and made another circuit, checking the door locks again. “Five Alarm isn’t doing well. He’s still stuck in survival mode.”

  She made a minor movement, sitting a little straighter. “After all he went through, can you blame him?”

  “No, I suppose not. But he won’t go it alone.”

  “It’s always best to have someone who understands. Healing from such violence, and living with the changes in the body and mind can be very hard, even for the mentally strong.”

  “He spooks at everything. The littlest things will set him off, and I don’t know how to help.” I forced myself to meet her forest green gaze, the color sparking fear and panic.

  “When it comes to things like this, nobody can really say for certain what will be a trigger. It could be colors, smells, noises, the feel of paper. Nobody, and I mean nobody, ever gets over it. They learn tools to lower the symptoms, what the big triggers are, how to handle them. It takes time and patience. New research shows if a survivor talks about it constantly, and revisits the places, they can even stop the symptoms.” She paused, and rubbed an eyebrow, glanced at the scars on my face, and continued, “The body, when under extreme stress, whether for ten minutes or months, releases hormonal cocktails for survival. It causes some fundamental changes in the body and brain. The trick is to recognize the signs before it becomes a full blown episode.”

  “We aren’t talking about horses anymore, are we?”

  She gave a gentle smile, “No, Ms. Barnes, we aren’t.”

  I bit my lips. “Why did the judge want me here?”

  “Often it is in hopes to help you testify, or remember something.”

  “I don’t have any information against Aiden Middleston. He was my protection.” I walked on the balls of my feet, getting close to the one window. It overlooked downtown Laramie, creating a picturesque view. “He’s a scapegoat, nothing more. I don’t understand why they locked him up.”

  “I think you might want to entertain the possibility of Stockholm Syndrome.” I heard her shift in the recliner.

  I whipped around, barely containing the urge to strike her, “This isn’t Stockholm. This is recognizing who the real predators were, who endangered my life, ripped me to shreds, and took my life!” I stopped, realizing I’d moved several steps, stalking her.

  She remained relaxed and calm. “Okay. Let’s talk about something else.”

  I looked at my watch. More than an hour had passed. “It’s past the time. I was only supposed to be here fifty minutes.” I stomped to the outer door, on the far side.

  “Ms. Barnes.” She stood and swiveled to me. “Any day you come in, I keep the entire day clear. I don’t need the money, I have plenty of my own. I’ve read the files, I know what they say happened. The fact you aren’t in a strait jacket banging your head against a padded wall is a miracle.”

  I stopped, my hand on the open door. “I’ll keep that in mind when I wake from the nightmares.” I walked out, softly closing the door. The hallway seemed too long, unending. It grew as I walked to the elevator, every step adding two more, and in the growing panic, I broke into a jog. I turned the corner, almost out of breath, to stop in front of the elevator. I pushed the button, my head hanging forward, wisps of hair framing my face. Tears dropped silently onto the carpeted floor. I pushed the button again, harder, silently begging it to hurry.

  The bell announced the arrival of the lift, and I stepped back. The stainless steel doors slid open and I gap
ed. Gage.

  Chapter Thirty

  I yelped and stumbled backwards, seeing his broad shoulders and pretty gray eyes. My back slammed into the wall, breathing too fast. The world started to tilt, and I bent forward, hands on knees. “Just do it, you bastard! Just kill me. I can’t take anymore.”

  A big hand landed on my shoulder, “Ma’am, are you okay? Should I call for an ambulance?” The voice was off, older, deeper. I looked up and blinked. The man before me was in his late forties, with black hair carting several streaks of silver. His eyes were the lightest blue, filled with concern.

  “Dr. Cannes!” I heard my therapist yell from the end of the hallway. “My patient, it’s okay, I’ve got her.”

  “Hold on, Miss, Dr. Griggs is coming. It will be fine.” He never released my shoulder.

  Dr. Griggs’s bare feet appeared in my line of sight and I frowned.

  “This is normal, Ms. Barnes, come on, I’ll walk you to your vehicle.” She patted the man’s shoulder, nodding. He returned the gesture and left. “I’d prescribe you drugs, but I have the feeling you’d refuse. We opened some doors you wanted shut, and you had an episode. Please say you’ll come back tomorrow.” She led me to the stairwell, holding my hand.

  I felt like a small child, unable to understand the situation, what was happening. I saw Gage, the last one left to be caught. Yet, the man in the elevator didn’t resemble Gage. My heart thundered, the adrenaline rush making me shaky.

  She led me to the Jeep, and Maria jumped out, opening the door. I curled into the passenger seat, the door shut behind me. I faced away, trying to calm myself, return to reality. I longed for the static foam, where nothing happened.

  Maria drove to the ranch, keeping the silence. I straightened in the seat, holding my temples and rocking. The minute we pulled into the drive, I jumped out of the vehicle, running for my new bedroom. I locked the door, seeing Doc in his normal position on the bed. The big head came up and he assessed me with liquid brown eyes. Panic clawed at my chest, and I ran for the closet, going into the dark, putting my back to the corner and sliding down. Knees close to my chest, and eyes squeezed closed, I rocked, whispering in the dark, “It’s not real. It’s over. It’s not real. It’s over.”