“It’s a new piece called ‘Jax loses his shit’.” She moved on looking over the pictures of me with Mercy, another of Charlie and his mom and one of me dressed in my fatigues in Afghanistan.
“What did the guitar do to you?” She murmured.
“The guitar was innocent, simply caught in the crossfire when I realized what an asshole I am.” Ella shook her head.
“You’re not an asshole, but you might have moments of irrational and foolish thought but that’s part of every man’s DNA. You play?” She turned to observed me as she wandered aimlessly around the large room. I nodded.
“I used to. I haven’t for a while and it’s unlikely I will for a while more considering the state it’s in now.”
“Bummer, I would like to have heard you play,” she confessed.
“Next trip to town I’ll buy a new one.” If she wanted to hear me play, I’d damn well play until my fingers bled.
“You have creaky steps and floorboards.” She commented and I found the observation a little unusual. “And the faucet in the kitchen rattles when you turn it on.” I couldn’t help but laugh.
“I guess a builder’s house will always be in need of repair. Other jobs generally take priority.” She shook her head and smiled.
“No, don’t fix it. It’s the way a home is supposed to sound. Houses are supposed to make noise, it’s like they talk to you, protect you.” I considered that for a moment.
“I take it Marcus’s house was quiet?” She nodded that painful solemn look that often settles over her eyes. As she drew even closer to me I restrained the need to reach out and take her into my arms.
“My real home, with my real dad, it was noisy. The doors creaked, the pipes rattled, there was always music and we laughed all the time. Marcus’s home was silent for the most part, other than the occasional raging outburst and the sound of his fist meeting my flesh.” My own fists clenched in rage and I couldn’t stand it any longer, she was close enough to touch and I reached out and pulled her to me. She came willingly, her arms snaked around my waist holding me close.
“I want to learn you,” she murmured. I brushed her hair aside and leaned forward to kiss her neck.
“I thought we learned each other last night,” I grinned while kissing the fresh bruises. I felt her shiver under my gentle touch and kisses.
“That was a learning of our body’s and I think you learnt more about mine than I did about yours.” She pulled back to look up at me, her cheeks flushed with either embarrassment or desire I wasn’t sure. The memory of her taste, her body beneath mine, my body inside hers sent blood immediately to the only organ in my body that was outside my minds control. “You like music?” She asked. I nodded and she pulled away moving to my large CD collection. “It’s a very orderly collection. Everything is in alphabetical order. Are you sure you don’t suffer from OCD? This house is very clean for a bachelor.” I grinned and moved behind her, wrapping my arms around her waist. She tensed under my touch and I expected her to. This position was a trigger for her memories.
“Tidy and orderly is a must for soldiers, I guess that it’s something I can’t quite let go of. If you would prefer it messy, be my guest. Mess it up.” She gradually relaxed as she concentrated on my words, my hands on her stomach holding her close. She slowly turned around and wrapped her arms around my neck and I lifted her feet from the ground so we could be face to face. “If you feel more comfortable in a mess, make a mess,” I encouraged. She shook her head.
“If I were any more comfortable I would be comatose. Here, in your arms, it feels like nothing can touch me. This here feels like home.” I kissed her, how could I not. My lips worked hers until she opened for me and my tongue swept in ruthlessly. When I finally managed to pull myself away she looked thoroughly kissed and thoroughly speechless.
“You’re wearing my sweater,” I noted, rubbing the end of her nose with mine.
“Uh-huh,” was all she managed.
“I think we could fit three of you in there.” My lips found hers again and the faint sound of her tummy rumbling brought us apart. “I need to feed you,” I said lowering her to the ground. I led Ella to the kitchen where she promptly perched herself on the bench her feet swinging in lazy delight. I grabbed the skillet and some bacon and eggs from the fridge.
“You’re going to cook?” She gasped. I laughed as I grabbed the remote for my stereo system and powered it up. Nickleback’s ‘Savin’ Me’ filled the house, the speakers set out and positioned to fill every room with noise just as Ella had moments ago wished for.
