Fracture (Book 1)

by Craig Andrews

  Kendyl pursed her lips. “You should always be available for family. And you could have called me back.”

  “You’re right. I should have.”

  The bartender stopped in front of them. He was Kendyl’s kind of man, with multiple piercings accompanied by tattoo sleeves on both arms. “Can I get you something?”

  “I’ll take a scotch, no ice,” Allyn said. He’d never been a scotch drinker until the guys at the firm had gotten him started. These days, he didn’t drink anything else. He turned back to his sister. “Look, I know I screwed up. I’ve made a habit out of that lately, and I’m sorry. You’re the only family I’ve got left, so please just stick with me for a little while longer. Things will get back to the way they used to be. I promise.”

  “I’ve heard that speech before,” Kendyl said, but the heat in her voice was gone.

  “It’s because I meant it.”

  The bartender returned, setting the drink in front of Allyn, who nodded his thanks and took a sip.

  “How did the meeting go?”

  Kendyl bit back a smile. “It was beautiful up there, even more so than I remembered. The trees are bare, so if you climb to the top of the hill, you can see out into the canyon and watch the sun set behind the hills.”

  “Did the Realtor find it as beautiful as you?”

  “She said it was a lovely property.”

  “Worth?”

  “Four hundred. Four-fifty if we do a few things first. She made a list.”

  Allyn whistled. Four hundred and fifty thousand dollars. Kendyl handed him the Realtor’s list. “Looks pretty straightforward,” he said, scanning the list. “I can pay the upfront costs as long as you pay me back after it sells.”

  “Allyn—”

  “And we’ll have to hire someone to do it. I don’t have time to be painting and landscaping.”

  “Hey, listen to me—”

  Allyn playfully slapped Kendyl on the back. “Four hundred and fifty thousand! That’s more than I thought it was worth.”

  “I don’t want to sell anymore.”

  Allyn coughed. “What?”

  “I said I want to hold on to the house.”

  “Kendyl—”

  “It’s amazing up there, Allyn. Magical. I found a piece of myself I forgot a long time ago, and I don’t want to lose that again.” She took his hands in hers. “Go up there with me and see for yourself.”

  Allyn shook his head. He couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Who walks away from that kind of money? Sometimes, he just didn’t understand his sister. “When?”

  Kendyl shrugged. “Tomorrow?”

  Mr. Clarke did tell you to take the day off. “I have to work.”

  “Who works on Sundays?”

  He pulled his hands from hers. “Those of us who want to succeed.”

  She tried to hide the annoyed look on her face with a smile. “So what are we going to do? I don’t want to sell, you do, and we can’t do anything unless we both sign off on it.”

  That’s the question, isn’t it? They’d inherited the family cabin after their mother passed, with the stipulation that if they ever sold it, they would both have to agree. Allyn could probably fight his mother’s will, but he would sooner hold on to the property than try to pry it away from his sister.

  “I’ve got an idea.” He took another sip. The scotch warmed his chest. Drinking on an empty stomach was dangerous—his face was already growing tingly. “Why don’t you buy me out?”

  Kendyl barked a laugh. “I can’t afford that.”

  “The house was appraised at four, four-fifty. If you buy me out at two, that’s what? Eleven hundred a month? Twelve? How much is your rent right now?”

  “Eight hundred.”

  “Perfect!” Allyn slapped the bar emphatically. “Get one or two of your artist friends to move in with you, charge them four hundred a month, and you’ll actually save money.” This seemed to give her pause, so Allyn rolled forward. “Or make it an artists’ retreat. Rent rooms by the night. Who knows? You might be able to live rent free and keep the house.”

  “Don’t do that.”

  “Do what?”

  “Sell me on it.”

  Allyn cursed under his breath. He’d misread her. “I’m just trying to find a way to help you keep the house.”

  “No, you’re trying to find a way to walk away guilt free.”

