Through Glass (The Glass Series Book 1)

by Fisher, Kari

  He nods, accepting my invitation. I will make him mine.

  “How about pasta?” I ask. I know he’s not a fan, since he much prefers steak or pork chops, but it’s the only thing I can make that is easy enough without actually having to defrost anything from the freezer.

  “Pasta is fine,” he replies. What a relief. I definitely don’t want him walking out at this point, solely because of my meal choice.

  I pour him a glass of wine and he doesn’t object as I place it in his hand. Our skin touches once again, and I can’t take my eyes away from his.

  The water is boiling. It’s about to boil over.

  Goddammit, water, you ruined that moment.

  NyQuil is back at my feet, demanding my attention, and I push him away firmly.

  “Oh, no.” Oliver stops me. “Let him be. He needs you; you’ve been away from the house all day.”

  “No. He’s not allowed in the kitchen. I’ll spend time with him later.” I push him away once again with my foot, only a little bit harder this time. He is startled and runs for cover underneath the couch in the study. Oliver nods and smiles awkwardly.

  As we wait for the pasta to cook, I throw together a quick sauce. I am definitely trying to show off my skills as a chef. I know Oliver speaks so highly of Frederick’s cooking skills, and I must prove that I have my own—and that I’ll make an excellent housewife someday.

  Oliver makes small talk.

  “I want to own a Boston Terrier someday, just so I can name him ‘Wayward,’ get it?” He laughs.

  “Uh, actually, “Carry On My Wayward Son” is a song by Kansas.” I giggle. I wonder if he made that mistake on purpose. It shocks me that he’s speaking of plans for the future already. I knew he would come around eventually. I am going to be a big part of his future.

  I caress the knife in my hand as I chop up tiny pieces of green pepper and onion for our pasta sauce. The knife feels comfortable in my hand, like it’s meant to be. Thoughts of my ex-husband pop into my head but they’re gone almost as fast as they came. I’m unsure why I’m thinking of my ex when I’m spending time with such a handsome, caring man.

  The knife is laying on the cutting board.

  “Should we talk about what happened today?” I ask. I desperately want to avoid the subject but I know that it’s something we need to discuss and get out of the way. Then we can carry on with the rest of the night and just focus on each other—not that stupid bitch who is so clearly trying to ruin my life and my plans of starting a family.

  “I don’t think we should talk about that yet, Laur,” he stops me. He kisses my forehead and puts his hand around my waist. I want to scream and tell him that he needs to get rid of her, but the time will come. I need to be patient so as not to scare him away. Besides, I’m confident that I am the one he truly wants to be with. She’s just a casualty that we need to deal with in due time. Right now, however, it is “us” time.

  I serve the pasta into bowls and top it with a quick but delicious vegetable and meat sauce. I used a recipe that my grandmother had shared with me, passed down to her from my great-great-grandfather in Sicily. Ground beef, ground sausage, and mushrooms, with a few herbs and spices. After asking Oliver if he’d like some parmesan cheese, I sprinkle a good amount on his bowl. I skip out on the parmesan for myself. The smell of it literally makes me gag lately.

  This flu better not ruin our dinner.

  We sit down to eat and I light a candle. It sets the mood perfectly.

  Gazing at me from across the table, Oliver tells me how much he has missed me. “I’m sorry I wasn’t feeling well and I apologize for not having let you know I was going to be absent from work, Laur. I should have texted you back, but I was really under the weather. I hope you don’t end up coming down with the flu I had.”

  “I hope I don’t, either, but I think it might be too late. I’m really beginning to feel like crap. Ever since this morning, I’ve been nauseated, and certain smells have been bothering me,” I explain.

  “Well, gets lots of rest, and hopefully you won’t get it nearly as bad as I did.” He reaches across and touches my hand gently.

  After supper, Oliver gets a phone call from one of his employees and they tell him that the till is off by a couple hundred dollars. He needs to leave so that he can investigate the discrepancy. I am disappointed that we were unable to discuss any of our pressing issues tonight, but there is always tomorrow. He’s agreed to meet up for breakfast in the morning.

