by M. L. Ray
She shook her head, “I don’t really know. I’ve been trying to wean myself off of whatever the doctor’s been giving me, but I didn’t know Zachary was taking me out tonight. I hadn’t taken any pills since early this morning, and then I only took half of one. I’m doing better, I really am. A few weeks ago I was taking two and three several times a day.”
“What’s Zachary doing to help you get through this?”
Brooke huffed out a loud laugh, “He’s the reason I’m going through this. He told me they were vitamins and I was so loaded up on them and other pills, I just took them. He still thinks I don’t know what he was doing to me.”
“Your husband got you hooked on drugs?” Peter asked, incredulous and thinking Zachary was a dead man when Tyler got wind of this. The man had better count his blessings he lives so far away!
Brooke licked her dry lips, “Please believe me; if I thought I could get through this without some help, I would never take another pill again. But I feel like I’m dying and I need to have my wits about me tomorrow.”
“How many of these were you going to take?” Peter asked, looking at the almost full bottle of pills.
“Just a half. And maybe a couple of aspirin.”
Peter held the bottle out to her and then retrieved a glass of water from the bathroom. He watched as she carefully broke one of the pills in half and then placed the rest back into the bottle. “You know, for the last few weeks, I’ve been tossing the other half down the toilet.” She laughed mirthlessly, and Peter felt his heart break for whatever she’d suffered these last few months.
She handed the glass back to him, and then snuggled down under the comforter. Peter picked up her duffle bag and set it on the floor. “Get some sleep.”
Brooke closed her eyes, only to open them a few minutes later and ask, “Have you really been waiting all this time for me to come back to Cathedral Hills?”
Peter smiled at her and nodded his head, “I really have. Night, darlin’.”
Brooke closed her eyes, holding the sound of his deep tenor voice deep inside of her mind, and hoping that it would be enough to keep the nightmares at bay.
Chapter 45
Peter watched her sleeping and then grabbed his phone, thankful that he had plenty of service and battery life left. He’d paid the extra fee to gain access to the hotel’s not-so-free Wi-Fi signal. He quickly opened a web browser, and started researching the steps needed to get a divorce in the State of New York. Nothing he found was very useful and worse yet, there wasn’t anything she could do to obtain a quick divorce in the fine State of New York. She’d hadn’t been married long enough!
He finally closed his phone and shut his eyes, needing a few hours’ sleep before the day began again. He didn’t know how long he’d been asleep, but Brooke’s cries woke him up.
She was thrashing in the bed, having tangled her legs in the bed covers, and was slapping at imaginary things in the air. Afraid he’d get hit, or accidentally hurt her while trying to contain her arms, he straddled her body, and pinned her hands to either side of her head.
“Brooke! Wake up!”
Brooke struggled to free her arms, the things crawling on her arms and legs were driving her insane. She thrashed about, but something heavy was weighing her down, and her hands had become trapped.
“Brooke!”
She snapped her eyes open, and froze as her brain registered what her eyes were seeing. Peter? What is Peter doing in my dreams?
“Brooke!” Peter called her name a third time, seeing that her eyes were still clouded by her dream.
“Peter?” she asked, stilling her body and allowing her mind to come back to the present.
“Yeah, darlin’. That was some nightmare you were having.” He slid off her body and released her hands, helping her sit up against the headboard. He walked into the bathroom and returned with a glass of water, holding it to her lips when her hands shook too badly to do the job herself.
“Want to talk about it?” he asked when she was finished drinking.
She shook her head, “Not really.” She shivered and looked down at her arms, “I felt like I had things crawling all over my body.”
“That must have been a pretty potent drug your husband was giving you.”
“Yeah. I was really sick, and thought I was going to die when I discovered what was happening to me.”
Peter glanced at the clock, and realized he’d been asleep for three hours. It was 6:48 a.m., and the sun was starting to come up outside. “Well, do you think you could go back to sleep for a bit?”
Brooke shook her head, “No. I doubt it. Did you find out anything about the paperwork I need to sign…”
Peter sighed, and then sat down on the other bed. He clasped his hands together and let them rest between his knees. “Well, I did find out some information, but not much of it was useful. You have to be separated from Zachary for six months to file a contested divorce, or if you could get him to agree to the divorce, you can file immediately, but it still won’t go into effect until the waiting period is over. The court won’t even consider your request until you’ve been married a minimum of six months.”
“Great! He’ll never agree to a divorce and I can’t wait around here for another two months!”
“The other option is to leave New York, take up residency someplace else for six months, and then file from that state.”
“Guess that’s what I’ll have to do then.”
“You can file when you get back to Colorado…”
Brooke shook her head, “I can’t go back to Colorado.”
“Why not?!” Peter demanded to know. “Your family is there and all your friends. Jenna’s even back.”
“Jenna’s back? Wow!” Brooke was speechless for a few minutes, but the reality set in and she shook her head, “I would love to see Jenna again, but I can’t go back there.”
