by Emerson Rose
“Okay, you can bring your phone but we need to get out of here fast.” He reaches for me but I shrink away and text a message. What’s going on? Where is Marcus? Who’s that with you? And where are we going? I pass the phone to him and he scans it quickly.
“Marcus is having… an episode. He instructed us to take you to a safe area in this instance. Elijah is with me and we have an area of the house used for… oh, just please come, Imani. It’s not safe here.”
Elijah is here? When did that happen? Now I’m really confused. What place could be safer than right here with these two? Elijah steps forward into the light.
“Imani, please, I’ll explain in a minute. We need to go!” Elijah whispers loudly, exasperated with my hesitance.
“Okay,” I say and lift a hand to my throat when I hear my voice. I spoke. Well, it was more like a croak but I’m relieved that my vocal cords are healing.
I push back the heavy duvet and grab the silk robe Marcus left at the foot of the bed earlier. I slip it on and side step both men when they try to guide me to the door. I’ll go, but on my own terms.
I motion Black to exit first and Elijah to follow him, but Elijah won’t budge.
“Imani, I have to be behind you, it’s for your own protection.” Rolling my eyes, I pass by him and he closes the door with a click that echoes down the long hall.
I blindly follow Mr. Black down the stairs. At the bottom, I hear Marcus’s voice; he’s yelling and breaking glass. I stop abruptly and Elijah bumps into me.
I turn and face him toe-to-toe with my hands on my hips. I want to know what’s going on, but he turns me around by my shoulders and guides me away from the room Marcus is destroying. The sound of his angry voice is muffled when we enter a den several doors down the hall.
I stand in shock and watch Elijah move to a desk on the far side of the den and press a button under it that opens a panel door.
He motions for me to enter but I back up a few steps. I don’t trust anyone these days and going into what looks like an actual panic room causes me to, well, to panic!
I shake my head and pull my robe around me tighter wrapping my arms around my waist.
This frustrates them to no end, but I don’t fucking care. “Imani! Please, if you can trust anyone ever, it’s us, right now,” Elijah yells.
He looks genuinely panicked, and Mr. Black isn’t looking much better. I’m still groggy from the sleeping pills. It couldn’t have been long ago that I went to sleep, what the hell is going on with Marcus?
“Miss Jefferson, there are closed circuit screens in the panic room. You can observe Mr. Castillo and see what he’s doing if you want to, but we have been instructed to move you here and I don’t want to do so by force.”
There are banging and scraping sounds coming from down the hall. It sounds like he’s moving furniture around. I hear his deep voice yell out a curse; he’s hurt himself.
Something about his tone, his all-around vibe, it’s off. It’s his voice but it sounds nothing like him. The man who sounds like a wrecking ball tearing through the house is the man who strangled me yesterday. I can feel it.
Fear ignites in my belly and I step into the panic room to their utter relief and Elijah presses a red button, closing the door.
I take a deep breath and hold it praying that I’ve done the right thing.
Mr. Black has taken a seat behind a panel of screens that show every room in the house, exactly like the one in Seattle. Elijah reaches out for me but I step back out of his reach. He cocks his head in the direction of a recliner and I take a seat.
I shudder when I sit down in the leather recliner wearing my silk nightgown and Elijah retrieves a soft blanket from a cabinet labeled ‘Linens.’
He doesn’t just hand it to me. He opens it up and drapes it across my lap making sure it covers my feet.
“Thank you,” I say, in my abrasive whisper voice.
I sound like a dying bull frog. I think I’ll stick to texting for a little longer.
“You’re welcome.”
I type out a text to him.
Now will you please tell me what’s going on? Why is he yelling? What happened? Why am I in here? And why do you have a panic room?
I pass the phone to Elijah; he reads the message and passes it back to me taking a seat on a stool next to me.
