The Next Ten: Beginnings Series Books 11 - 20

by Jacqueline Druga

  “I know you can, but . . .” Ellen moved to him. “You have this long sleeve shirt rolled up. It has to come off. I don’t want you pulling out the shunt when you do it. Now . . .” She reached her hands up for his buttons. “I just . . .”

  “Ellen.” Elliott grabbed her hand. He had a sense of gentle firmness to it. “Really. I will do it.”

  Dean swiped his finger over his top lip to cover the snicker. “You know what, El? Why don’t I take care of the shunt? You go check on Alex. Would that be all right, Elliott?”

  The exhale he let out was minimal but still there. “Yes.”

  “Good.” Dean walked to Ellen and took her arm. “Come on, El.” He tugged and her eyes stayed on Elliott. “El?”

  “All right.” She gave one more look to Elliott. “If you need me . . .”

  “Yes.” Elliott smiled.

  Dean led Ellen to the door. “I’ll be right back, Elliott.” He opened it and stepped into the hall with her.

  “Dean, did I do something wrong in there? Did I say something to offend him?”

  “Nope.” Dean shook his head with a smile. “He just . . . plain and simple, doesn’t want to undress in front of you.” He gave a light tap of a pat to her cheek. “Imagine that. I’ll be right out.”

  Dean slipped into the bedroom. With a sense of feeling left out and a little baffled, Ellen just stood there.

  ^^^^

  John Matoose knew whoever was late night walking down the corridor wasn’t Melissa, Patrick. or Glen. The footsteps moved slowly, almost tauntingly, as they neared his room. Sleep wasn’t on John’s agenda. To him, he had spent the last month of his life in a forced rest so he heard the person coming. John placed down the book he was reading seconds before he appeared in the door.

  Johnny stepped in. “John,” he said snidely.

  “Kind of late for children to be up, isn’t it?”

  “You’re funny. Good to see your sense of humor is still there,” Johnny said as he walked to the bed.

  “I’m gonna take the late night visit as one you’re trying to hide.”

  “Not really. Melissa saw me. I said I was doing catch up for Dr. Dean, you know.” He shrugged. “I wanted to see how you were doing. I hear you’re getting out tomorrow.”

  “But not to work. Dean said my legs aren’t strong enough. I can’t run your dirty work for you, Johnny. Not yet.”

  “Not yet.” Johnny sat on the side of the bed. “Communications are down, so anything we do, notice how I said, ‘we’ John, is gonna have to be through me.”

  “I didn’t think you had any power, Johnny. I mean, who are you? Nobody. You’re just a flunky who knows some of Dean’s work and a snide little boy who turned his back on his family.”

  Johnny shook his head. “You can’t rattle me. I don’t rattle. I’m not a flunky. And just so you know, I only turned my back on my father.”

  “Turning your back on the community is turning your back on your family, no matter how you look at it,” John told him.

  “I’m helping the community. I have to. We need this place. We, as in the Society. The first order of business, on behalf of the man who has been like a father to me, will be to find out who killed Bev. And I will, by way of you, get them. Then I start with the other plans. See, George always knows communications can be shut down. He’s thought of a contingency plan and routes I must take but I can’t do anything alone. It’s a bit much, along with the fact it’s risky for me.”

  “And that’s where I come in.”

  “Exactly.” Johnny smiled. “For the sake of Jenny, you’re gonna help me, aren’t you?”

  “For the sake of Jenny, I will help you.” John stared at Johnny as he conveyed his words, but the meaning of them in his mind was different. Yes, he was going to help Johnny, but unknown to Johnny, John was going to help hang him. As a payback to all the wrong he had done to Beginnings, John was going to be the one to personally end, what he believed, the final inside connection in Beginnings to the Society.

  ^^^^

  Josh’s room. It was, at least for the week, Dean and Ellen’s room. The twin beds in there worked out perfect for them in their ‘still working it out’ stage of the marriage. Josh had cleaned it up tolerable enough for them to be in there.

  “Dean?” Ellen asked as she laid on the bed, working on something.

  Dean, reading, only mumbled a ‘hmm’.