  How does she do that? “That’s not fair. I don’t want to get rid of it either, okay? I have a lot of good memories up there, but the house is neglected, and it’s falling apart. Let another family buy it and create memories of their own.”

  “This is the only thing of Mom we have left. You can’t put a price on that.”

  “Apparently, you can.” Allyn knocked back the rest of his scotch. “Four hundred thousand.”

  “Don’t be an ass.”

  “You don’t want to be sold. I don’t want to be guilt-tripped.”

  “Fine.”

  An uncomfortable silence fell between them.

  The gawkers at the end of the bar had swooped in on a pair of unsuspecting women. They didn’t appear to be having much luck there, either.

  Allyn exhaled deeply. He and his sister had always been close growing up, but they had become inseparable after their mother’s death. With no one else to turn to, they had turned to each other, but something had changed since Allyn had started at Clarke, Poole, and Associates. He thought it had something to do with the hours. They’d rarely gone more than a day without talking. Lately, they went weeks, and when they did talk, Kendyl avoided talking about work as though it were religion or politics, which they also didn’t see eye to eye on. What does she think I do? I may not be changing political policy or fighting for social equality, but I’m not chasing ambulances, either. What I do has value to my clients, and that means something to me.

  The bartender came back to drop off their bills. “There’s no rush,” he said, but the way his eyes flickered to the patrons waiting behind them suggested otherwise.

  Allyn pulled his wallet out and grabbed both bills.

  “You don’t have to do that,” Kendyl said, her voice tight.

  “I want to.”

  A moment later, the bartender took the bills and Allyn’s credit card. Allyn looked at Kendyl, cocking his head to the side sympathetically. “I’m serious, you know. If you want my half of the house, it’s yours. I can cover you until you find a roommate or start renting rooms. So just think about it. I’d feel better knowing you were enjoying it instead of a family of strangers.”

  Kendyl nodded. “Okay.”

  Allyn waited until the bartender returned with his card to say goodbye. Leaving the bar, he wondered where he’d gone wrong.

  His condo, part of a new housing development that wasn’t completed, was three miles away. Tractors and work trucks were parked in front of foundations and framed townhomes, ready to begin work again Monday. As one of the first to move into the neighborhood, Allyn had bought cheap, but he still had to deal with the construction noise and a dirty jobsite—an equal trade-off since he left for the office before the construction workers arrived and returned home long after they’d left.

  The garage was on the ground level, with the kitchen, dining room, and living room taking up the second floor to create an open-concept great room. The third floor had two bedrooms: the master, with an en suite bathroom, and a spare room complete with a double bed, an extra dresser, and its own full bathroom. As a single man in his late twenties who spent far more time at the office than at home, Allyn wasn’t overly concerned with furnishings or decorations. He would worry about that later, when he had time to enjoy it or someone to enjoy it with.

  He threw his jacket over the arm of the couch and emptied the contents of his
pockets onto the coffee table before rounding the corner to the stairs leading to the third story. Allyn gasped, his breath catching in his throat.

  Silent and unmoving, an intruder stood atop the stairwell, gazing down upon him. The whites of his eyes burned through the darkness, but shadows hid his face. Allyn’s feet felt like they were encased in concrete, too heavy to move. The man crept toward him, making no effort to conceal himself. He had light skin, dark eyes, and curly brown hair.

  Not until the man was only two steps in front of Allyn did he realize that he couldn’t move. An invisible weight was pushing his feet to the ground, while a similar force pressed against his back, preventing him from retreating.

  The man circled Allyn, sizing him up. Even standing a step below him, Allyn was taller. “I expected more,” the man said softly, his voice a soft tenor.

  “What do you want?” Allyn asked, his voice shaking.

  “You.”

  An invisible force slammed into Allyn’s chest, throwing him into the wall. He landed on his hands and knees. The edges of his vision grew dark as blood poured from the back of his head where it had struck the wall. Coughing and struggling to catch his breath, Allyn rose to his feet. His chest hurt as though he’d been punched, and the darkness crept in farther, threatening him with unconsciousness.

