Full Circle (Shattered Lives, Book Five)

by Rissa Blakeley

  Elaina almost considered her love for him unhealthy, boarding on obsessive. She shook her head, feeling the love they shared was something no one could understand.

  She began reading entry after entry filled with tiny details, thoughts, worries, fears. The journal brought forth an overwhelming amount of emotions.

  As she turned the pages, she noticed a doodle here and there. Something she never thought a man would do, but this was his private place to lay everything out, no matter how difficult. Frankly, the little pictures were endearing. Tracing over the doodled heart with “H&E” perfectly penned inside, her heart fluttered.

  Henry would never whisper his love for her again.

  She turned the page and read a more recent entry about how he felt about himself.

  Elaina and I had another big blow-out over my behaviour. I know I haven’t been the best father/husband/son/brother/friend lately, but I’m crippled. I just want to feel real, alive. No more of this “half-dead” bullshit. She doesn’t understand what it feels like to be so messed up. At times, I question why she loves me.

  I hate this.

  I hate myself.

  I hate everything I’ve done to my family.

  ~H

  As Elaina wiped the tears off her cheeks, she flipped through the pages, landing on a passage about his demons.

  It’s always an echo in my head. A murmur in my ear. A whisper in my dreams. An urge impatiently waiting for an action, words to slip from my mouth.

  The laughter and name-calling.

  The words of discouragement.

  The constant jesting and whispering penetrates my mind so deeply, I have no other choice than to believe.

  It drives me to the brink. I’m not sure how much more I can take. I can’t stand knowing how sick I am—how sick I always will be.

  How will I raise my son like this? He deserves so much more than me.

  What will he think of his good ol’ dad? I’m a mockery. I just don’t understand how Elaina could possibly love the wreck I am.

  I still have thoughts of suicide, and I have a sneaking suspicion I always will.

  ~H

  Elaina choked on a sob. His self-belittling words broke her heart, making her feel sick to her stomach. More important was how he saw his life. His negative self-worth was beyond the depths of the deepest part of the ocean.

  She flipped back a few pages. Through teary eyes, she read more, torturing herself.

  I had another nightmare last night about when Roger made me rape the teenage girl. I woke up and ran to the loo, getting there just in time. My body trembled and sweat dripped from every pore. I walked outside and sat on the front porch, allowing the cool breeze to calm me until the sun peeked over the horizon.

  Maybe it was an omen.

  Elaina’s still sleeping in Mum’s room, completely avoiding me. Honestly, I can’t blame her. I fucking assaulted my wife. I hurt her in ways I hurt. She doesn’t deserve to feel like I do. I love her so much and feel so bad about what I did to her.

  Being sexually assaulted enough in my lifetime, I know how she feels.

  I really should tell her what happened. Would she listen? Would she understand…or tell me I’m a rapist?

  Truth is…I am. I raped the girl. Even though I had no choice, as they held a gun to my head and a knife to Sophie’s throat, I still hurt that poor girl. That alone makes me unworthy of forgiveness on any level. The fiery gates of hell will welcome me with an embrace for all the murders and crimes I have committed.

  ~H

  Unable to read another word, Elaina slammed the journal closed and tucked it under his pillow. Sick, she cried over what Roger had done to him and that poor girl. The hell he put them through was staggering.

  She felt guilty, depressed, wondering if she were also part of the millions of reasons Henry nearly drank himself to death, finally doing himself in. Maybe he just couldn’t bring himself to say so in his final entries.

  Reaching out, she turned off the lamp, then shimmied down into the blankets, finding enough strength to pull them up to her chest. For the long haul, this was her place of solitude. It was pointless to try to get up.

  She was already dead. No one would notice her absence, even if she stood right next to them.

  The door opened, Anne walking in with Nicky in her arms. “Time to get up,” she said wearily.

  “Not happening,” Elaina mumbled.

  “I took him downstairs, but he continues to cry for you.”