“I promise it will be edible. Bacon and eggs is kind of my specialty. I hope you like your eggs sunny up or over easy, that’s as adventurous as I get.” Ella smiled.
“Either will do me, go ahead. Impress me with your breakfast prowess.”
We still had to have our talk; she needed to know that her mother had died. I couldn’t even begin to imagine how she would take the news and a small insecure part of me was scared shitless that she would run again. Her mother had been a cruel bitch. She had knowingly left Ella in Marcus’s punishing hands, she had not offered the protection every child is owed. I hated her for that, but at the end of the day she was still Ella’s mother, her only mother and possibly the only family she had. Outside the sun was up, the fresh snow on the ground gave the outside world an air of fantasy. I followed Ella’s gaze to the work shed further out in the yard.
“That’s where I work. I can show you later if you like.”
“When do you have to go back to the shelter?” Her eyes didn’t stray from the shed.
“I’ve got the next two days off. I was supposed to go into Carter’s today but I can do what I need to do from my home office.” Ella nodded reflexively, her thoughts obviously a thousand miles away. I allowed her to keep them to herself. If she wanted to share she would, but something told me her mind was racing with memories that belonged to her and her only. From the whimsical look on her face, they were good memories, the kind I wanted her to have.
Chapter 33
Ella
I had a dream once, a long time ago when I was no more than nine, ten at most. The memory of waking up with tears on my cheeks was vivid, my daddy crouched at my bedside brushing back my hair and whispering calming words.
“Tell me your bad dream baby girl. Let it out so that it can no longer hurt you.” Tears rolled down my cheeks as I gazed into his dark concerned eyes. I always told daddy my bad dreams. He said holding them in was bad for us, that we needed to let them go so our minds were free to be filled up with all the good stuff. But this dream wasn’t really a bad dream, not like the ones I usually had anyway.
“I was in a house and it was warm like this house, but it looked different. I liked the house daddy, but you weren’t there, you were gone and I couldn’t find you.” I broke down into uncontrollable sobs and once I had control I continued. “I looked everywhere and then a big man told me you were gone, he said you had died and I needed to be brave, I needed to be strong.” I cried some more as my daddy shushed me and rubbed the palm of my hand in a soothing way. After I finally began to grow quiet, the tears no longer blinding me I looked to my daddy who sat so patient and calm by my side.
“Daddy, do you think he was my angel?”
“Maybe, he did tell you not to be scared, to be strong. That seems like something an angel might say.”
“If you can’t be with me you will send my guardian angel to look after me right?” He smiled, his smile always made everything okay, it made the bad dreams less scary, the dark less empty and the fear that one day I might lose him less real.
“You will never be alone baby girl. I promise you that.” My tears stopped falling and the fear I had felt in my dream drained from my body.
“My guardian angel is big, bigger than you,” I whispered.
“Wow, perhaps your angel is a warrior.” Daddy marveled. I considered this and nodded.
“And he has a work shed, just like yours that sits in a fiel
d of snow.” Daddy laughed.
“True angels have hands that build and protect. I hope you get to meet your angel one day sweet heart. But until then, I’m afraid you are stuck with me.” I shuffled over. It was my silent plea for my daddy to not yet leave me alone. He climbed onto the bed and I settled my tiny head onto his chest, where I soon found sleep again.
I stared at the work shed sitting in a field of white glistening snow as Jax plated up our food somewhere behind me. Mercy had said perhaps my finding the shelter was fate. Perhaps I didn’t find Mercy’s at all, but maybe my guardian angel had finally found me. Suddenly I was flooded with the fear of losing Jax, he could be taken away from me so easily, just like my dad. I turned just as Jax approached me and in a rush of emotion I wrapped my arms tightly around his neck, my breathing ragged as I was swamped with feelings I could barely comprehend.
“Angel?” Jax asked worried.
“You can’t leave.” My voice wavered with panic. “Daddy promised me you would come and you would keep me safe. Promise me you will, promise me you won’t leave me?” I was terrified something would happen to Jax. His arms held me tight.
