The Unhinged

by David Bernstein

  “Is there anything I can do for you?” he asked.

  “Thanks, but no. It’s nice to just be able to speak with someone who isn’t family and didn’t know him.”

  “Well, if it helps, you can talk to me all night.”

  She giggled. “How’s work been? Erin said you didn’t go in today.”

  “Yeah, I just needed a day.”

  They talked for a while. Aaron didn’t keep track of anything, including the beers he drank, only making sure he paced himself. He’d gotten Hanna to laugh a few times, which warmed his soul. He managed not to think about the horrors that had been a part of his life recently, feeling simply like a boy falling for a girl.

  Hanna wasn’t going to be at work for the rest of the week. The funeral was tomorrow. It was going to be awful, but she had to be strong for her mother. The woman was devastated from losing her brother. They’d had an argument the night before, making the guilt she felt worse.

  Before saying good night, Aaron and Hanna made tentative plans to get together over the weekend, at least for a few hours while her mother’s sister was in town.

  As soon as the call ended, his dread resurfaced. His body grew heavy and he needed another drink. Buzzed was no longer good enough. Time would be his enemy, as it would take a lot of it before he imagined he would feel better. But it would also be his friend, once a lot of it had passed.

  When the room began to spin, he headed upstairs to his bedroom and flopped onto his bed.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Aaron awoke at four a.m., his bladder ready to explode. He walked to the bathroom, eyes barely open, and relieved himself. Before returning to his room, he guzzled a few mouthfuls of water, hoping to counteract some of the alcohol dehydrating his system.

  Back in his room, he remembered that he needed to set his alarm, and did so. Getting into bed, he realized he’d actually slept soundly, something he hadn’t done in a while. Alcohol is a life saver, he thought, then set his head on his pillow.

  He nodded off quickly, but had nightmares of the woman in the abandoned psych hospital, except he’d been the one raping her, unable to stop himself. He awoke, sweaty and panicked. He still had an hour before he needed to be up for work, but didn’t want to go back to sleep for fear of another bad dream.

  Keeping the lights off, he turned on the clock radio—the volume low—and lay on his bed. He imagined himself a year from now, when all this nastiness was far behind him. He’d still be on parole, but he’d be a year removed from the nightmare he’d been living. And if he was lucky, he’d have Hanna by his side.

  Twenty minutes later, he was asleep, only to be jarred awake by the ringing of his phone. It could only be the cop calling. Angered, he reached over and snatched up the phone.

  “We’re done,” he said, then hung up.

  His phone rang again.

  “Are you deaf?” he said, answering it.

  “Aaron, it’s your Uncle Hank.”

  “Oh,” he said, feeling his anger deflate. “Sorry. I thought you were someone else. Err, what’s up? Did something happen to Aunt Jill?”

  “No, your aunt’s fine. It’s your mom.”

  “What? Did she get pulled over for drunk driving? Damn it. She said she’d stopped doing—”

  “Son,” his uncle said, cutting him off. “You need to get to Saint Luke’s Hospital.”

  Aaron’s skin prickled with heat.

  “What happened?” he asked.

  “We’re not totally sure, but it appears she was… Just get down here.”

  “Uncle Hank, please, just tell me what’s going on. Is she going to be okay?”

  “She’s in intensive care, but stable. The doctors say she’ll pull through after another surgery. Now stop wasting time and get down here. This isn’t something to talk about over the phone.”

  Thirty minutes later, Aaron walked onto the intensive care unit’s floor and into his mother’s room. His Aunt Jill, his mother’s sister, jumped up from the chair she was sitting in and hugged him. Her face was pale and streaked with tears. His uncle was standing across from him. His expression was grave, the wrinkles around his eyes and mouth intensified.

  “Oh my God, Aaron,” his aunt cried into his ear. “How could this happen?”

  His uncle came over and gently pulled the woman off him. “He doesn’t know what happened, dear.”

  She turned and faced him. “You didn’t tell him?”