  Anne shook her head, feeling saddened by the sorry sight. She brought Nicky closer as he whimpered. “Mumma.”

  “Sweetheart, you need to live,” Anne said, sitting at the edge of the bed, pulling at the blanket.

  Elaina reached out and touched Nicky’s black, wispy strands of hair. “I can’t live if I’m already dead. Please, give me some time to grieve.”

  “I understand.” Anne sighed. “We should talk about a funeral.”

  The breath caught in Elaina’s throat as tears tracked down her cheeks again. “No…I can’t.”

  “My son deserves more than a cold slab in the morgue.”

  “I don’t want it to be real,” she said, covering her face.

  “I know. Neither do I.” She pulled one of Elaina’s hands away. “Gunther stopped by to check on us. He said Edge will be closed for a little while.”

  “Good plan,” she whispered.

  “Yeah…”

  Blinking away tears, Elaina and Anne stared at each other in silence. Nicky sucked away at his fist, unaware of everything.

  Elaina took a deep breath. “I want to have him cremated so he will always be with me…us.”

  “Okay. I will make some calls and get it arranged.” Anne stood with Nicky and headed toward the door. Just before leaving, she looked over her shoulder. “Try to get up. You need to. If not for you or me, do it for Nicky. He needs his mummy.”

  Walking out, Anne shut the door behind them, allowing the darkness to suck Elaina in. She slipped under the blankets, falling into a restless sleep.

  Chapter 9

  -East End of London-

  Erik drummed his fingers on the conference room table. He locked gazes with his entire team, one at a time. The news he was about to give made Luke’s future far from promising. In fact, his condition was beyond critical, coasting into certain death if they didn’t take immediate drastic measures.

  As the silence stretched on, everybody became antsy, fidgeting in their chairs. Feeling like he should just get on with it, Erik cleared his throat. “As you all know, we did a scan of Luke’s brain yesterday. Dr. Barter, would you care to explain our findings?”

  The doctor pulled two images from a folder. Holding one up, he said, “This was Mr. Richards’s brain when he was a teen.”

  Michelle narrowed her gaze. “How did you get that?”

  “The medical database,” Dr. Barter said, lying with confidence. After seeing Luke’s current scan, Erik had printed out the old one and given it to him. “I searched his records and this is what I found. There was documentation along with it, which is why I wanted to do these scans as we treat him.” He picked up the other sheet of paper. “The red is the virus. It’s attracted to the electrical signals of the brain.”

  Joseph pursed his lips and leaned forward. “So the older one… Minimal infection?”

  “Correct.” He tapped the newest scan with his finger. “Just about the entire brain is infected now.”

  “That would explain the possible psychosis Erik noted in his chart,” PJ said, realizing Luke was much sicker than they all thought.

  “It could, yes,” Erik replied.

  “Was he subjected to medical testing without his consent?” Michelle asked.

  “Not to my knowledge. Dr. Barter and I already discussed a new treatment plan. We are going to be more aggressive. There’s no time to lollygag or go slow on this. Luke is a ticking time bomb facing imminent death. I know how this will end and, trust me when I say this, it’s an ugly death. No
t something any of you wants to witness. We have to go at it with everything we have.”

  “How will this affect him…physically and mentally?” Michelle asked.

  “We don’t know,” Erik sighed. “Tess, double the dose and mix us the cocktail.”

  “You got it.” She stood and walked out.

  With a headache of the century brewing, Erik pressed his elbows on the table and shoved his fingers under his glasses, rubbing his eyes. He let out a sigh and dropped his hands. “Okay… Joseph, go ahead and rest for the day. You can relieve Michelle at…” He turned his wrist to check his watch, “seven PM.”

  “All right.” He stood and left.

  “I’d like to go in and chat with him after you deliver this blow,” PJ offered.

  “Yeah… Might be a good idea,” Erik said. He looked over at Dr. Barter. “Ready?”

  “As I’ll ever be.”

  They all stood and walked out.

