Concealed Affliction

by Harlow Stone

  I move to stand, but a firm hand to my thigh stops me.

  “Dammit, Elle! I’m not a fucking idiot. You remember me telling you I do this kind of shit for a living? Cabe covers his tracks.”

  I swat his hand away from my leg, and look to Cabe.

  “How much do you know?”

  Cabe sets his beer on the railing, crossing his arms.

  “I told Ryder what he needed to know to find you, but I didn’t tell him everything I found.”

  He looks to Ryder, apologizing with his eyes. I make a motion for him to carry on, thinking he can’t know any more than what I’ve told Ryder.

  “Elle Davidson, thirty years old. Spent time waitressing. Never went to College. Never did anything. But you drive a BMW. You live in a nice cottage and you have enough money to pay for most things in cash. You have no living relatives.”

  I look to Ryder, and give him a small nod.

  “Well that sounds about right.”

  Cabe’s voice tears my gaze from Ryder’s.

  “All of those things don’t add up, mostly the money. I gave Ryder the info to find you, but then I kept searching for myself because something didn’t sit right with me. I like my boss, most of the time. But I wanted to know what kind of woman he was chasing after who has more cash than she ever would’ve made at a bar, even if she took her clothes off.”

  His dark eyes search mine, asking if it’s okay to continue. I can’t imagine he found much, so I motion for him to carry on and he gives me a small nod in thanks.

  “So I ran your photo through a facial recognition program focusing hits in the United States. There were a few similarities, but nothing concrete. When I widened the search, I came up with twenty-seven hits in total, ten of those being here, which I ruled out, and a few belonging to Canada. Narrowing my search to women with money in the bank only gave me one hit, Elle. Her name is Jayne O’Connor, and her late father was the owner of O’Connor Inc. It was a leading construction and architectural company in the area where she lived in Ontario.”

  I try to breathe, feeling the tears sting the back of my eyes. It’s been so long since I heard anything about my old self or my family and it sends a sharp pain through my chest. I swing my legs over the side of the lounge and hang my head. Ryder places a hand on my back trying to soothe me but I shrug it off and speak through my pain to Cabe.

  “Finish it, Cabe. What else?”

  “You’re Jayne O’Connor, Elle. You inherited over eight million dollars from your father’s company when he passed away. Your parents were Gary and Susan. They both lived middle-class lives and saved most of what they made, not wanting to live the big life, just enjoying the work they did. Other than your trips after university, you mostly paid your own way. I won’t go into detail about the loss you’ve experienced, or the attack, but yes, I know about those too. I haven’t shared that with anybody.”

  I look down at my shaking hands, and move them to wipe the dampness from my face.

  “If you could find me, he can too. I need to move.”

  Cabe moves his hands out in a placating gesture.

  “Elle, I have access to just about every government database. I assure you, unless the man, or men, involved are high security, there’s no way they will find you.”

  I put my smoke out in the ashtray beside the lounge and stand up.

  “That’s enough. We’ll talk about this later. Until then, do me a favor and keep your mouths shut.”

  I move to open the screen door and feel a hand on my shoulder. I don’t need to turn around to know its Ryder’s.

  “Elle, wait.”

  I shake my head in defeat.

  “I can’t talk about this anymore. Go home, Ryder.”

  I don’t look back as I let Norma in and shut both doors behind me. I walk toward the front door and close and lock it as well. I shut off all the inside lights, leaving the outside ones on so the boys can find their way back to their truck.

  I carry my still-full glass of wine down the hall and go into my bedroom. I sit on the edge of the bed, setting my drink on the nightstand. Removing my boots and scarf, I collapse onto the pillow, not worrying about anything else.

  I lay and stare at the ceiling, remembering times when life was easy. Like when I went to school and had nothing to worry about other than studies and who was buying the first round of drinks on Friday night. Or when I was a leader for an amazing architectural firm known as O’Connor Inc. and would spend my days designing and helping to build some of the most visually appealing landmarks in our area. Now my life is nothing but complicated, living a lie and hoarding my secrets.

  I’ve made it almost a year, living in my reclusive bubble.

  Now I feel like it’s burst, and since meeting Ryder Callaghan there wasn’t a damn thing I could do to stop it.

  Chapter Thirteen

  “You bitch! I just paid your rent and this is what you turn around and do to me? Sleep with that lazy fuck from across the hall?”

  Laura and I try to avoid listening to the conversation as we stumble our way toward my apartment building beside campus. We’ve lived together in a little two-bedroom abode here for the past year. It’s small, but it’s ours.

  The couple we’re passing obviously isn’t having as good a night as we did. We spent the first portion of our night at our favorite Italian restaurant, and closed it off with shots and martinis at The Tap. Typical Friday night for us when we’re not too busy with school work.