  “Check this out. I washed these sheets.” Ellen put her face to the pillow and sniffed. “But they still smell like Frank.”

  Dean looked up. “Ellen, he could leave behind a hair and you’d still be able to follow his scent.”

  “Funny.” She looked down to her puzzle. “Dean?’

  “What?”

  “Am I taking first shift with Elliott or second?”

  “Why are you asking me this now?”

  “Well, it’s late. You’re still up. I figured it . . .”

  “I’m working on something,” Dean interrupted. “That’s why I’m up.”

  “Reading.”

  “Working.”

  “Whatever. Anyhow, if I have first shift, I want to get up early, so I should go to sleep.”

  “You have first shift,” Dean told her and turned the page.

  “You’re just telling me that so I can go to sleep.”

  “Ellen.” He had a bit of firmness to his voice. “I’m . . .”

  “Working. I know.” She held up her hand and lifted a pencil. “Gee, these Jenny crossword puzzles are tough. Dean? What’s a three letter word for an awesome being and higher power.”

  “God.”

  “No.” She shook her head. “That can’t be right. It starts with an ‘H’. Oh!” She giggled. “I know. Hal.”

  “Hal?” Dean rolled his eyes.

  “It’s a Jenny puzzle, Dean. Of course it would be . . .” Ellen’s head lifted at the slight ‘thump’. “Did you hear that?”

  “Yeah.” Dean put down the book.

  “Elliott.” Ellen swung her legs over the bed. “I’ll check on him.” She hurried from the bedroom and turned left into hers. After a single knock on the door she opened it and walked in. The bed was empty. “Elliott?” She called out then headed to the bathroom. She froze upon entrance in there when she saw Elliott on the floor reaching for the commode. “Oh, my God.”

  “Ellen, don’t . . .”

  “Dean!” Ellen cried out as she braced under his arms. His body burned to the touch and his was skin pale. Trying to lift him, Ellen saw the blood on the toilet seat and the blood that trailed from his mouth. “Dean!”

  “El.” Dean flew in. “Shit.” He hurried to Elliott who tried to lift himself. “Elliott, what happened?”

  “Room’s . . . spin . . . spinning.” His eyes rolled.

  “Dean.” Ellen tried to hold him up, but it seemed as if Elliott fought her. “He’s throwing up blood. What’s happening?”

  “Ellen, I told you this could be a side effect.” Dean reached to help.

  “Dr. Hayes,” Elliott spoke weakly, his eyes barely stayed put as he looked to Dean. “With all . . . with all due respect. Could you . . . could you have your wife . . . leave?” A painful grunt came from Elliott and he flung himself to the commode with all his strength. His body jolted and shook.

  “Elliott.” Ellen leaned with worry.

  “El, come on.” Dean pulled her. “I’ll handle it.”

  “But I . . .”

  “El.” Dean led her to the door. “He wants you to leave, O.K.? I’ll handle it.”

  “Dean . . .” Before Ellen could say anymore, the bathroom door shut. In her worry and frustration, she swung out her hand, hit it against the wooden door, and dropped her head.

  ^^^^

  Hours.

  Time had flown by and Dean had made two trips to the Clinic for more medical supplies. Each time he entered the house and told Ellen ‘this should do it’, and then he would slip, with the door barely open, into the bedroom with Elliott. Hours and all Ellen could
do was wait in the hall, listen for voices, and pace because despite how much she wanted to be in there helping, Elliott, just as much, insisted she not.

  ^^^^

  There was nothing more that Frank wanted to do than blame his middle of the night tossing and turning on a dream. He would have loved to do that but Frank didn’t dream. How could he? He hadn’t even fallen asleep.

  He knew what it was that kept him up. It was the same thing that caused each toss of his body to grow more violent. An urge. Overwhelming, and consuming, the urge hit him. He felt the tremble in his hands, the numbness of his fingertips, and the swarming of his head in confusion.

  The urge.

  Frank wanted a drink.

  He was stronger than the urge and bound and determined to make it through the night without breaking. How much he wanted to punish himself for taking that drink two nights earlier. So consumed with thinking the alcohol would help, he was blinded by the damage it was doing to him.