  I woke with a start, lashing out at…no one. I rubbed my eyes and realized I was in my death chamber. My mind seemed out of sorts with cloudy thoughts and even fuzzier memories. I didn’t quite understand what went down, making confusion linger.

  “Maybe it was a dream.”

  Malevolent laughter rolled to my ears. I twisted my head, hoping for a quick burst from the demons, but the whispers echoed, sparking fear.

  What if I cracked?

  Would I turn into one of the demons?

  Would I die because I couldn’t seem to separate my authentic self from all the poking?

  Working to ignore the laughing, I shut my eyes for a moment and tried to visualize everything that went down.

  Most of it was a blur, except for the moment when Dr. Twat stood at the end of my bed, a menacing look on his face, telling me I was to have an MRI.

  Popping my eyes open, I balled my hands into fists. He brought new levels to douchecanoe. His general behavior set my mind into an “I want to kill it” mode.

  Erik and the nurse trying to calm me, placing their hands on me, acting friendly…until they held me down.

  Voices… Yelling… Every word unintelligible.

  I squeezed my eyes shut again, concentrating on the distant sounds.

  Yeah… I was drawing a blank.

  I sighed and scrubbed my face, but it was all too foggy and muffled, as if I were watching the incident go down from miles away.

  Anger filled me as the demons continued to pluck my nerves, leaving me close to snapping. Having an undeniable urge to take Dr. Twat out, I looked around the room. I wasn’t creative, but I certainly could make a weapon out of something.

  My gaze landed on the cabinetry to my right where the nurse got the stuff to do my blood draw. Squinting, I focused on the locks. Looked like a simple key entry. No problem. A pin or paperclip would do the trick. I rolled to my left and yanked open the drawer in the nightstand. There surely had to be an implement of some sort somewhere. No luck.

  When I tried to slip out of bed, my legs felt like rubber. “Shit…fuck…fuck…fuck,” I grumbled. There would be no murder to save myself any time soon…at least until I regained full use of my body again.

  My hands trembled as I pushed them through my hair. Lying back, a shaky exhale escaped.

  Then I saw Erik, Dr. Twat, the head-shrink, and the female nurse enter the foyer, walking up to the observation window. Words were exchanged as heads shook—probably planning my death—then they entered.

  “Morning,” Erik said, forcing a fake smile. “Good to see you’re up. How are you feeling?”

  I stared at him for a moment, trying to judge his tone and watch his movements. “I just woke. Haven’t even been able to get up to take a piss yet,” I said, my voice still raspy.

  “We could always put a catheter in. Or, if you’re desperate, you could use a bedpan,” the nurse offered.

  “Fuck no. No one is putting a tube anywhere near my dick.” I was not about to make myself more vulnerable and be tied to the bed with a bag of piss dangling on the side.

  “I assure you, it’s a normal and quick procedure.”

  “Not happening.” When Dr. Twat moved closer, I pointed at him. “You, motherfucker… You stay far away from me,” I growled, pushing up against the head of the bed, wishing my legs would cooperate. “You have no idea what I’m capable of.”

  “Easy, mate,” PJ said, waving his hand. “You and I can chat about everything that occurred.”

  “Fuck you! I’m not talking to any of you until I find out what went down.”

  Michelle slowly approached the bed. “Calm down, please,” she said, resting her hand on my bicep just like before.

  I looked at her, looked at her hand, then jerked my arm away. “I need to know what happened, but I can’t trust a word any of you say. Especially you!” I shouted at Erik.

  He took a quick glance at everyone. Feeling like they would come at me once again, I was ready to brawl.

  “All right, everyone out. Luke and I need to have a private conversation,” Erik commanded, causing some mutterings among his staff.

  As they all walked out, Erik sat in the chair next to the bed. Regardless of his weasel-like smile, my guard was still up.

  “Let’s have a chat about what happened yesterday.”

  “Yesterday?” I looked toward the barred window…seeing it was morning, just as it was before. Now I felt really confused. “Are you fucking with me?”