  I text Shay to see what she’s up to. I tell her about things with Oliver and explain that I think he might be the one. She calls me crazy for falling in love with him so quickly, but she’s happy that I am finally interested in someone who seems to be a decent person. I neglect to tell her that he’s with someone, but that’s a minor detail.

  Be careful he doesn’t break your heart, Lauren.

  I won’t let him.

  We are going to fall in love, and we’ll do everything to make each other happy. We’ll love each other with every single breath. It’ll be the type of love that lasts always and forever—the leave-the-door-open-to-pee kind of love that means you’re fully and completely comfortable with the other person. The type of love that means brushing your teeth and wandering off into your own thoughts while terrible things happen on a toilet three feet behind you. True love. He’ll even eventually offer to clean NyQuil’s litter box. I’ve always longed for this.

  It’s not all that late, but it’s already dark. The air is crisp and the few snowflakes remind me that Christmas is just around the corner. I’m feeling a sense of nostalgia and memories of opening presents from my grandmother by the fire come rushing back.

  I grab my scarf and go for a walk. It’s chilly, but it’s not unbearable. Or perhaps my love for Oliver is keeping me a bit warmer lately.

  Suddenly, I feel like I’ve eaten way too much. I should have only had half a bowl of pasta. I don’t normally cook a lot, seeing as how I live alone, and I’m used to much smaller portions. I need to hit the gym soon. I can’t believe how much of a slacker I’ve become in the last couple months. There is no excuse for my laziness.

  I feel light headed and I turn into an alley when I realize I might actually vomit. I’ve eaten so much that my body feels betrayed and suddenly wishes to divorce my insides.

  I throw up violently all over the side of the building I am leaning against and I may actually pass out. I drop to my knees and hang my head down. I take large gulps of the winter air in hopes that this will pass soon.

  It does.

  I sit cross-legged for a couple minutes, trying to figure out whether or not it’s safe to stand. Before I am able to come to a decision, there is a figure standing over me. I open my eyes and look up. I still cannot see his face in the darkness of the alleyway, but I can see the cross tattoo on his arm. My instinct is to run, screaming, from this place. He’s been following me for weeks, and it can’t simply be a coincidence. However, I saw no one else on this street and fear that if I attempt to escape, he’ll catch me—my legs feel weak and I know they cannot carry me very far.

  “What do you want?” I manage. I’m trying to sound confident, but my words come out as a whisper.

  “Are you okay?” he asks. He reaches down and offers his hand to help me up. I hesitate, but I take it and he pulls me to my feet. I step away from him and back out onto the street. He follows me and stops a couple feet away from me. We stand, staring at each other.

  “Have you been following me?” I am straightforward, because I desperately want an answer at this point. I need to know if I should be afraid of him.

  “Yes.”

  His answer shocks me, and I step back further. What kind of person follows someone around and fully admits to it?

  “Why are you following me?” I ask.

  “I want to help you.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I know you’re troubled, and I want to help,” he explains. He takes a step towards me.

  “How
do you know I’m troubled?”

  “I can see it in your eyes.” His eyes meet mine, like they did at the restaurant weeks ago. They are cold.

  I turn and begin to walk away. There’s no reason I need to listen to any of this. He is crazy. Perhaps I should consider calling the police, too. He’s been following me for a long time, and he’s obviously the one with problems.

  “Don’t go,” he pleads. He jogs up beside me and grabs my arm. I pull away and quicken my pace considerably. “You need to listen to me. I don’t want to hurt you. Not today. Not ever.”

  I look back and I can see him still standing in the distance. This is way too creepy for my liking. I run back to my apartment. Once inside, I lock the door behind me and lean against it. I slide downwards and sit on the floor with my head between my legs. Shaking, I dial “911” on my cell phone. I explain my situation to the dispatcher and she assures me that she will send an officer over within the next two minutes. Three hours later, the police have still not shown up. My shirt is wet with tears, and I fall asleep with a knife in my hand.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Please just talk to me

  I need someone

  I wake up with a start and jump from my bed. I was having a bad dream, I think. The sun is coming in through the windows and I’m not sure how long I was asleep. Shay is standing in the room.