  Another explosion of air sent him crashing into the dining room table. It collapsed under him. The intruder stepped toward him. Allyn pushed himself up, ready to run. His wrist popped and gave out in excruciating pain. Allyn snatched a broken chair leg and threw it from his knees. It veered off course unnaturally, harmlessly striking a poster on the wall.

  Cursing, Allyn rose to his feet and let out a pained breath. Waiting for the inevitable, he watched as the man strode toward him. He didn’t have to wait long. When the final blow struck, he crashed through the sliding glass doors and over the railing, to the pavement two stories below. Death rushed up to greet him.

  Allyn never felt the impact.

  Chapter 2

  Death wasn’t as peaceful as Allyn had expected. It was loud, bright, and painful. He had expected eternal darkness, but dreams came in a chaotic mix of sounds, images, and feelings that were all alien to him. He heard unfamiliar voices and tried to call to them, but he couldn’t form the words. He could grunt, but even that was difficult and painful, but from time to time, it was received with a gentle touch. Allyn didn’t know whom the voices or gentle touches belonged to, but he liked them—they made him feel better.

  Death wasn’t at all what he’d expected. It was neither love and peace nor pain and misery. It wasn’t heaven or hell. It simply was. So when the world around him finally coalesced in a blurry mess, he wasn’t surprised to find that he wasn’t dead at all.

  Allyn blinked and wiped the moisture from his eyes, trying to focus on his surroundings. He was in the largest hospital room he had ever been in. An armchair beside his bed faced a large window with deep red curtains thrust open to reveal a dense forest. The hospital was on a hill, which meant it must be OHSU since that was the only Portland hospital that escaped the urban sprawl. He thought that if he leaned forward, he might be able to see over those trees, but the sunlight gave him a headache.

  The bed was surprisingly comfortable with a down comforter, fine cotton sheets, and four feather pillows. He didn’t have an IV or a heart monitor, so he assumed he must be past the critical stage. Allyn sat up, blankets falling away from his chest. He was naked.

  What the hell? He searched his bed for the call button but couldn’t find it. “Hey!” he yelled. “Hey, I need some help in here!” And some clothes.

  Silence.

  “Hello?” Still no answer. “Hello?” He screamed with more urgency.

  The door opened, and a short, slender woman entered. She was roughly his age, with porcelain skin and silver hair. Instead of nurse scrubs, she wore a black compression shirt and matching pants.

  Allyn pulled the blanket higher, covering himself.

  “You’re awake,” she said, her voice as cold as her eyes. “How are you feeling?”

  “Where am I?”

  “You’re safe. You were in an accident.” She took his wrist firmly, feeling his pulse with her fingers.

  He stirred uncomfortably as a tingle shot down his legs. “I remember,” he said, trying to focus on something other than the tingling. “A man broke into my condo and attacked me. It’s not an easy thing to forget.”

  “I suppose it’s not.” She looked at him skeptically but let go of his hand. “I’m going to press against your arms and legs and back to check your muscular response. If it’s painful, I want you to say something, okay?”

  He nodded.

  She started with his feet, squeezing the arch of his foot. Then after he nodded, telling her that he was pain free, she moved on to his heel, then his ankle and calf.

  “What’s your name?” Allyn asked.

  “Nyla.”

  “How am I doing, Nyla?”

  “How do you feel?”

  “Honestly? I feel great, considering I was shoved out a second-story window.”

  She looked at him in a cold, clinical, businesslike manner. “You’re lucky to be alive.”

  “I don’t think luck had anything to do with it,” Allyn said.

  “Oh?” She stopped at his thigh, her eyebrow raised.

  “I’m sure you’re very good at your job.”

  She started probing again, moving up to his chest, wincing as she pushed down on his lower rib cage.

  Allyn stiffened in pain.

  “Sorry,” she said. “You’ve got some bruising.”