“Imani, this is going to be hard to hear. I don’t know how to say this but to just say it. The Marcus you know isn’t the real Marcus Castillo, not the one any of us know at least. He’s a dangerous man, lethal, and prone to extreme outbursts of fury. Like tonight and yesterday with you, I’m afraid. We started to have hope when he acted different with you. It seemed like his evil side died in the crash with Megan. God, we prayed the change in his personality was permanent. It would have made our lives so much easier. And everything was working out fine until yesterday. We realized, Marcus included, that you weren’t safe with him anymore. That’s why he made the new rules about sticking close to you when you were together, and to lock you up if he showed the slightest bit of mood change.”
I text. What happened tonight to set him off? Has he always been this bad or is this worse? I point at the screens.
“I don’t know, Imani. I was working with him in his office and he just started getting more and more agitated until he wasn't making any sense. The more I tried to reason with him the angrier he became. When he started breaking things, I paged Mr. Black, who was guarding your door and told him to get you ready to move.”
This is bizarre. I feel like the president of the United States being snatched from their bed after a terrorist threat and rushed to a nuclear bomb safe room in the White House.
This is insane. Marcus needs to be helped not abandoned. His tumor must be causing more confusion, more mood swings. I need a computer, I need access to his medical files, and I really need a neurological specialist. Damn, I wish we were at home in Seattle.
“He told me you would want this,” Elijah says, handing me my iPad. I haven't seen this in over two weeks. “And these,” he says, passing me a stack of files with a clear envelope on top containing two SD cards.
Even when he’s screaming in a fit of rage somewhere down the hall, he is reading my mind and giving me what I need.
“Those are his medical files, all of the physicians he has seen, and their diagnosis on one SD. The other one he said not to look at unless… unless he dies. He made me swear that I would make that crystal clear to you before I hand it over.
What the hell? Did he just suggest that Marcus may die and I’m supposed to check out some fucking SD card if he does?
This is so fucked up. I’m not going to sit around here and wait for Marcus to die. We need help. I’ll be fucking damned to hell if I stand by and watch him slip away into oblivion as some psychopath that everyone is scared shitless of.
My Marcus is real and I know it. I don’t care what anyone else says. I don’t care who he used to be or what he used to do. The man I fell in love with is who he is meant to be. Not some monster terrorizing everyone in his path.
I’m going to prove it. I’m going to find a surgeon who will take that shit out of his head and bring him back to me.
I stand up and the blanket slides to the floor at my feet. I step over it and move closer to the screen Mr. Black is watching.
Marcus is in a rage. He’s in his bedroom pacing at the end of the bed. Duvet and pillows are thrown on the floor, there is no surface left undisturbed. There are lamps, a clock, books, and candles scattered everywhere.
I think he was looking for me and when he didn’t find me, he destroyed the room. I text a message to Black.
Has he done this to every room or just the bedroom?
He looks at it briefly and then at the screen where Marcus is pacing like a caged animal.
“He broke a glass behind the bar and pushed the furniture around but nothing like this,” he says, pointing at the screen with a pen that he’s been flicking in his hand. I text him again and I know he
’s not going to like what I have to say.
I need to go out there.
That lights a fire under his ass.
“There’s no way in hell you are going through that door. I’ve only failed him once in twenty years and I’m not about to do it again.”
Okay, so he’s going to be difficult about this. He must have forgotten that I am in a relationship with an incredibly difficult man. I know how to deal with difficult. I’m going to give him a few minutes of false reassurance while I look over Marcus’s medical records and then I’m bolting.
Marcus needs me, whoever he is right now it’s clear he’s searching for me. I should be terrified after what happened yesterday but Marcus is being held hostage in a mind that’s playing tricks on him and he’s alone.
Maybe I’m losing my mind right alongside him. Maybe I love him more than life itself because I’m willing to risk anything to be there for him when he needs me. Everyone his entire life has abandoned him, until now, and I won’t stand by and watch him hurt himself.
I sit back down and keep one eye on the screen and the other on one of Marcus’s files. I can hardly concentrate on the files. I’m too worried about Marcus.