“You can and you will. Believe me, whatever reasons you think are valid for staying away are just plain wrong. There’s nothing you can say, or that you could have done that would make any of us love you any less.”
Brooke felt tears spill over, “Don’t you see, I don’t deserve their love. And if they were ever to see what I let myself become…”
“Brooke, you have to quit judging yourself and assuming you know what others are thinking. No one back home is going to judge you poorly for getting used by a deadbeat like your husband.”
“But that’s just it. Zachary isn’t a deadbeat. Do you know how I met him? I went to the DA’s office to report what my agent was doing and I got to talk to him. He protected me from Marco…”
Brooke stopped talking and dropped her head into her hands. He’s got me so brainwashed I’m defending him now! He is a deadbeat and a user and who knows what else! He deserves to go to jail for a very long time for what he did to me!
Peter watched as Brooke came to the realization that she was defending the man who not only gotten her hooked on drugs, but appeared to have been keeping her confined against her will. Lowering his voice, he told her, “Zachary is a deadbeat and frankly, when Tyler finds out what the man did to you, he’s probably going to be on the first plane to New York to set him straight on how to treat a lady.”
“That’s not going to help. Zachary Grayson’s father was the DA for New York City, and then the State Attorney General before his death. Everyone loves Zachary and supports him, even if some of his actions are a little over the line. He has politicians, law enforcement, and even the Mayor working on his side.”
“Well, then we go above his head and get someone who isn’t on his side to look at things. Who have you already spoken to about this?”
“Just Zachary. I figured the authorities were going to eventually catch on to what Marco was pulling, and I didn’t want to get caught in the middle. I didn’t realize at the time that Zachary was working with him.”
“Zachary is working with your agent?” Peter asked, trying to put everything in some sort of order.
&
nbsp; “I don’t know if he was in the beginning, but he is now. I haven’t seen Marco, but since I stopped taking so many of those pills, I’ve been able to concentrate and listen in on his conversations more. That man that was with me on the dance floor last night paid to be seen with me. After dinner, he would have had some professional photographs taken with me as well, and they would have been used to promote his political career back in South America.”
When Peter still didn’t seem to comprehend what she was trying to tell him, she explained it in more blunt terms. “Zachary sold me to that guy as his escort for the evening. A few drinks, some food and some photographs, and Zachary would have received a nice contribution to his slush fund.”
Peter was dumbfounded and after a moment asked, “How long has this been going on?”
“Marco was doing the same thing to me. I found pictures of myself on flyers in his office advertising my escort services for the evening. The ads were all in Spanish, but when I confronted him about them, he didn’t even try to deny it. I purchased the Mustang with a bonus check a few days prior to making my discovery.”
“And yet you kept the car?” Peter asked, wondering why she would do something like that.
“Things were really crazy during that time. I’d had gone home to see my parents, but Marco kept calling my cell phone and threatening me if I didn’t come back to New York and finish out my contract. I changed numbers once I returned, but these men started showing up at my apartment and I got scared.
“I went to the DA’s office hoping that if I provided them enough evidence to put Marco and his cohorts away, I could get a lesser sentence for cooperating with them. I never spoke to anyone but Zachary about this.”
Peter looked at her, and then realized there was much more to her story than her having gotten hooked on drugs. Was she mixed up in some high class prostitution ring or drug trade?
“I think maybe we should get on the road. I’m going to turn on the television and check the road and weather forecast, and then I think we should head out.”
“I’m going to go take another shower. They seem to help with the withdrawals.”
“Go ahead,” Peter told her, grabbing the remote for the TV and turning it on. He heard the bathroom door shut just as the screen lit up, and he saw a picture of Brooke filling the screen. “Brooke, I think you had better come back out here and see this.”
The bathroom door opened and Brooke came out, staring at the TV screen and listening to the morning news reporter –
“Brooke Grayson was last seen downtown around 88th last night and went missing between the hours of 10:30 p.m. and 11:15 p.m. Her husband, Zachary Grayson, states she had been suffering from psychological and drug-abuse related symptoms for the last several weeks. He believes she simply walked away from the hotel and may not be acting with her safety in mind. She is in need of immediate medical attention and anyone with information on her whereabouts is urged to call the number flashing across your screen immediately. A reward has been posted by Mr. Grayson for anyone who helps locate his missing wife.”
Brooke felt her body start to tremor, and she quickly sank down on the edge of the bed. “He’s made it sound like I’m crazy and need to be locked up at the first available moment.”
“Brooke, look at me.” He waited for her to comply and then he told her, “You are not crazy, and we are going to get you someplace safe. If you think you can forego a shower, let’s get going right now. Does he know about your car?”
“I don’t think so,” she shook her head, “but if he checks DMV records, it’s licensed under my name and everything.”
“Do you have the title?” he asked, already formulating a plan to dump the car as soon as they crossed the state line.
“It’s in the glove box. I know that’s not the correct place to store it, but things were really crazy for a while.”
“No, that’s perfect.” Peter stuffed a few things back in his own suitcase and zipped it up. He was pleased to see Brooke doing the same, and a few minutes later they exited the motel room and were driving away from the motel.