  “You idiot, I’ve been fucking him for months! You’re just too blind to see it! Always too worried with your brother, and your job! Well fuck you!”

  Laura loops her arm through mine.

  “Oh my god Jayne, I feel bad for that guy. What a bitch.”

  “You got that right, what’s the rule?”

  “You want to sleep with someone else? Have the decency to leave the one you’re with first,” she says.

  “Yup! And if she had done that, he’d still have her rent money in his pocket. Poor guy.”

  We watch as a security guard approaches and tells the drunken whore to head home. She’s the irate one, waving her hands around in the air, spewing profanities at the poor guy sitting on the bench, head in his hands muttering about how much he hates women. I don’t see his face, only his back. He looks to be about our age, maybe a year or two younger. It’s possible he just got his heart broken for the first time and he may very well be one of my calls at ‘Counseling on Campus’ next week.

  We continue walking, but as we pass the bench I reach my hand out and set it on his shoulder.

  “We’re not all that bad, give it time and you’ll find a good one. I promise.”

  Laura gives an ‘Amen, Sister’ beside me, and I let go of his shoulder and continue walking toward our apartment.

  I don’t know how long that poor guy sits there, but I do reflect on my own life when I go to bed, reminding myself even though it may make me feel a little shallow, I’m confident that when I enter into a relationship with people I let them know from the beginning it’s completely casual and not to expect more from me. I won’t sleep with other people, and I also make that clear to them. It may not be the most ideal situation for a young woman, but I’m more interested in myself and school than having to worry about getting dinner on the table and putting a bun in my oven.

  * * *

  I’ve been beating the shit out of this punching bag for about ten minutes now. It feels good, but at the same time I’m exhausted from my lack of sleep.

  I’ve been having a lot more dreams about my past recently, as opposed to the nightmares. It’s as though once I got the majority of them off of my chest, they subsided, allowing the memories of mundane things to filter back into my mind.

  Perhaps my recent dreams of university and my time with Laura are because I miss the days when things were simple, when I didn’t have to worry about much other than myself. Of course, it’s not the way I have to worry about myself today. All I had to worry about back then was
that I got my ass to class on time and kept food in my fridge. These days I need to worry about who knows what, how many people I’ve lied to, and when are they going to eventually catch up with me, ultimately leading to my demise.

  I rest my head against the bag, hanging on to the top of it. I let the sounds of Chris Cornell’s voice singing about ‘Black Days’ wash over me. That’s what today feels like. One big black day, or perhaps black years. I slept and vegged as long as I could this morning before realizing I just needed to get out of the house and beat the shit out of something. It was too early to drink and realized I didn’t want to. I need to get rid of the pent up energy inside me and hopefully clear my head.

  I’ve avoided Ryder and I didn’t call Denny before I came into the gym today. It’s only four in the afternoon, and truth be told, I just wanted to be by myself. I didn’t respond to his text when he offered to come pick me up. I just took a taxi with my gym clothes stuffed in my oversized purse and came here alone.

  I take in a deep breath, and let it out as I let go of the punching bag. I wipe the sweat from my brow before opening my eyes, my body going stiff as a statue when I take in the man sitting at the small table near the juice counter.

  My small table.

  In my private gym room.

  I note the placement of my bag out of my peripheral vision, not wanting to take my eyes off his. My gun is in that bag, about seven feet away. I step back from the punching bag, still not taking my eyes off the distinguished man in the crisp grey suit.

  “You’re not what I expected,” says the strange man.

  He’s arrogant, I can tell that much. At the same time I respect the ‘I don’t give a fuck’ attitude that’s coming off him in waves. I don’t say anything, and I don’t move any further. If this man wanted to kill me, it would’ve been done already. That’s not why he’s here. He takes a long hard look at me before he speaks again.

  “However, I can see why he turned me down.”

  I take a long look at his face. Strong features, grey but well-kept hair. His suit probably costs more than I pay in rent here each month, and his shoes are most likely custom made. He screams money, in every form of the word.

  I notice movement through the frosted window of the door and he’s quick to answer the unasked question.

  “That’s my associate, assuring we have privacy. I’d prefer if my little visit here be kept confidential.”

  I put my hands on my hips, showing him I’m not afraid of his presence before I speak.

  “Assuming that your little visit is going to be a quick one, would you mind getting to the point? Seeing as I’ve not one single fucking clue as to who you are, or what you’re doing in my private room.”

  The suit straightens himself in his chair and clasps his hands together.

  “Ah, a woman who gets straight down to business. I appreciate that, Miss Davidson.”

  I cock my head to the side.

  “Your name is?”

