He stopped, tenting his body over mine. “Are you trying to heal me?”
Finding the gash in his stomach, I tunneled my fingers to a subterranean level as he wailed. My hands were humming like a power line. I willed my mind to open, relaxed, and released a mélange of invisible forces into his body.
Small earthquakes ripped through him as his eyes rolled back in his head. Trickles of red ran from his nose, eyes, ears. Blood bubbles simmered and popped between his sadistic lips. Crosscurrents of power thrust him to the side and left him unmoving. The energies were gone, freed from their captor.
Zombie-like, I rose to my side.
Something collided with my head. Maybe the Grim Reaper was pissed that I got to my father first.
Air flowed back into my lungs. I couldn’t get enough. Breathe.
The pungent stench of blood filled the room. It was everywhere, sprayed on the walls and floor like a Jackson Pollock wannabe.
My father and Walter were gone.
Val was crumpled on the floor, her long limbs enervated with the rest of her body. Her hair, matted with sweat and blood, hid her face.
I tried to stand, but was betrayed by my weak leg. I pulled myself along and settled by her side. She wasn’t moving.
Her skin felt cool when I touched her neck to check for a pulse. A faint rhythm thrummed under my fingers. I wished I watched the medical channel instead of the retro cartoon station. Maybe I’d have a clue how to help her.
I said into the air, “Please, God, please do whatever you want to me, but let her be all right.”
Her right hand was swollen and mangled. Her wrist wasn’t in much better shape. There had to be something around here to help.
I went to the bar and found what I needed. I channeled MacGyver as I rigged some bar towels, plastic bags filled with ice, and a crude sling from my belt to immobilize her injuries. It was the best I could do.
The raw pain swarming through every cell in my body had to be buried—we needed to get moving. I pulled her backward with me, using the wall as a cane.
“You know, we missed the chocolate show in the city this year,” I said.
No comment.
“I know. I was feeling sorry for myself and blew it. There’s one in Vegas after the holidays.”
The only sound was the drag of her feet as I hauled her through the house.
“We get out of this, my treat. Promise.”
Our journey was excruciating and slow. We passed the room they carved me up in. The scrapbook lay abandoned on the table, the silenced voices needing to be heard, calling out. As carefully as I could, I slid Val down the wall. I wrapped the book in a clean towel from Walter’s supplies and tucked it into my waistband. It chafed against my scars with a vengeance.
I leveraged Val back up and we continued our expedition to the front door. It was wide open. Stillness encircled us—I peered around, looking for the enemy.
“Almost there,” I said. Sweat blended with unholy dread as we edged in the darkness to my truck.
I opened the door and tossed the book in. I scooped Val up and onto the seat. She was like a pudding that hadn’t set as I buckled her in.
Adrenaline gave way to combat fatigue. I leaned against the truck as a disorganized energy started gathering within me, pulling from the world around us, producing a distortion of solace.
I wanted to help her but didn’t know what the hell I was doing. I might end up doing more harm than healing. Dammit!
Something moved at the end of the driveway.
Oh, hell no! How much more shit was heading our way?
I sheltered Val from the indifference of the night as the whispers surrounded us like a warm mist.
They kept telling me we’d been in a car accident, Val and me. I didn’t argue with them. Like DJ Todd from WPLJ says, “Eventually the crazy comes out.” And I wasn’t giving them any excuse to lock me up in the psych ward. Who would’ve believed me anyway?
Nurse Helen tended to me herself. I was bandaged up by the time the doctor came in. I refused to let him look at my back and that pissed him off big time. Whatever questions he asked I answered with “yes,” “no,” or “I don’t remember”. After x-rays and whatever other tests he ordered, he came back with news of a displaced fracture of the right arm, messed up right knee, and plenty of bruises to go around.
The arm had to be realigned. Yeah, it hurt. A lot. And I had to have a cast, Dr. Personality said, for two to four months.