  “No. First, tell me what you remember, then I will fill in the holes.”

  “No. I can’t trust any of you.” Bloody hell, I sounded like a toddler. I needed a juice box and some crayons to make my life complete.

  He lifted a brow. “Well, you don’t really have a choice, do you?”

  I picked at the blanket, avoiding his stare. “Not really.” I sighed and looked at him.

  “Okay… Let’s say we exchange information for information. I haven’t told you something. If you can trust me to speak the truth, filling in the blanks in your memory, I’ll give you more information about your virus.”

  I was sure I knew everything there was to know about the virus. I had to admit, though, his idea of an exchange piqued my interest. Fuck it. “I remember that jackoff coming in all high and mighty…” Erik snorted. “What?”

  “Nothing. Please continue.”

  “Anyway, he was posturing, acting cocky, as if he were purposely trying to poke a rattlesnake to get a response. Does he know about me?”

  “Some, yes, but he doesn’t know your background and training.”

  “Right. Then he said I was having an MRI.” I rubbed my temples, trying to remember. As the memories began to flow, I became more irritated. “Then you and the nurse came in, pretending to be nice, but you held me down. I’m pretty much blank after that.”

  Erik drew in a deep breath and exhaled. “Well, you went into some sort of hallucination. You kept saying you didn’t want to hurt her again. You were quite off your rocker, mate. We ended up having to sedate you. You’ve been sleeping since.”

  Shit. The girl… I felt nauseous, seeing the rape in my mind again. Knowing they had full advantage of me added a completely new level of anxiety.

  “I don’t remember…,” I said, trailing off, thinking I needed to stay conscious from now on.

  “Do you know what you were talking about? The girl you didn’t want to hurt again?”

  The details were so vivid. I could even remember the lighting in the room, the creak of the sawhorse, Sophie’s whimpers, the grumblings from the girl when she turned, the deafening ring from the gunshot, the scent of gunpowder filling my nose…the feel of her dead body against me as I carried her to the incinerator.

  Erik’s voice broke through. “Are you with me?”

  “Huh?” I shook my head.

  “Did you blank out for a moment?”

  No. “Yeah. Tired, I guess.”

  He spent a long time staring into my eyes, trying to gauge the truth. “I think you need to let Dr. Atbury do a full screening. Yo
u need to speak to him. He can help you. He’s one of the best in the industry, which is why I hired him for this…sensitive situation.”

  A conversation Elaina and I had a couple months ago stormed to the forefront of my mind. “She said she thought I had PTSD.”

  “Who did?”

  I gazed at him for a moment before looking away. “My wife. I was getting my gun from our safe and she confronted me, telling me she did some research about it. She wanted me to get help. I tried her version of help, which was talk therapy, but I couldn’t do it.”

  “Look, I don’t know too much about it, but I wouldn’t be surprised.” He leaned forward and placed his hand on my leg. “You’ve been through a lot, mate. More than anyone else here. And look what you’re going through now. It’s stressful.”

  “Yeah…just a little.”

  “I think you would benefit from Dr. Atbury’s expertise. Please, I urge you to talk to him. I firmly believe it will help. If we can get some of this anger out and quieted, it may make this whole process much easier on you.”

  “Doubt it.” I couldn’t look at him because, frankly, I was mortified over my behavior.

  “We have some things to discuss with you before we start treatment.”

  “When will that be?”

  “Today. I want you to chat with Dr. Atbury, then we can begin.”

  “Yeah…okay,” I muttered. “Now, I want the information you offered in exchange.”

  He chewed his lip for a moment, shoving his glasses up his nose two times before sighing. “The virus injection you received was a larger dose than the others.”

  “What?”

  “Roger… When he had me fill the vials, he demanded one vial be filled with the untested, stronger dose. I didn’t know who it was used on until I read through some of his notes and journals.”

  “I don’t know what to say.”

  “I believe this is why you have so many issues mentally.”