These heartless idiots have left him out there alone and if I don’t talk him down he’s going to hurt himself. Who knows what that tumor is doing inside his brain? It’s already causing him to black out, strangle his girlfriend, and charge through his own home destroying his own belongings.
He needs to be in a hospital. I’ve told him that a hundred times since he all but checked himself out of Seattle Trinity. God, he’s stubborn.
I skim his file, Pituitary Adenoma with massive vascular entanglement jumps off the page and my heart stops for a moment. That explains why it’s considered inoperable.
I read an article not too long ago that said if it’s large enough it can cause blindness and about a billion other serious side effects. Why didn’t I look into this more when he was my patient? Why wasn’t I more concerned? Why didn’t I push him harder to get help?
I was too busy falling in love with him, that’s why.
I’m going to vomit. I glance up and see Marcus weaving back down the hall away from us holding his hands over his ears. His head hurts.
I clamp my hand over my mouth and jump out of my chair. Everything in my lap scatters on the floor, the files, the SD cards, and the blanket while I promptly puke my guts up in a nearby trash can. Throwing up is truly awful, the sound of retching, the smell of vomit, and the taste of bile that burns your throat and sinuses. I feel so bad for my patients who are nauseous.
It’s a blessing in disguise, however, when the guys are so taken by surprise that they are momentarily frozen.
I don’t even allow myself to recover. I run for the door, jam my hand on that button, slip through and race to the desk to find the button that closes the door.
It’s like time is standing still when I look back at them watching me in disbelief. I feel along the edge of the desk, press the button and watch it slide shut. The two pissed off men clamber out of their seats but they’re not going to make it.
I lock wild eyes with Elijah for a split second and then I’m dashing out of the den hampered by my bare bandaged feet.
I hear Marcus moaning in the distance. I’m surprised Black and Elijah haven’t caught up to me yet when I tiptoe down the stairs following the sound of Marcus’s muffled voice.
I find him sitting on a couch holding his head in a living room near the front of the house when I realize that I have no plan.
I wanted to come out here so bad, but now what? I hang back and assess the situation for a moment. I don’t have much time before Elijah and Black are here hauling my ass back to the panic room, so I go balls out and pad across the plush carpet in his direction.
I have no way to communicate with him. My phone is back in the panic room but he hears me and lifts his head. He looks straight ahead into the unlit fireplace.
“I hear you, whoever you are. Leave me.”
I stop and hold still half way to him. It’s so quiet the only thing I can hear is my heart pounding in my head and my heavy breathing.
“I said go!” he yells. I pop up onto the balls of my feet when he startles me and cringe. Pain shoots up my calves from my sliced-up feet.
I release my clenched fists and shake the adrenaline from my arms and stand my ground. He’s aware of me but he still doesn’t turn in my direction to see who is with him.
The room is dark but for a sliver of moonlight spilling in through a large bay of windows on my left. I can make him out, though, so surely he could see me if he would only look.
He hates the dark, he would never sit here without a light on. My Marcus wouldn’t anyway. I’m still not sure what side of the mood pendulum we are swinging on right now.
I can’t just stand here, I have to try something. I give my voice a go, “Marcus?” It’s scratchy but audible.
“I said to fucking leave me!” he roars, and I stagger backward into an archway that is the entrance to this room. There’s no confusion as to which Marcus I’m dealing with now.
I’ve been so focused on Marcus that I didn’t sense Mr. Black and Elijah in the foyer behind me. When I turn around, Black takes a step toward me and I shake my head back and forth fiercely pressing my back against the inside of the arch.
I’m not going anywhere until this is figured out. Both men stop abruptly and glance in Marcus’s direction and back at me. Elijah mouths the words, ‘Imani, please…’ He pleads with his eyes but I stick to my guns and shake my head ‘no’ again. He sighs heavily, too heavily.
