Concealed Affliction

by Harlow Stone

  “I’m here a lot Elle, you want to work with me just call or text when you want to come in. Mondays I usually work out in the morning. Today was an exception. Other than that, I spend a lot of nights here.”

  He seems lost in thought so I don’t disturb him or ask more questions. My questions will be saved for when Ryder gets back. I take off my gloves and grab my bag.

  “Thanks. I’ll be in touch.”

  He nods his head and grabs his own gear before heading to the back room.

  I make my way toward the exit wondering what in the fuck is going on with Ryder Callaghan that even his men don’t know why he’s in Chicago.

  I get in my truck, very much on auto pilot and nearly hit a pedestrian on my way out of the lot. I curse my thoughts of Ryder, and force myself to focus on the fact that I’ve found someone else to add to list of people I can trust.

  My time with Denny may have been short, a little over an hour. But it only took me five seconds to determine whether he was a good person or not. It’s all in the eyes, and a little in the way people carry themselves. After experiencing both good and evil, I think I’m a bit of an expert on character.

  I spent a few summers in university taking a psychology class so I could get to know people on a deeper level. Trying to understand what makes them who they are, and what shapes them into who they become. I’m not sure whether I should be grateful for the classes, or for my experience to allow me to be such a good judge of character, but either way I’m thankful for having met Brock West, and in turn his leading me to Denny Black.

  Chapter Seven

  Ten Years Ago.

  “Counseling on Campus. This is Gina speaking, how may I help you today?”

  Week number five here at the center and I already want to drop my psychology class. I chose to take it as a bit of a filler, to eat up some of my downtime in the summer. That and my curiosity toward people as a whole made me interested in studying them on a deeper level.

  I’ve always believed I have a natural ability to read people. Not often am I wrong, or at least I haven’t been. I assumed volunteering at Counseling on Campus would enable me to put some of these skills to good use.

  No such luck.

  So far I’ve dealt with calls like, “my boyfriend of two months dumped me, and since he’s in most of my classes I need to change my major because it’s too hard to look at him every day.” And then, “I went to the spring mixer last weekend and ate a bad batch of mushrooms that put me in the hospital for two days, so I couldn’t finish my essay. Do you think I can submit it late? You know, since I was in the hospital?”

  No! You dumb shit! You put yourself in the hospital!

  Of course I can’t say that. No, I’m here to help. No matter how ridiculous your complaints are. So here I am answering the phone, hoping I can actually HELP whoever is on the other end of the line.

  “Hi Gina. It’s Matty again. I asked for you specifically, I hope that’s okay?”

  Ah, Matthew. He’s one of the sweeter ones that call. The guy sort of reminds me of the slightly dorky kid in school that gets a bad rap, but he’s actually incredibly sweet and very intelligent.

  I’m sure Matt is not his real name, much like mine is not Gina. When you work in the center they ask you use an alias, that way the students feel more comfortable, and so do you in the event you did run into one another.

  “Hey Matty boy, what’s shakin’?”

  This is probably the sixth time I’ve talked to Matt. He calls frequently, always unsure of himself. Always asking if ‘that’s okay’ in regard to his decision making, always needing a second opinion. Or maybe it’s reassurance? Either way the kid has no self-esteem. He’s very polite and if I could guess I would say he either grew up with a father who never gave him a pat on the back, or he grew up without a family at all.

  I know he doesn’t have many friends. He told me so. Matty prefers to do as much work from home as he can, taking most of his courses online.

  “I just wanted to tell you that I had a really good day today, Gina. Someone made an anonymous donation to my scholarship.”

  “What! That’s awesome Matty! Congrats! I still don’t know what it is you’re going to school for, but either way that’s pretty exciting. Are you going out to celebrate?”

  I am certain the answer will be no. Matty doesn’t do crowds, much less people.

  “No Gina, I have a lot to do. I haven’t been working as hard, knowing I wouldn’t be able to finish. Now I have a lot to get caught up on.”

  Poor Matty. Such a sweet kid. Makes me wish I knew who he was so I could take the poor lad out and buy him a beer. If he’s even nineteen.

  “Well Matty, my recommendation would be to go and treat yourself to a good meal and a cold one at The Tap.”

  I reference my favorite watering hole, hoping the kid takes the hint and gets out more. I would even offer to buy him a beer, if I were allowed to meet up with the people that call in here.

  “Thanks Gina, but I think I’m just going to stay in and get caught up on my school work.”

  This is where some of these kids go nuts. I’m all for dedicating time to your studies. I’ve spent the past three years with my nose buried in the books here. However, one thing I realized over time is that we all need a break. Otherwise you’re bound to pull your hair out.

  “Matty, you do whatever it is that you need to in order to sleep at night. But let me remind you, as much as I believe that school is a necessity in order to get a job, it’s also imperative you take some time for you. Remember that Matty. I know you’ve had a bit of a rough month. You had a few family issues, and then lacked the funds to continue your education. Just remember it’s totally okay to take five and do something for yourself. Okay Matty?”