  He shook his head, his jowls jiggling like a hound dog’s. “I figured it was something better told in person.”

  “Would someone please tell me what’s—” His words left him upon seeing the bed and the mummy it supported.

  “She’s in a medically-induced coma,” his uncle said. “She’ll be that way until the swelling goes down around her brain, but the doctor is confident she’ll be better in a few days.”

  Her head was wrapped in gauze, eyes swelled closed, lips gnarled as if she’d chewed them. Oxygen tubes protruded from her nostrils, a good sign, meaning she was breathing on her own. Her arms were covered in bandages, making her resemble something from an Egyptian tomb. He was thankful a blanket covered the rest of her, afraid to see any more. From the looks of it, he’d have sworn she’d been hit by a car.

  “What the hell happened to her?” he asked, approaching the bedside, feeling the warm salty liquid run down his cheeks. He would cry now, because when she was awake, he would need to be strong. When no one answered, he looked at his aunt. She looked at the floor, her husband standing, holding her hand.

  “I can’t…” his aunt said. “I can’t say…”

  Uncle Hank squeezed her hand and she broke down crying. “I need to talk to Aaron, okay?”

  She nodded, wiping her face with a tissue.

  “Let’s take a walk,” his uncle said, ushering him into the hallway.

  They walked to the end of the hall and stood in front of a large window that looked out over rolling hills of farmland.

  Uncle Hank faced Aaron and looked him in the eyes. “It’s bad, son.”

  “You’re scaring me. I thought she’s going to be okay.”

  “She will be. But even when she’s physically well, her mental state might be not quite right for a while.”

  “Tell me what’s going on.”

  “Your mom…” he began. “She was raped.”

  Aaron swallowed. His legs lost all their strength.

  “Whoa,” his uncle said, grabbing a hold of him as he staggered backwards, his uncle’s words hitting him like a linebacker.

  Aaron pictured the woman in the abandoned psychiatric hospital, remembered her bleach-blonde hair and how he thought she could have been in her late forties or early fifties.

  The man with the scar.

  The rape.

  The beating.

  It couldn’t be, he thought, shaking.

  “Where?” he asked.

  “What?”

  “Where did it happen?”

  “Some kids found her in the old psych hospital over in Central Valley.”

  “Oh my God,” Aaron said, and fell to the floor. His uncle tried to help him up. He shrugged the man off, then hurled a stream of vomit onto the white tile.

  A nurse rushed over and asked if everything was okay. Aaron looked up, puke dripping from his lips. “I’m okay,” he said, holding up his hand. “No need to—” He puked again.

  “He’s just very upset,” his uncle told the nurse. “He’s not sick or anything.”

  “Okay,” the nurse said. “I’ll get an orderly to clean it up.”

  “So sorry,” Aaron said, now sitting.

  “Don’t worry about it, sugar,” the nurse said. “You get it out if you have to. I’ve seen and dealt with much worse.”

  Uncle Hank helped Aaron up as he struggled to his feet. He was shivering a
nd felt like his brain was being shredded by thousands of razors lined with some kind of numbing agent. There was no pain, only confusion.

  “I’m okay, Uncle Hank,” he said. His uncle let go of him. “I’m okay. I just need…” The world spun and faded to black.

  Aaron awoke to an awful smell. The pretty nurse was standing over him.

  “What happened?” he asked.

  “You passed out,” Uncle Hank said.

  “You’re lucky your uncle was here to keep you from smashing your head on the floor,” the nurse said.

  Aaron moved to sit up, but the nurse kept a firm hand on his chest. “Relax,” she said, her voice commanding, yet soft. “There’s no rush.”

  She took his blood pressure. It was fine.

  “Diabetic?” she asked.

  “No.”

  “Ma’am, like I said, he just found out some pretty awful news,” his uncle said. “He’s healthy as a horse on most days.”

  “So I heard,” the nurse said, feeling Aaron’s forehead with the back of her hand. “You’re not warm. How do you feel now?”