“I promise you angel.” My hands found his face as I forced his gaze to mine. His brow creased with confusion as he saw the irrational yet real fear in my eyes.
“Don’t leave me like my dad did,” I whispered. Jax’s hands captured my face and we held each other like that, searching for the truth in each other’s eyes.
“Never baby, I’m not going anywhere. What happened just now, where’d you go?” I shook my head. I wasn’t ready to tell him, I didn’t know if I ever could. It was a moment between a little girl and her father, perhaps a profound moment, personal and significant. I glanced back at the shed, the clarity of my dream from so long ago fresh in my mind.
“I dreamed a dream once...it was just a dream,” I murmured, my thoughts trying again to drag me away from here and now.
The mood at breakfast picked up after my moment of anxiety, Jax teasing with the enthusiasm with which I ate, it was always curiously entertaining for him. I assured him he had some sort of bizarre food fetish and with the kitchen cleaned down Jax carried me back to his bed where we made love again. He told me he feared he wouldn’t be able to let me leave his bed and I told him that things might get messy if he didn’t allow a bathroom break.
Jax was in his office as I curled into a ball in front of the fireplace, a fire freshly lit minus the splintered guitar. I wore a long sleeved shirt that was pushed to my elbows. I glanced at my arms and the crisscross pattern of scars on them, ending with the deep ugly gash across both my wrists. Apart from Jax’s loving attention to them last night he seemed to barely notice them. I ran a finger over one of the scars, mesmerized by just how insignificant they really were. The cuts I had given myself were not deep, therefore the scars were pale and at a quick glance barely noticeable. The scars at my wrists were more obvious, but looking at them didn’t seem to hurt like it used to. Marcus had put those marks on me as a reminder of how he owned me, but he didn’t own me. All the scars really represented were how I had survived battles that no human being should ever have to endure. A gentle hand around my wrist broke the moment of my epiphany. Jax rubbed his thumb across my scar as he sat down beside me, lifting my feet into his lap.
“You know, these might remind you of where you’ve been angel, but they don’t have to dictate where you’re going,” he said softly, his fingers brushed lightly across my scars. I couldn’t help but climb up into his lap and wrap my arms around his neck. The intense need to be close to him, completely wrapped up in him was powerful. Jax held me firmly to his chest.
“I know that now. They are just scars, old wounds. It’s time to put them behind me and move forward.” With a sigh Jax whispered in my ear.
“We need to have that talk now.” Reluctantly I nodded and sat back, giving him my undivided attention. Jax still held on to me, his fingers rubbing a soothing pattern into my hands.
“Tom Brennan was the arresting officer on nearly all your arrests in Dunston, he is known to be a personal friend of Marcus.” He wasn’t asking me, he was telling me and of course I knew this for fact.
“Tom was Marcus’ doormat, his yes-man. Marcus had eyes and ears all over Duntson. He always seemed to know where I was, who I was with and he would send Tom out to fetch me and drag me home. Tom saw my bruises more than once, he knew what Marcus was doing and he did nothing to stop it.” Jax nodded.
“I need to call Frank, he needs to know what kind of a man he has working in his precinct.” I shook my head fiercely.
“Jax, it will be Tom’s word against mine. He has evidence to support all the shit I did. I was a troubled teen, into drugs, alcohol, making trouble for my family, running away. Tom just looks like a cop doing his job.” Jax rubbed his jaw seeming to consider that and then eventually gave in with a short nod.
“I’ll keep my eye on Tom. If he so much as breathes in your direction, I won’t hesitate to rip the man’s heart out.” It was a blood thirsty declaration but it made me feel safe and cherished. “Your therapist, his name was Dr. Theo Stojanovic?” I hadn’t heard his name mentioned in four years now and my fists clenched with irritation as memories of the doctor filled my mind. He was a thoughtless drone who treated me as Marcus asked him to. He never listened to a god damn thing I said. My silence was confirmation enough for Jax. “Dillon has discovered that Dr. Theo kept two sets of files for you, one at his office and another at his place of residence.” I tilted my head, contemplating the information Jax had just given me. “Dillon’s business is security, so as you can appreciate he has a certain set of skills that come in advantageous when one needs to gain entry to a house for instance.” Jax wiggled his eyebrows and I laughed.