  “Here’s your medication, Lauren. It will make you feel better,” she says gently. She’s such a good friend.

  “Hey Shay,” I say, between swallowing my pills. “There’s a man following me.”

  “What do you mean, Lauren? Who are you talking about?”

  “I don’t know who he is but he has a tattoo on his arm. I don’t always see it, but sometimes his sleeves are rolled up and it’s just poking out. I don’t think I’ve ever really seen his face. I mean, I may have—I didn’t pay much attention until I realized he was stalking me—I don’t know what he wants. I’ve looked into his eyes, though. He’s going to hurt me.”

  “Lauren, there’s really no reason for you to be afraid.” She walks over and sits beside me on the bed. “I’m sure he just wants to help you.”

  “That’s what he said. Why would you say that?” I stand again and pace back and forth around the room. It’s smaller and whiter than I remember, but it’s familiar and it feels safe.

  Shay leaves the room. I sit by myself for a couple minutes, my eyes adjusting to the brightness of the sun.

  Shay is back in the room. “Lauren, I’d like you to meet Doctor Frederick Christiansen. He’s a friend of mine.”

  Frederick follows her into my room. My room. The room with my bed—the bed that I have shared with Oliver. I need to tell Oliver there’s another man in my room—he is not going to like this.

  “What is he doing here?” I ask, backing up against the wall. This isn’t right. Why didn’t she tell me she knew him, too?

  “Lauren, you can call me Frederick. I’m here to help you. I am going to be taking over your psychiatric care when you move to the new facility,” he explains.

  “What do you mean? Why are you moving me? I don’t understand. I’m being evicted from my apartment, is that what you’re talking about?”

  I am in a white room with Shay and Frederick. Then suddenly, I am standing in my living room with both of them. NyQuil is at my feet. Then I’m back in the white room. I don’t understand what is going on.

  “Lauren, we are removing you from this facility. Your fascination with Dr. Oliver Fallon has us all very concerned and we feel it necessary to remove you from his care so we can give you the help that you need,” he says.

  Fascination? What? Oliver isn’t a doctor. Clearly these two have him confused with someone he is not.

  “Oliver and I are in love,” I argue. I sit on the bed because my legs are weak and I can barely stand. “He’s not a doctor. He owns the café I work at. He’s married, but he doesn’t love her. He loves me. Shay, tell him.”

  “We need to separate you and Oliver, Lauren,” Frederick says.

  “We don’t need to be separated. We need everyone to just leave us alone.”

  “You have no choice in the matter, Lauren. We will be moving you out of this facility tomorrow, and into the Malartin Psychiatric Center, where you will become my patient,” Frederick says, sternly.

  “I am not going anywhere.” I look at Shay. Why isn’t she standing up for me?

  “We are moving you tomorrow, Lauren. Unfortunately that is our only option.”

  “I am not going anywhere!” I scream. I’m sitting against the wall on my bed and begin thrashing my arms and legs violently. Why is everyone trying to ruin my life?

  “I think that’s enough for now, Doctor,” Shay says to Frederick, placing her hand on his arm. He nods, and leaves the room.

  “I want Oliver,” I demand. Shay doesn’t move. “Shay, what are you doing? Why are you doing this? I want Oliver!”

  “Lauren, it is best if you don’t see him right now. We need to get your mind off of him,” Shay insists, sounding urgent.

  “Shay, I think I’m pregnant. It’s his child. I think I’m having his baby. I need to talk to him!”

  “You’re not pregnant, Lauren. You have been living here for almost two years. We know you aren’t pregnant. You are feeling sick because of the medication you’re on. It’s making you nauseous, but it’s to control your hallucinations. You are very sick, do you understand?” she asks. “We are going to work with you until you’re better.”