  “Better. I think I can stand.”

  Uncle Hank and the nurse helped Aaron up and into a waiting wheelchair. “Sit for a bit, okay honey?” the nurse said. “Nurse’s orders.” She winked. “When you feel better, you can try walking. But give yourself a few minutes, okay?”

  Aaron nodded. “Thank you.”

  “No problem. You just take it easy,” she said, and walked away.

  “Here,” Uncle Hank said, proffering Aaron a bottle of Coke.

  “Thanks,” Aaron said, and accepted the soda. He unscrewed the cap and took a long swig. The cold beverage was refreshing. He twisted the cap back on and tried getting up, but his legs felt like jelly.

  “Did she give me a shot of something?” he asked.

  “Not that I saw,” his uncle said, then wheeled him down the hall to his mother’s room.

  Aaron couldn’t stand to look at his mom. It was his fault she wound up like this. He could’ve done something. Freed her. Done the right thing. If he’d known it was her, he never would’ve let anything happen to her.

  Then he thought of the alternative to what had happened, and felt like puking again. What if he had decided to rape her?

  “I have to leave,” he cried, panic racking his mind like the blaring of a foghorn. He jumped up from the chair, his muscles miraculously strong again. “I need air.”

  “Aaron, wait,” his aunt said.

  He turned and attempted to run from the room, nearly crashing into a tall, middle-aged-looking man with a bushy mustache and slicked-back hair. He was dressed in a gray suit. Aaron immediately knew the man was a cop.

  “Excuse me, son,” the cop said, his hands up.

  “Detective,” he heard his uncle say. “This is Kelly’s son, Aaron.”

  “Oh,” the man said, smiling. He held out his hand. “Detective Kilner.”

  “Can I see a badge?” Aaron said, ignoring the man’s hand.

  “Aaron,” his aunt said, harshly.

  “No, it’s okay,” the detective said, and pulled out his shield. “Good enough?”

  Aaron nodded and the man replaced the badge in his jacket. He had no idea if this cop was associated with his cop, so he decided to play this coolly. His mom was a victim, and while he was upset, he needed to act like he had no idea what was going on.

  “EMTs alerted the police after they got the call,” Kilner said. “Crime scene investigators are at the scene now. I came straight here, hoping to ask your mom a few questions, but she was rushed into surgery.” The detective glanced over Aaron’s shoulder. “How’s she doing?”

  Aaron wanted to scream at him, ask him how the fuck he thought she was doing after getting raped and beaten half to death, but kept his cool. “She’s in a medically-induced coma. She needs rest.”

  “Doctors said she’ll pull through,” his uncle added.

  “Good to hear,” the detective said, nodding. He looked at Aaron. “I’m very sorry about your mom, and I know this is a very tough time for you and your family, but could I ask you some questions? It’s important we find out as much as we can as soon as possible.”

  Aaron turned to his uncle. The man nodded.

  “Okay,” Aaron said.

  Talking to a cop was the last thing he wanted to do, but he needed to act like he would do anything to catch who did this. In truth, he wanted to find the man with the scar and kill him—and the cop, too. He was done playing nice and knowing what he knew now, he might just be able to actually murder both men. He needed to find them before the police did.

  “We can talk out in the hall,” Kilner said.

  “We’ll be here, Aaron,” his uncle said, “if you need us.”

  The detective moved aside and motioned for Aaron to go ahead. They found a row of empty chairs down the hall. Detective Kilner plopped down as if he’d been on his feet all day.

  “Do you have any idea what your mom was doing in Central Valley, specifically in that abandoned building?”

  “No,” he said, shaking his head.

  “Do you know anyone who’d want to hurt your mom?”

  “No. I mean, I don’t think so. Not in the last six months, anyway. I haven’t been a part of my mom’s life for a while.”

  “You were in prison, if I’m not mistaken.”

  “Yeah,” Aaron said, knowing it wasn’t a question. The detective was simply being polite. “Paroled for good behavior.”