“Where are we going?” she asked as he steered the car onto the freeway and headed west.
“Colorado, eventually. And I did listen to your arguments against going home, but right now, you need someplace safe to rest and recover. I can’t think of a better place to do that than home.”
Home! Brooke closed her eyes, and images of Cathedral Hills ran through her brain. She remembered the good friends she’d left there, and the fun times they’d all shared. Her parents were no longer there, but Tyler was, and she’d really like to see him again. Maybe there was a way she could stop in and see everybody, and then just disappear while she got her life straightened out again.
“No comment?” Peter asked, when she didn’t immediately object.
Brooke shook her head, and then laughed when Peter muttered beneath his breath, “Good. Wasn’t going to do you any good anyway!”
Chapter 46
Seven hours later, outskirts of East Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania...
“How you doing over there?” Peter asked, seeing that Brooke was finally starting to wake up. She’d been sleeping ever since they had jumped on the freeway leaving the city, cuddled up in the blanket and pillow he’d purchased from the motel when they checked out. Peter had paid more than three times what the blanket and pillow were worth, but when he’d really taken a good look at Brooke’s face, he’d seen the dark circles beneath her eyes and known that she was beyond exhausted and sick.
Brooke stretched in the seat as much as possible, and then turned her head to look at Peter, “Thirsty.”
“Hungry?” he asked, signaling to change lanes in preparation for getting off at the next exit. The signage advertised several fast food restaurants, as well as fuel services.
“Not really, but I know I probably need to eat a little something.”
“Good. I’m going to fill up again…”
“Again?” Brooke sat up, and then really looked out her window. “Where are we?” she asked, meeting his eyes.
“Pennsylvania. You’ve been asleep the better part of six hours.”
Six hours? How is it possible that I slept that long without medicinal help? Deciding she wasn’t going to question it any further, she gave him a sheepish grin, “Guess I was tired?”
“You’re asking me or stating a fact?”
“Uhm…can I get back to you on that?”
“Sure.” Peter steered the car off the main road, and stopped in front of a gas pump. “Decide where you want to eat. Burgers or cheap Mexican food.”
Neither one sounded very appetizing to Brooke, but her stomach was already starting to object, and she knew some food would help give her body something else to concentrate on besides the lack of drug therapy. “Burgers,” she answered, deciding that would be better than spicy food.
“Burgers it is,” he smiled, before exiting to fill up the car.
Brooke folded up the blanket, and then set it and the pillow in the backseat before pulling down the visor and grimacing at her reflection. Her eyes looked wounded with the dark bluish staining underneath them. Her skin color was so pale that it almost had a gray pallor to it, causing her to look more ill than she actually felt. The sleep had done her body wonders, and she noticed that her slight headache appeared to be gone for the moment.
“Still doing okay in here?” Peter asked, squatting down next to his open car door and gazing inside.
Brooke nodded, “Yeah, I actually feel a bit better.”
“But?” Peter asked, hearing the unspoken word in her voice.
“I’m know that things will probably get worse again before they get better.”
“What seems to trigger the withdrawals?” he asked, wishing he knew exactly which drugs her awful husband had given her.
Brooke thought for a moment, and then shrugged her shoulders, “Maybe stress or getting anxious. I know after I would take just a half of pill, I would feel calm
er and almost serene. Like nothing could really upset me.”
“So maybe he was giving you anxiety pills?” Peter asked.
“Maybe. I know I was still taking the sleeping pills each night, and sometimes I’d wake up in the middle of the night and take another pill so I could get back to sleep.”
“Any other pills you were taking?” Peter queried, making mental notes so that he could relay them to the folks back home the next time they spoke. Maybe one of them could figure out how best to help her through her illness.
“No, I don’t think so.”
“Good. Let me pay for the gas, and then we’ll go grab some food and get back on the road.”
“How far are we going today?”
“Not sure. Be right back,” Peter said, closing the door and jogging towards the payment booth. While waiting for his credit card to be run, he questioned the young man behind the glass about a car dealership that might be willing to trade the Mustang for something with better gas mileage. The kid eagerly told him about his uncle’s place a few miles up the road, and even offered to call and pave the way for Peter’s arrival.
He nodded to the young man, and then headed back to Brooke. After seating himself in the driver’s seat, he asked her, “How attached are you to this car?”
“Are you asking if I plan on keeping it?” When Peter nodded his head, she laughed, “I have absolutely no plans to keep this symbol of everything my life became.”
“Good, because I think we should get rid of it while we’re here in Pittsburgh. If your husband runs…”
“Please don’t call him that.” When Peter didn’t respond, she added, “I know legally he’s considered my husband, but I was drugged up the afternoon we visited his judge friend’s office and I remember signing something, just not what.”
“You were drugged up when you got married?” Peter asked, developing a whole new reason to hate her husband. Sure, he knew he wasn’t supposed to hate anyone, but some people did things that made them immensely unlikable. Zachary Grayson fit into that category.