I waited until Nurse Helen and I were alone, separated from the other ER bays by the colorful curtains.
I was sitting ramrod straight on the gurney. “Ma’am, when can I see Val?”
“She was traumatized by what happened,” Nurse Helen said. “She’s resting comfortably.”
What the hell did that mean? “Ma’am, I just want to see her.”
“I don’t think that’s a good idea right now.”
“Mrs. Carey, please—I need to know she’s okay.”
She shook her chubby face. “Only family is allowed in the room.”
That hurt more than anything my parents ever did to me.
“Can I talk to Mrs. Guerrero?”
She shook her head again.
I blinked a tear away. “Where’s my stuff, ma’am?”
“You’re not going anywhere for a while. Your injuries are serious enough that you can’t leave.”
“The hell I can’t.” Against Medical Advice here I come!
Mrs. Carey hurried out of the curtained room.
I got to the nurse’s station, and with much arguing, gained my freedom.
I left the ER with borrowed clothes, a new cane, and my right arm in a sling. As the doors slid closed, I thought I heard Mrs. Guerrero calling my name. Maybe I just wished it. There was no way she’d ever leave Val’s side.
A few taxis were waiting and I took my leave. The young driver checked his rearview mirror as we pulled away.
“Hey,” he said, slowing the car. “Two ladies are waving us back.”
“Just drive please.”
“You sure?”
“Yeah, I probably forgot to sign something,” I said. “They’ll track me down.”
“Got that right.” We picked up speed and headed home.
My truck was waiting in the driveway. How the hell did it get there?
Sleep and food weren’t my friends. I forced myself to sip sports drinks and water to keep from getting dehydrated. The stigmas on my back made it impossible to sleep, the ache constant and intense.
Errands needed to be run though, so the time for complaining was over. The convenience store had everything I needed: prepaid cells and mailing supplies. The large padded envelope was stuffed, stamped, and addressed, on its way to a special group of people in Newark.
A few days into Val’s hospital stay, they moved her to a regular room. And with her move, the off-duty cops that guarded her went too. Cops protect their own and their loved ones, no questions asked. Both Lieutenant and Mrs. Guerrero had pissed off a lot of bad people through the years—I’m sure that’s who they thought they were protecting Val from.
It was midmorning and visiting hours didn’t start until three o’clock. Only one cop was sitting outside her door. It was Lieutenant McCornac, one of the guys that had come to my parents’ house with Lieutenant and Mrs. Guerrero the night my mom died. A little older, a little heavier, a little grayer, but he still had kind eyes. Nice as he was, one word from Mrs. G and I’d be doing the perp walk out of there. But that was the only way I was going to leave Val—in cuffs.
I click-clacked toward him.
He was in street clothes, perusing the Star-Ledger.
“Nat, a member of the walking wounded once again I see. How are you?”
“Fine, sir. How are you? How’s Mrs. McCornac?”
“We’re good.” He frowned. “Rita will be here soon. She’s with Val’s doctors now.”
“Sir, I’m here to see Val.”
He rose from the chair. I expe
cted him to escort me to the bank of elevators.
“She’s been kind of out of it. But resting—”
“Comfortably,” I said.
He winked. “Just a few minutes.”
“Thank you, sir.”
He opened the door and I shuffled in. The soft yellow walls were cheerful. Flowers and cards lined the windowsill and spilled onto the dresser.
And there was Val, covered in white, almost swallowed by the impersonal hospital linen. A quilt from home was folded at the foot of the bed. Machines whirred: lines ran out of her arms and other parts of her body, oxygen up her nose. Her right arm was in a cast, elevated on pillows, her fingers separated by some kind of contraption and looked pretty nasty. Sedated? Asleep? Resting? I wasn’t sure which.
“I brought you a few things.” I unpacked the contraband from the sling and took it off. It was a pain in the butt. “Your overpriced French shea ultra-rich body cream. And a shea butter lip balm—I know it gets really dry in here. And last but not least, your favorite chocolate bar. Dark, of course.”