“I never got the hang of breaking and entering. Maybe Dillon can give me some pointers,” I joked. Jax shook his head and chuckled before soon becoming somber again.
“The files that Dr. Theo keeps at home are startlingly different from the files he keeps at the office. They appear to be a little more honest and for Marcus Fairmont, a whole lot more damning.” My mouth dropped open. “Dillon can’t just take the files and present them to the police. If the police asked how he came to be in possession of them he can’t exactly say he broke into the doctor’s home, not quite legal enough for our good law enforcement officers. We can try though to convince Theo that Marcus is going down. I can only assume that’s why he kept the files, as backup, insurance if you like.” The contents of those files could perhaps mean jail for Marcus. Never before had my future felt so, possible. “Dillon wants to spend another week or two in Dunston putting together a case and then he will visit us here. He needs to speak to you angel, we need to verify dates, injuries. You missed a hell of a lot of school which will work in our favor.”
“Marcus used my behavior as an excuse for any school I missed. I might have been at home covered in bruises, but he had me visit Dr. Theo, made it look like I was having an episode or something.” Jax nodded.
“But Theo has the second set of files to confirm his beliefs about the injuries. The doctor also recorded all your sessions. He has hours of recorded data at his home. Dillon hasn’t viewed it all but what he did clearly shows your injuries.” A part of me was dancing with delight but a much larger part of me was horrified over the thought of the video evidence. Pretty much everything that came out of my mouth during those sessions was a lie. I basically said what I knew Marcus wanted me to say. I was a mindless patient nodding when it was appropriate, saying what was expected. Under duress I admitted that I was acting out because of my father’s death, that I used drugs and alcohol to escape the memory of the day he died, that I slept around in an attempt to fill a void that my father had left. God those words made me want to throw up. Sure I missed my dad, I hated the memories of the day he died, but the drugs, the alcohol, the boys were all an attempt to escape Marcus and find some sort of affection. I was mortified of what Dillon would think of the vide
os, even more worried about what Jax would think if he ever saw them.
“I know what you’re thinking angel, but the videos are a good thing baby. It doesn’t matter what you said, with Dr. Theo’s written files, the real ones, the evidence of the abuse in the video’s, the dates you missed school, we will be able to tie it all together. It will be the truth and it will make a solid case against Marcus.” I nodded, my head now throbbing with the all the information I was trying to absorb and understand. Jax ran his hand nervously through his messy hair, pushing it out of his eyes.
“Fuck angel that was the easy part, the next bit is going to be bad and I wish I didn’t have to tell you.” He set his shoulders back and looked me square on. “You’re mom,” he rubbed a hand down his face and groaned. “Shit angel, you’re mom passed away, about twelve months ago, twelve months ago yesterday to be precise.” Jax said the words and I heard them loud and clear, but they took a long time to sink in. My mom was dead. My brow furrowed in confusion. “The autopsy report says she committed suicide, large traces of the sleeping pill Zolpidem was found in her system and her wrists were cut.” Images of my mother flickered through my mind like an old video projector. All of them were the same, my mother’s expressionless face, her heartless smile, her cold eyes. She didn’t care about me. She didn’t protect me or try to save me, if she was dead now then good riddance. That’s how I should have felt, instead, like all the other times I tried to hate her, I couldn’t. All I could feel was sorrow and I began to buckle under a wall of guilt. If I hadn’t of run she might not have died.
“Marcus?” I whispered.
“There is no way to be sure but I’d put money on it. It’s not hard to see that Marcus is a mental case, he was once a patient of Dr. Theo’s and he had major mommy and daddy issues. His father beat him and his mother was unloving, detached, spoiled, bringing different men home regularly when her husband worked late or went away. She died the same way, full of drugs with her wrists slit. It’s not hard to see a pattern developing here.” Bile quickly began to rise in my throat.
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