  “William Becker,” he replies, smugly.

  “Well, Mr. Becker. I do not for one second believe this visit is strictly for ‘business’, once again seeing as I’ve never met you. I’m also not one for idle chit chat. So cut the shit and get to the point.”

  Mr. Becker stands, buttoning the front of his suit, clasping his hands in front of him.

  “A bit of a firecracker you are, and one hell of a right hook. Although that may appeal to him, it’s not in his best interest at the moment.”

  I pull my glove up to my mouth, undoing the Velcro and tossing them toward my gym bag.

  “Do me a favor and quit talking in riddles. You have two minutes before I do make your little visit known.”

  I reach down and grab my long sleeve shirt off the floor, pulling it over my head in an effort to give me a little more armor and cover the marks on my wrists before he gets close enough to see them.

  “Ryder Callaghan. You’ve been a distraction and now I need you to stand back so he can continue what he started.”

  The hairs on the back of my neck stand up. I hastily pull my shirt into place trying to think of what to say.

  “Two things I’m going to say to you Becker. One is that Ryder Callaghan is nothing but my neighbor. Two, what he chooses to do or not do, finish or not finish, is not my business, or yours for that matter because he’s a grown man. You have a problem with that? Then you’re barking in the wrong direction.”

  Sensing this man is not an immediate threat, I take my eyes off of him to grab my bag off the floor. I pull it over my shoulder, resting my hand on the lower part of the strap so it’s closer to my gun.

  “Miss Davidson, I’ve known that man for a few years now. Not once has he ever turned down a job offer. That is until you came along.”

  I shake my head in exasperation.

  “Once again, not my problem. You want him, he’s yours. I’m not holding him back, any more than you can force him to work for you.”

  He stuffs his hands in his pockets and takes a few steps closer. Not in a menacing way, but enough to tell me he means what he says and won’t stop speaking until he gets his point across.

  “Let me be clear Elle, his presence is essential to me at the moment. That cannot happen with you in the picture, as he has already proved.”

  I huff out a breath.

  “Like I said, I don’t control him. What is that you do anyway, William?”

  I throw his first name back at him, as he did with mine. Since he has more pressing issues to deal with, he shrugs the jab off and continues.

  “I can gather from your barbaric beating with that punching bag that you do not spend much time in front of a television or reading newspapers. You probably don’t spend much time in circles of higher stature either, judging by the ramshackle home you live in, and your measly life as a bartender.”

  I’d love to throw my education, as well as my money in his face right now. But I don’t. I’m the bigger person here, and ultimately this man’s opinion of me doesn’t matter.

  “Politics is a high stakes profession, image is everything. I’ve been a prominent figure in Chicago for many years now, but as with any line of work our aim is always higher. I need Ryder to help me achieve that.”

  Chicago?

  The hairs on the back of my neck come to attention once again as I try to piece together what little bit of information I have regarding the subject. But I realize I have virtually nothing. I just want to get away from him now and the quicker I finish this up, the sooner I can leave.

  “Well William, there are plenty of G.I Joe’s running around this town. Head about two blocks west of here and I’m sure you’ll find someone to take a bullet for you.”

  Becker shakes his head in a condescending way, studying me as if I’m no more than shit on the bottom of his shoe.

  “You misunderstand me, Miss Davidson. However, I suppose education was not your top priority, therefore I’ll make this easy for you to comprehend. I do not personally need Mr. Callaghan, however my lovely daughter does. You see, when I enter the public eye with my family, it isn’t easy for people to see past my daughter’s indiscretions. She is your age, and single, only much more intelligent if I do say so myself.”

  Of course you would you self-righteous prick.

  “The media in Chicago has taken a liking to the man that guards my back, and even more so when he was spotted out with my daughter. This pleases me Miss Davidson, and works very well in my favor. I would get the type of security his company provides, and he would keep Claudia from any more public indiscretions, since she is quite taken with Mr. Callaghan.”

  I’m quick to snap back at him, not thinking it may give away the feelings I have but fail to acknowledge for Ryder.

  “Perhaps Ryder doesn’t want your job, Becker? It’s also possible he’s not interested in your daughter. Ever think of that?”

  If he could look anymore smug, he does.

  “I always have eyes on my daughter, and judging by the amount of times I’m
informed of her presence in his hotel room, I would suggest that’s not the case.”

  I feel the proverbial kick in the gut as he delivers those words, but I don’t dare let them show on my face. I straighten my back, looking him directly in the eye and thanking the cold heart that takes residence in my chest.

  “For the last time, I don’t control Ryder Callaghan, anymore than you control me. You want him? Go talk to him yourself. I won’t tell him to leave and work for you, and I won’t ask him to stay either. Good luck.”