  He’s silent on the other end of the phone for a few moments before he replies in his usual soft, timid voice.

  “Thanks Gina. Maybe if I get a little more caught up tonight I’ll take some time tomorrow for myself.”

  That’s Matty. He could never outright say ‘no’ to anyone. If I told him to go and rob a bank right now, he’d probably do it. The entire time he would know it’s the wrong thing to do, but he’s a people pleaser.

  “Anyway, I just wanted to share some good news with you for once. I’ll call you back soon, okay Gina?”

  “Okay Matty, you take care of yourself. Talk soon.”

  * * *

  I feel warmth on my face, followed by the movement of a hand. Not used to waking up with someone touching me, and knowing I went to bed alone, I jackknife up from the bed while shoving my hand under the pillow for my gun.

  “Elle, it’s me!”

  I whip my head around to find Ryder sitting on top of the covers on the opposite side of the bed. I let out a huge breath and shove my gun back under the pillow.

  “Tip for you Ryder: do not wake me up like that when you didn’t sleep here the night before, unless you want a bullet in your body.”

  I’m heaving. My heart is racing fast and I can feel the angry tears threatening my eyes. How dare he, and how the hell did he get in here?

  “Jesus, I’m sorry. I just got back and wanted to see you.”

  I turn away from him and climb out of bed, heading toward the bathroom. I shut the door and lock it behind me, then do the same to the other door that connects to the hallway. Not wanting to hear anything else he has to say at the moment, I turn on the shower and strip out of my sweat soaked clothes. Hands shaking the entire time.

  Once again, this is the norm. I expect it whether my nightmares are full of fear, or just memories of the past. What I didn’t expect was to feel someone touching me when I woke up.

  Feeling his hand on me reminded me of my past. When I woke up in Andrew’s smashed up car, an old man had his hand on my shoulder, gently nudging me. Trying to wake me up.

  “Easy there dear, you hit the hydro pole. You stay still, now. I called the po-lice, help is on the way.”

  I don’t know what I hit, or what I
did to him when he woke me up. I just clutch the blood soaked towel to my chest, ignoring the pained expression on his face as he registers my beaten body.

  I grab my shampoo and begin to lather my hair, thinking of the person who helped me. He was a kind older man. He wanted to help when I escaped Andrew’s basement and crashed his car, only I lost my shit when I felt his hand on my shoulder. In that moment I didn’t remember escaping the basement and crashing. I felt like I was still in there, in that cold damp place and he was waking me up to torture me again. It wasn’t the old man’s fault and I feel awful for the way I screamed at him, but it was out of my control.

  My body may have escaped the basement, but my mind was still there.

  I get under the hot spray, washing away the filth and the memories, preparing to put my armor back on before I leave the bathroom. I know it’s not just my memories that are making me pissed off right now, it’s Brock’s comments about Ryder and Denny’s confusion when I mentioned that Ryder was in Chicago for work.

  I get out of the shower and proceed with my hair and make-up. I don’t bother flat ironing right now, so I settle for a blow dry and leave my dark hair in loose long waves. I put on my robe and venture through my room toward the closet. Ryder is not in here, which I’m thankful for, so I continue and get dressed in a long black cut-off sleeve top, paired with black Capri tights. I put on my wrist cuffs and find a pair of heeled gladiator sandals with a wide band around the ankle that cover my marks. I tie it all together with a light scarf around my neck.

  Armor on, ready for confrontation.

  I smelled the coffee from the shower, so I know Ryder is still here. I make my way toward the kitchen and find it empty. I glance through the screen and see that he’s on my back porch so I head for the coffee maker.

  I make my morning brew and step outside. Ryder is sitting at the small table by my barbecue. Knowing I can’t let this stew any longer, I head over and sit down. I take my spot facing the water. His chair is beside me, facing toward his own home.

  He’s dressed in a pair of black dress slacks and a white button down shirt, not any usual attire I’ve seen on him before. I don’t take Ryder for the type of man that dresses to impress people, but I’m not ready to ask him about that either. Thankfully, he breaks the silence.

  “I didn’t mean to scare you, Elle. I have a key to this place, have for a long time. I knew you were still sleeping. Not wanting to wake you up, I used the key. I wanted to see you, but if that’s what’s going to happen when I let myself in, trust me I’ll knock next time.”

  I take a sip of my coffee and light up a smoke. Every time I think I’m closer to cutting back I find an excuse to light one back up again.

  “It’s not about you using the key Ryder. If I had of known you were coming back while I would still be in bed I would’ve expected you and not have attempted to shoot you.”

  His head whips around to mine.

  “I told you I would be back by Tuesday, Elle.”

  I shake my head at him.