I swallowed hard, not knowing what to say next. I took her hand.
“I’m sorry I didn’t protect you. Now you share my dragons.” Tears started to burn the back of my eyes. “I can’t do this without you.”
I wept for my best friend, my confidant.
Her hand closed around mine.
Vertigo spun the room. Surges of energy pulsed through the scars on my back. They danced and burned as power coursed through the designs and flowed into my hands. I couldn’t think, couldn’t move, and didn’t understand what was happening. A crackling sound came from the other side of the bed—the cast split open. Oh shit!
It stopped as soon as it started, leaving me breathless and lightheaded.
Val stirred and I froze. She settled, blinked a few times, let go of my hand, and stared at me.
“Where’ve you been? Thirsty.”
Shaking, I poured a cup of water and guided the straw to her lips.
“Just a sip,” I said. She answered with a tiny nod, but took more. “That’s enough.”
“Why you crying?” She took my hand again.
I wiped the tears away. “Because we get our asses kicked and you still look better than me.”
“Miss me?” Her smile was weak.
“Like the deserts miss the rain.”
She shifted to a more comfortable position. “Where’s Mom?” She blinked again and closed her eyes.
“She’ll be here soon.”
“Don’t go.” Her voice was barely above a murmur. “Don’t want to be alone.”
I watched as she tried to out-dream the fear. I could’ve told her it wasn’t possible, but she had to try.
“I’m right here.”
Her grip tightened, letting me know she heard me.
She sighed. “When we going to Vegas?”
“I didn’t think you heard that.” I smiled. “Man, you’ve got one hell of a memory.”
“Yeah, you promised.”
“When you stop milking this hurt thing, we’ll talk about it.”
“First class. And the Wynn.”
“Crap, you think I’m made of money or something?” I said. “When you’re well enough, we’ll go. Or …”
She raised an eyebrow in my direction.
“Your boys are playing in Turks and Caicos. Want to go there instead?”
“Big Head Todd and The Monsters?” They were Val’s favorite band.
“Yep.”
She thought for a minute and smiled. “Both.”
“You’re an expensive friend.” I’d give her anything I could and then some—I was just happy she was still alive. “How about some more water? Slow. Don’t be greedy.” I traded the water for the balm and handed it to her. “Try to put some of this on your kisser.”
She took the stick and with a trembling hand got a layer of shea butter on her cracked lips.
“Better you did it. My left-handed artistry would’ve made you look like Krusty the Clown.”
Val let out a small laugh followed by a grimace. “Don’t make me laugh. Hurts.”
“Oh, poor baby. Getting waited on hand and foot. Oh, the attention! And the cute doctors falling all over themselves to treat you. Must be horrible.”
“Shut up.”
She floated in and out. I talked about stupid stuff. Sometimes she answered, sometimes she didn’t.
“Natalie!” Mrs. Guerrero had snuck up on us. “What are you doing here?”
Val’s eyes opened. “Hey, Mom.”
“Valerie, you are awake! When?” Mrs. G ran to the other side of the bed and pulled her daughter into a hug, being careful of her arm (and the broken cast). Val winced, but hugged back.
“Can’t breathe,” Val said.
“Oh, I am sorry, baby.” She relinquished her hold a bit. “You have worried me so!”
“I’m okay.”
“I need to talk to your mom for a minute.” I glanced at Mrs. G. She nodded.
“But …” Calm returned to Val’s tired body.
“I’ll be right back.”
“Promise?”
“Promise. Ma’am?”
I went to the doorway and she followed.
“Robert, would you give us a moment please?” Mrs. Guerrero said to Lieutenant McCornac. He nodded and headed for the coffee machine.
Expensive shoes in an impossibly small size appeared in front of me. Mrs. Guerrero never once hit me, no matter what dumbass thing I’d done in all the years we’d known each other, but now her hands were curved into fists.
“What have you done to my daughter?” Mrs. Guerrero said.