  I nod.

  “I am going to walk towards you now and I’m going to put a needle in your arm. There’s medicine in it that’s going to make you rest. You need rest so you can feel better when you wake up,” she explains, slowly walking my way.

  I nod again, and then I am gone.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  I want you to be happy,

  I don’t want you with her

  “How is she?” Oliver asks, when Shay walks into his office.

  “She’s not well. The hallucinations haven’t subsided. She still drifts in and out of reality, and talks about her cat, fantasies about you, and the mysterious man with the cross tattoo. I knew having Frederick observe her before actually introducing them would be a bad idea, Doctor,” Shay replied.

  “Thanks for talking to her, Shay.” Oliver looks down at his paperwork. “At least she’s being moved tomorrow. There’s no way she can heal and work through her issues when she’s living in this fantasy world and pretending she’s in a relationship with me.”

  “I agree,” Shay nods.

  She leaves the room and Oliver walks out of his office to find Frederick.

  Frederick is sitting in the lounge, scribbling notes onto a pad of paper.

  “Hey, Frederick. Thanks again for accepting Lauren’s transfer. I know you guys are pretty swamped right now, but she is definitely a special case. I’ve worked with her for a long time and I just can’t get through to her because she believes our relationship is something it isn’t,” Oliver explains.

  “I know, Oliver. I got that from my conversation with her. I’ll help the best I can. We’re going to start by trying her on a new trial drug for her hallucinations, and we’ll go from there. Not a problem—anything to help out an old friend.”

  Oliver pats Frederick on the back and heads home for the day.

  Tara greets Oliver at the door with a kiss.

  “I missed you today, babe. How was work?” she asks. He embraces his wife, the stay at home mother of their two young children.

  “It was okay. I need a beer.”

  “Uh oh, what’s wrong?” she asks.

  “It’s Lauren again. I’m having her transferred tomorrow but I wish there was more I could do for her. I feel bad that I’m not getting through to her. I told her about you. She feels hurt and betrayed. I feel really bad for her, Tar.”

  “I know you do, honey. You’ve done everything you could for her, though. There are really good people at the Malartin Center. You
know it’s the best thing for her,” she assures him.

  “You’re the best.” He smiles and places a kiss on her forehead.

  Tara brings him a beer, but he puts it on the table and grabs her hand, pulling her onto his lap. She straddles him in the chair. He kisses her passionately and holds her close, while she lays her head against his chest and listens to his heart beat.

  “I made supper,” Tara offers.

  Oliver shakes his head. “I’m not hungry.”

  “It’s a vegetable and chicken stir fry. You like stir fry. You need to eat something, Oli,” she begs.

  Oliver shakes his head, nudges Tara off of his lap and heads upstairs to get changed. He slides his pants off and lets them fall to the floor. While unbuttoning his shirt, he turns to see Tara standing in the doorway of their bedroom.

  He pauses. “You’re so beautiful.”

  “Thanks, baby. That doesn’t mean you don’t have to eat supper, though. You know you need to have something,” she urges him.

  “Maybe there’s something else I want.”

  “Oh?”

  Without hesitating, she steps into the room. There’s no sense in convincing him to eat supper tonight. It’s become clear that she’s the only thing he’s interested in having on the menu.

  Oliver pulls her over to him and begins to unbutton her shirt.

  “Babe, the kids will be home soon.” Tara pulls away but Oliver has a firm grip on her wrist. He pulls and she falls back into his arms. Holding her tight, he reaches forward and closes the bedroom door.

  This is odd. Oliver isn’t himself. He’s usually so exhausted by the end of the day that he comes home, eats supper, and heads to bed after a half hour of television. This Oliver has a different look in his eyes: the same look he had when he and Tara had first started dating.

  He’s kissing her. He’s got both of his hands on the back of her neck and he’s pulling her head towards him. Their tongues are entwined and their bodies are pressed together. Tara lets out a soft moan and Oliver stops, pulling back just enough to look her in the eyes.