Now Marcus knows there’s more than just one person invading his privacy. He’s on his feet taking long purposeful strides in our direction.
Elijah yanks me behind him and holds me locked there with his hands on my hips, slowly backing us down the hall. I look around his broad shoulder and watch Mr. Black step between Elijah and Marcus just in time to be on the receiving end of a quarterback tackle. This is not going to end well.
Forty-Nine
A multitude of things happen simultaneously. I’m trapped in a tornado of activity helpless to do anything but watch the events unfold.
Elijah spins both of us around and wraps his arms around my waist lifting me off my feet to carry me away from the fight.
I can’t scream but I giving him my best loud croak. “Put me down!” I twist in his arms, kicking and wiggling trying to make it difficult for him to keep ahold of me.
I crane my sore neck around enough to see Marcus and Black struggling on the floor. Something is weird about this fight but I can’t quite put my finger on it.
Just then Marcus’s fist makes contact with Black’s face and Black goes down. Hard. Oh my God!
Marcus drops to his knees gasping for breath and squeezing his eyes shut tight. I slap at Elijah’s bicep urgently. I’ve twisted enough that he’s losing his sideways grip on me.
He stops walking to see what my problem is and I turn his face so he can see what I’m seeing. Black is sprawled out on the marble floor on his face. He isn’t moving and Marcus is scooting away. He doesn’t stop until he reaches the wall where he presses his back against it as if he can’t get far enough away from Black.
At first I think he’s staring at Black’s unmoving body but then it hits me, he isn’t looking at anything. That’s why the fight looked strange to me; Marcus can’t see.
He's staring straight ahead but his eyes are void of recognition or emotion.
My fight or flight instinct kicks in and I bite Elijah causing him to drop me instantly. I race across the foyer and without thinking I drop to my knees and take Marcus’s head in my hands.
I turn his face to mine so we are within an inch of each other. Every time he exhales the hair around my face flutters as I search his eyes for recognition.
There is none, only beautiful bright green eyes staring through me instead of back at me.
“Imani?” he murmurs. Every cell in m
y body screams ‘thank God and everything holy, he’s back!’ I speak to him in my sandpaper voice hoping it’s not too unrecognizable.
“Yes, baby, it’s me. Oh my God, I’m glad you’re back.”
“I can’t see,” he says, grabbing my wrists. His empty eyes dart back and forth searching for me but finding only darkness.
I wrap my arms around his neck and pull him close breathing in his familiar scent of eucalyptus and spearmint. It feels like a lifetime has passed since he kissed me good night but it’s only taken a few hours for our shaky world to come crashing down around us.
He’s squeezing me so tight I can hardly breathe but I’ll suffocate if it comforts him. I’ll do anything it takes to help alleviate his pain and calm his fears. This isn’t only his fight anymore, it’s ours.
I feel Elijah rustling around behind me tending to Mr. Black who is slowly coming around. His moans echo through the foyer and for the first time I feel a tiny bit sorry for him.
I’m relieved that he isn’t dead. Marcus threw a serious punch. And even more unbelievable is that he did it so accurately without his sight.
“Let’s get you up,” I say. He loosens his grip on me and places his hand on my shoulder as we stand up.
“I can walk. I know the way, just hold my arm.” It seems weird that he’s not more disoriented. He’s a little wobbly but he knows where he’s going.
I look back at Elijah and Mr. Black. He has him on his feet with his arm draped over his shoulders.
“Imani, wait,” he says.
“It’s OK, I’ve got him,” I say, and he looks at me with wild eyes. We will be OK for a few minutes, I think.
“Imani, you shouldn’t, it’s dangerous.”
I turn away and lead Marcus up the stairs leaving poor Elijah stuck between a rock and a hard place. We are stuck in a vicious circle; Elijah trying to save my life, me trying to save Marcus’s. I don’t know which one of us will come out on top, hopefully both.
I’m on Marcus’s right so he can hold the banister with his left but I’d swear he doesn’t need it.