  The den turned bedroom grew smaller and smaller. The tiny window was frozen shut and airflow into the room was nil. Every minute that passed, Frank felt as if he were suffocating. But in actuality, Frank was drowning in the desire to plunge into a weakness he had given up.

  Passing the point of frustration, Frank flung off the covers and swung his legs, with a vengeance, from the bed to the floor. He stood up, wearing only his boxers. He walked out of the den.

  When he should have been cold, he wasn’t. With his body burning and a thin line of sweat forming on his neck, Frank walked to the kitchen and took in the coolness of the linoleum against the soles of his bare feet. He made it to the sink and turned on the faucet. His hand trembled so badly he couldn’t even pick up a glass.

  Gripping the edge of the sink in desperation, Frank’s head dropped and he did something he rarely did. He prayed. He asked for strength or something to get him through. With his hands clinging for life to the metal of the sink, Frank raised his eyes to the window and got his answer.

  Across the short distance from his father’s house to the next, window to kitchen window, he saw her. Ellen.

  She too, at that moment, was standing at her sink. Did she see him? Both windows were so similar. Both had the night light lit. Just as he raised his hand in hopes that she’d spot him, Ellen did.

  A surprise look graced her face and she waved then held up a finger.

  He tilted his head in wonder and watched Ellen disappear. Before he could question, he heard the distant sound of a door creaking, and Frank walked to his own front door and opened it. Stepping out on to the porch he saw Ellen, in only a tee shirt, making her way across the frost covered grass. “El?”

  “Hey.” She hurried. “Ouch. My feet are cold.”

  “Get in here.” He stepped inside with her. “What are you doing?”

  “Oh, Frank.” She exhaled. “I’m cold.”

  “It’s freezing out there. Wait.” His room wasn’t far from the living room, only a few steps. He raced in and came back out with a blanket and wrapped it around her shoulders. “Better?”

  Ellen nodded. “Much.”

  “What are you doing? Why did you come over?”

  “I had to. Without a question, without doubt, I had to.”

  A half smile hit Frank’s face. “Why?”

  “I was standing at the sink, feeling so lost, just needing some sort of sign that everything is going to be all right. I looked up and I saw you. And I knew I had to come over here. That’s what I’m supposed to do.”

  “El, what’s wrong?” Frank led her to the couch to sit.

  “Elliott.” Ellen sat down. “Elliott is really bad, Frank. Really bad.” She closed her eyes. “I’m so scared that Dean and I pushed this too far, that we screwed something up.”

  “No.” Frank shook his head as he brought himself to his knees. “I don’t know what’s going on over there, but I do know Dean. Dean wouldn’t do something that he wasn’t sure of. To rabbits maybe . . .”

  Ellen slightly smiled. “Maybe. I don’t know. It could be the fact that I just don’t know. I’m in the dark.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean, Dean’s handling Elliott. I don’t know if his fever broke or if he’s still throwing up. I don’t know. I can’t go in the bedroom.”

  “Dean won’t let you in there?”

  Ellen shook her head. “No, Elliott won’t.” She looked at Frank, so close. “Why? Why won’t he let me?”

  “I don’t know. I can’t answer for Elliott. Maybe’s he’s vain and he doesn’t want you to see him look bad.”

  “Frank,” Ellen gasped.

  “I don’t know. Maybe . . . maybe, El, he just doesn’t want you to see him like that.”

  “That’s stupid.”

  “And so is the code of fuckin honor for the UWA. And what’s he? A UWA soldier.” Frank held out his hand. “There you have it.”

  Ellen swiped his hand away, but before she could bring her hand back, Frank grabbed it. “Frank? I really think I was supposed to come here tonight. I was getting so upset just pacing and not knowing what to do. You really were my sign.”

  “You were mine too.”

  “What do you mean?” Ellen asked with a slight smile.

  “Nothing.”Frank shook his head. “You know what? I want coffee. Want some?” He started to get up.

  Ellen, still holding his hand, tugged on him. “Frank. Stop. What’s going on?”

  “I’m making coffee.”