  “Anyone you know that might want to hurt you by hurting your mom?”

  Aaron’s cheeks warmed, which meant his complexion was turning scarlet. He sighed loudly and rubbed his face as if stressed, hoping to cover up his body’s reaction to the culpability he felt.

  “I don’t think so,” he lied, exhaling noisily, hoping to appear flummoxed. “The only enemies I made were when I first entered the joint. But that was squashed and I remained low-key. I got along with others, even made some friends.”

  Kilner tilted his head and cocked an eyebrow. “Is there something you’re not telling me?”

  Knowing he needed to sell his lie, Aaron made eye contact. “No, Detective. If I knew something, anything, that could help catch the bastard responsible for hurting my mother, I would tell you in a second.”

  The detective leaned in and lowered his voice. “If someone threatened you, now’s the time to talk to me.”

  Aaron wanted to tell him about the cop, but then thought better of it. He had no idea how far the madman’s reach went. Maybe the cop had sent Detective Kilner to see if Aaron would talk. “No, I’m not being threatened by anyone.”

  The detective inhaled and sat up, seeming satisfied.

  Aaron took another sip of the Coke, his mouth parched. The detective was staring at the notepad in his hand. Aaron thought the conversation was over, but then the man looked at him and the next question came.

  “Where were you last night?”

  He felt his face flush again and didn’t bother to hide it. About to say he was at work, he quickly changed his mind, knowing the cop could easily find out that he’d called in sick, if he didn’t already know.

  “I was home for most of the day,” he said. “Went out around six to get some dinner.”

  “So you weren’t in Central Valley at all?”

  “No,” Aaron said, trying to look confused, then: “Hey, are you suggesting I raped my own mother?” He stood and clenched his fists, needing to appear offended, which he actually was.

  Kilner held out his hands defensively. “Relax, son. I had to ask. It’s protocol. If I didn’t, I wouldn’t be doing my job. There’s a lot of sick fucks out there and I don’t believe you’re one of them. I read your file, talked to your parole officer and boss. They say you’re a good guy.”

  “Are we done? I want to ge
t back to my mom.”

  “Sure. We’re done. I’ll be in touch. I’ll want to talk to her as soon as she’s awake.”

  Aaron stopped himself from walking away. He held out a hand. The detective looked at it, then shook it. “Please, for my mom’s sake, find whoever did this. Don’t let another woman go through what my mom did.”

  “Your mother’s case is top priority,” the man said, standing.

  Aaron went back to his mother’s room and remained there with his aunt and uncle for a few more hours before heading home.

  The first thing he did was lock all the doors and windows, having found a number of them unlocked. He thought about renting a hotel room, but decided he wasn’t going to let the cop frighten him out of his home. The worst had been done.

  Next, he retrieved his mom’s shotgun from her closet, made sure it was still loaded—fearing the cop might’ve come in and taken the shells out—and kept it with him at all times. If the cop tried breaking in, he’d let it happen, giving him a legal reason to shoot the bastard.

  Aaron hated remaining in his house, waiting. Time moved too damn slow. He wanted to drive around and look for the pig, but knew doing so wasn’t wise. Going off half-cocked with a shotgun while seething with rage wasn’t the thing to do unless he had a death wish. His mom would need him when she was out of the hospital—if she didn’t have him arrested first.

  She obviously hadn’t said anything to the paramedics, and he had no idea if that was because she was unconscious when they arrived. She might’ve been too out of it, in shock, to realize what was going on. She might not even remember the incident, but he doubted that she could ever forget seeing him stand by while she was savagely assaulted.

  He wondered what she’d say when she woke. His mother wasn’t fond of cops, but knowing her son was involved with what happened to her might make her change her mind. He wondered if she’d hate him. Or maybe she’d want to talk to him before making a decision about going to the police. She must’ve seen how distraught he was, talking with someone on the phone. Did she think he knew it was her on the bed?

  Aaron had no answers to any of the questions popping into his mind.