  Allyn exhaled deeply. “It’s okay.” His eyes drifted down her neck as she leaned over him to check the other side of his chest. He winced but was prepared for the pain that time. A small necklace dragged across his bare chest as she pulled back, rubbing her hands together.

  “You’re suffering from a minor concussion and have extensive bruising along your chest and upper torso, probably from the impact.”

  The simple design—a series of intertwined shapes of red, blue, and white—reminded him of something. The red piece looked like fire, and the blue piece could have been a water droplet.

  “Your back is worse. The pain in your chest and torso is an impact wound, so to speak, a shock from the impact. The injury on your back is the exit wound, and that’s where your most serious bruising is located.”

  Kendyl liked vintage jewelry and would probably wear something like Nyla’s necklace. Was she wearing something like that during dinner?

  “With some rest and some anti-inflammatory medication, you should be just fine.”

  No, it wasn’t Kendyl. She had been wearing her usual assortment of mismatched rings and bracelets, but Allyn couldn’t remember her wearing a necklace. Then what the hell does it remind me of?

  “We should have you on your way home soon,” she said with a lifeless smile. Without waiting for a response, she turned for the door. Her necklace reflected the sunlight, sending small circles of gold dancing across his chest like a tattoo that had come to life.

  Tattoos.

  The man who’d attacked Allyn had the same symbols tattooed on his neck.

  Allyn looked around the room with a renewed interest. It was empty and bland, but not clinical. Where were the white sheets? Where were the railings on the bed? Where was the wash station or his medical chart? Where were the trashcans and hazardous waste buckets? Monitors? Sterile medical equipment?

  Where the hell am I? Where was the doctor? Where were the police to take his statement? Nyla had only told him he was safe, not where he was. Something was wrong.

  I haven’t been saved. I’ve been abducted.

  Allyn sat up and swung his legs to the side of the bed. Touching his bare feet to the cold floo
r, he slowly put weight on his legs. They strained, shaking with fatigue, but not painfully.

  Why didn’t I ask how long I’ve been here? He pulled the top sheet off the bed and wrapped it around his naked body. He held it around himself like a towel as he walked silently toward the door.

  He placed his ear against the door. Outside the room, it was quiet. If this were a hospital he would hear patients, nurses, and doctors. Beds would be rolling past, taking people to and from surgery or recovery. There would be commotion, not silence.

  Allyn opened the door to a dark hallway. Other doors, identical to his own, lined the walls on either side. Lamps burned softly, like candles, next to each one. The hall ended in a T to his left. To his right, the hall opened into a sitting room partially furnished with high-backed chairs and a brick fireplace.

  Faint voices came from the sitting room, but they were too quiet for Allyn to make out. Reckless curiosity overtook him. He slipped out of his room and inched down the hallway toward the voices, and using the corner of the wall as a barrier, he peeked around.

  Nyla sat in one of the chairs, engaged in a conversation with another person whose back was to Allyn. The person leaned forward to pat Nyla on the knee. It was a man, older, and clean-shaven with gray peppering his dark-brown hair.

  Allyn leaned forward, straining to hear what they were saying, when his ankle popped. Nyla’s eyes flashed to him. He ducked behind the corner. “Shit.”

  “Why don’t you come on out, Allyn,” the man said, his voice deep and slow. The voice of authority. “This might be a more worthwhile conversation if you take part instead of eavesdropping.”

  Allyn turned to flee down the hall and ran directly into a wall. No, not a wall—a man. Allyn’s face hit his chest. The man was a full foot taller than he was, with large round eyes, cropped hair, and charcoal skin. His sleeveless black leather shirt exposed his powerful arms. His expressionless face was hidden behind a closely trimmed beard.

  Allyn staggered back, retreating into the sitting room. The man followed him, never breaking eye contract. Allyn’s heel caught on a rug, and he tumbled onto his back. Still, the mountain of a man crept toward him like a predator in human skin.