  “No. You said I was your sign. Why were you looking for a sign?”

  “O.K. if you must know, I’m getting frustrated by the bear. That’s all.”

  Ellen let go of his hand. “Fine. Don’t tell me.”

  Frank started to walk away, but stopped. He turned around.

  As soon as Ellen saw him, she knew it was something. It seemed as if gravity took hold of every muscle on Frank’s face and pulled. “Frank? What is it?” she asked softly.

  “You were my sign.” His head slowly shook back and forth and he walked back over to Ellen. “I needed strength.”

  “For?”

  After the long deep nostril breath he took. Frank dropped back down to his knees. He took Ellen’s hands and cupped them. “I wanted a drink.” He raised his eyes to meet hers. “And chancing you getting mad, chancing you being disappointed in me, I . . . two nights ago, I had a drink.” Frank moved about their joined hands as he spoke. “I didn’t want to drink tonight. I swear, El, I didn’t want to drink. I needed something, anything to tell me I would pull through without breaking. Like you, I looked up to the window and you were there. So . . .” He laid her hands back down. “Ask me. Ask me why I drank. Why I wanted a drink. Ask me why I’m so weak.”

  “No.” Ellen shook her head. “How about I ask you what I can do to help?”

  Frank’s eyes closed and he moved into her. His hand cupped the back of her head and he brought his mouth to her ear. “More than you know, you’re doing it. Right now, you just being here is doing it.”

  She felt it in his breath, heard it in Frank’s voice, and knew it through his touch. “Frank, why didn’t you come to me? You should have come to me anytime you felt you needed help.”

  Like the topic they discussed, their words were hush-hush. Huddled close, lips to ears, they whispered.

  “El, I was embarrassed.”

  “With me? Frank? We’re different, you and I. There’s nothing I can’t do in front of you and there’s nothing you can’t do in front of me. And that includes breaking.”

  “I know this.”

  “Then know this. I’ve loved you for a lifetime. I won’t stop. Nothing will make me stop. I’m here.”

  “And I’m glad.” His hands clenched hers. “Because I wouldn’t have made it through this night without you.”

  Slightly, Ellen pulled back and looked at him. “So when I walk out that door, you’ll be fine.”

  “Yeah.” Eyes half closed, Frank nodded. “I think I will be.”

  “W
hat if I don’t leave?”

  Frank hesitated before answering. He saw how close they were. “Then I know I will be.” An invitation wasn’t given, nor permission granted, but it felt right. It had been so long since Frank had done so, that he really didn’t think about it, not too much. Slow, almost too slow, he lowered his lips to Ellen’s.

  A part. A touch. A slight whimper of arriving and then, softly, Frank and Ellen kissed.

  Joe had heard the whispers. For as much as people thought they were quiet, in the silence of a quiet house, whispering voices not only carried but awoke those who were just about due for a middle of the night cigarette. Wearing his favorite pajamas, Joe grumbled in his soft footsteps to the living room. He stopped when he walked in. This would typically call for a ‘Joe-style’ intrusion, possibly a crass ‘Jesus Christ’ at his son and Ellen kissing, with her sitting, him kneeling, and both half dressed. Even a ‘this better not get obscene’ would have been amusing, but Joe couldn’t bring himself to speak. There was something so innocent about the interlude in the living room that all Joe could do was walk back to his room.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  November 7

  Certain smells always graced a household at certain times of a day, especially in the morning. Joe knew that and since he had rarely lived alone, he grew to know the normal scents that occurred with each roommate. When Andrea was in the house, though Joe always left the home first, Andrea was the first one up, even if it was to just help Joe start his day and then go back to bed. There was the smell of coffee and something edible, toast, or a sweet roll that maybe Andrea had made the night before. The recent living with Frank brought scents that were blunt like him, soap from his shower and old coffee. Robbie was a different story. There were no smells with Robbie. No coffee, no shower, nothing because no matter how late Joe slept in, Robbie slept in too. Despite the alarm clock blaring and Frank’s continuous yelling over the radio, Joe had to keep calling and calling him, increasing each yell of Robbie’s name with intensity until finally, like a ten year old, he staggered from bed.