  “You didn’t tell me you’d be waking me up on Tuesday morning Ryder. Because you never told me a time. You said you would keep in touch and let me know. I’ve not heard from you since the morning after the night I got back here. Look, I’m not a needy woman Ryder, never have been. But don’t think for one second that you kept me in the loop, because you did no such thing.”

  He scrubs his hands over his face, indicating his frustration.

  “Fuck Elle, I’m sorry alright. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you beautiful, I promise you that.”

  I take a good look at the handsome man in front of me. He looks tired, worn down. Like Chicago kicked his ass. I calm myself and my voice before speaking to him again.

  “What was so important in Chicago, Ryder? And please don’t lie to me.”

  He doesn’t look at me right away, or even acknowledge that I’ve spoken. He stares across my property toward his own. I take the opportunity to admire his profile. His strong jaw has two days worth of stubble. His hair is messy from the wind and I assume he hasn’t had a shower this morning. The whiskey voice I’ve grown to love pulls me out of my ogling.

  “Been working that job on and off for over a year, Elle. Sometimes people expect things from you after you work with them, they expect more. I try to make everyone happy but it doesn’t always work out that way. It’s done now; I don’t need to go back anymore.”

  I study him for honesty. If he looked me in the eye I would be able to get him a whole lot sooner, but he’s not. Eye contact is a necessity for me when it comes to respect, which ultimately means trust. He’s giving me neither at the moment and speaks again before I can question it. This time thankfully he looks at me.

  “We all have to do things we don’t want to sometimes, Elle. Running a business isn’t always easy babe, but it’s my business. I need to keep people happy, in order to keep working. That’s what Chicago was about.”

  He looks torn, and beaten down, like maybe he needs to sleep for the next three days.

  “As I said, I’m not a needy woman Ryder. I never will be. It’s not my style. That being said, I can’t give you a piece of me that I don’t get in return. You asked to know where I was when I was late getting home in Indy. You made a big deal about finding me, only to ignore me for the past week. You talked about not being able to take my ‘up and down shit’. Well I can’t take your ‘hot and cold’ shit.

  “One week you’re racing across the country, you’ve got my bank transactions flagged and you’re hunting me down at the wine store. The next week I hear from you once for all of twenty seconds and your MIA again. So like I said, I’m not needy, but don’t you dare expect something from me that you’re not willing to give in return.”

  Ryder puts his elbows on the table and rests his head in his hands. I don’t know what it is about this Chicago job that has him so put out, but if I were him I would’ve dropped that contract a long time ago if this is what happens to him. Brock mentioned he picks and chooses his work, if that’s so I’d start picking somewhere else.

  “It was selfish of me to say that Elle, I know. But I worry about you, more than you need to worry about me. Does that make sense?”

  I think about it for a moment, and have a question before I answer him truthfully.

  “No Ryder, it doesn’t make sense to me. Because I think if you truly worried about me, you would’ve been calling me every day. Not that I want that, you know I barely have shit to say on a good day unless we’re arguing about something. But if your reason was because you worry more, you’d think that you’d be burning out the ringer on my phone every morning and night. Wondering if I woke up, and wondering when I went to bed.”

  His sad eyes meet mine, knowing what he’s going to say but not speaking yet. I study him. His hair looks like it still has product in it. I study his pressed shirt and slacks. His dress shoes. This is not the man I met months ago. Or it is, but boxed in different packaging.

  “When I found Norma that day, I asked the guys to bring up the GPS trackers on all the BMW SUV’s that were on that street and send them to me. There was only one that frequented that address where Norm was. I didn’t disable the notifications, because when I was busy working in Chicago, it gave me piece of mind seeing your vehicle was parked at home every night, even if you were out through the day. It let me know that you were okay, and home.”

  I slam my coffee mug down on the table and push my chair back. Ryder grabs the arms of it to prevent me from escaping.

  “Don’t Elle. I never, not once kept that to invade your privacy. I just didn’t fast track the process of disabling it. There is someone in this world hell bent on seeing you dead, so if when I’m working and don’t have the time to call, I was damn fucking thankful that I at least had a way of knowing you were alive. I didn’t look where you went, or check your bank records to see what you did. All I looked at was that the vehicle left the house, and returned back home. I’m sorry Elle if that upsets you, but
you need to understand that when I know someone out there wants to harm the woman I care about, I will feel no fucking guilt for doing what I could to make sure she was okay.

  “Ultimately babe, I would outfit the piss poor fucking security in this place and put two men on your door at night. I know you won’t go for that so please, give me this. Let me know you got home at night.”

  I don’t know what to say to him right now.

  I’m pissed.

  I understand a little where he’s coming from, I get why he wants to know that I’m okay and I’m almost thankful for it. After all, at the end of the day he’s the only person in the USofA that knows a little of my story, so if I were to find myself dead with the identification of Elle Davidson on me, not a soul would know that I’m also Jayne O’Connor.