I stood as tall as the pain would allow. A newfound strength emulsified within me.
“If you want an explanation of what happened, you should start with your precious Tina.”
“Augustina?”
I looked up and down the hallway. “Speaking of Tina, where is she? I expected her and her entourage of idiots to be camped out.”
“She is at work,” Mrs. Guerrero said.
“Really? Wow! That layout for the hot new spring fashions must have the fate of the free world hanging on it.”
“There is no need for sarcasm—”
“I disagree. Tina’s little arrangement with my father almost got Valerie killed.”
Her eyes narrowed into slits of death. “Augustina would never consort with the likes of William Gannon.”
“You did.”
Mrs. Guerrero’s nostrils flared. “She is not capable of such treachery! She would never put Valerie or you in harm’s way—”
“You don’t know your daughter as well as you think.”
“You are confused.”
“Not anymore,” I said. “Check the traffic cameras around Walter’s house that night. Let me know what you see.”
Our emotions bubbled up like an unwatched pot of caramel.
“Why didn’t you heal Val?” I said. “I know you could.”
“Please keep your voice down. I was waiting for all of the test results to come back.”
“Are you embarrassed by your gift?” The pain shuttled through me, keeping me more civil than I thought possible.
“Your intrusion into my private life has caused much upheaval. What you have learned is not to be broadcast.” The threat was masked by a smile as a nurse passed by.
The hall was starting to tilt. “So sorry for the inconvenience.” I replanted the cane for some stability.
I could tell Mrs. Guerrero was running the scenarios through her scary-smart brain. My accusations contained the scent of truth she could no longer ignore. This realization curved her ever-straight shoulders inward.
“This … situation is uncomfortable for all of us.”
“And keeping me from seeing Val?” My anger was cresting.
“I did not think you could tolerate seeing her in this condition. Mrs. Carey was following orders to keep you both safe. She took liberties she should not have. We will be having a
discussion with regard to her behavior.”
Orders? Just how strict was this hierarchy?
“I’ve seen things you can’t possibly imagine,” I said. “Val’s alive and safe. It’s the only thing that matters to me. And to answer your question, I didn’t do anything to her. I would die before I let anyone hurt her. She’s all I have.”
Mrs. Guerrero’s gaze was intense. Most days—hell, every day—I’d have looked away. Today I choose not to.
“Nat.” Val’s voice sifted into the air. I’d almost forgotten she was a few feet away except for the calm that flowed between, through, and around us. “I’m hungry.”
I decided to call the staring contest a draw.
“Excuse me please—I need to get back to Val.”
We went back into the room. Mrs. Guerrero was on one side of Val, me on the other. Tears fell down the elegant woman’s face as she watched her daughter.
Lieutenant McCornac made his way in. “You’re awake!” He ran back into the hallway. “Helen, she’s awake!”
Nurse Helen was checking a chart as she hurried into the room. Christ on a crutch! She was everywhere!
“Oh, thank God! Natalie, what are you doing here? Mrs. Guerrero doesn’t want Valerie disturbed—”
“Better get used to it, ma’am,” I said. “I’m not going anywhere.”
One week had passed since the bête noir with my father. The shared worry Val and I felt for each other had been paralyzing. She was doing well physically, though the mental scars would always be there. The doctors were dumbfounded as to her speedy recovery, which she attributed to eating right, exercise, and clean living. Yeah, that must be it.
Mrs. Guerrero refused to talk to us about what happened.
Val refused to stay with her mom after being released from the hospital. She came home with me instead, and I didn’t blame her. If either of us saw Tina, all three of us would probably end up in the hospital.
I didn’t sleep much because of my injuries, so I watched over her—like when we were kids, but the roles were reversed now. When I felt her bad dreams starting, I woke her and told her she was safe. It’s not always the monsters under your bed you have to worry about—it’s the ones that take up residence in your head that are more worrisome.
The Darkness of Shadows Page 17
