CHERISH (26 page)

And while I'm waiting here in a fucking police cell, all I can think is that I've failed her. Promise. My wife.

My ears are ringing.

My head is in my hands. The pounding is almost unbearable.

Brendan and I are waiting for the liaison from the consulate to come and get us out of here. This place looks like it’s from some old John Wayne western. The black, wrought iron bars of the cell are attached to crumbling stucco walls. There are a few disheveled wooden desks with men milling around them. Some in uniform, some not.

“Fuck.” I shake my head and pound the heels of my palms against my forehead. My neck won’t stop twitching and the pain from the muscle spasms shoots down my back like rapid fire.

“Just hold on,” Brendan says. “He said give him an hour and we should be out.”

“Or not.”

Jordan could be fucking dead. I can’t live with that. I can’t.

I failed him. I failed
her
.

I promised her I would bring him back and I ended up getting him shot. Now, I’m fucking sitting here while god knows what is going on outside these walls.

The suited liaison from the consulate appears outside the bars, along with a uniformed local lawman who eyes us with disdain.

“Just keep your mouth shut and follow me. If you can’t follow those two simple instructions, you will be sitting here until you are very old men.”

I think the suit’s name is Jacob. I want to tear everyone’s face off, but I set my jaw and shoot knives at them from my eyes instead. No way that shit is going to help us right now.

Brendan is up right next to me. He’s the perfect wingman and his familiar presence is keeping the darkness from taking over.

“Go,” Brendan whispers as the uniform clinks the metal key into the lock and turns it. The door swings open with a loud creek and Jacob turns, nodding to a man leaning against one of the desks. He’s clearly the commander of this station and he’s not fond of me. Instead of giving him a shit-stare right back, I look straight ahead, moving behind Jacob until we hit the front door.

It’s still hot as fucking Hades when I spin around and look from Brendan to Jacob.

“Where’s Jordan? I don’t want to hear another fucking word unless it’s about him.” My fists ball at my sides and the pounding in my head grows exponentially in the heat.

“You’re not so great at ‘thank you,’” he snaps back.

“Thank you,” I snort. “Now where the fuck is he?”

“It doesn’t matter. You are both getting on a plane in an hour. Bakari Raz is the boy’s legal father. There is nothing you can do. You're on foreign soil, and he and his family have made things very clear. You are to get yourself very far away. If not, you will find yourself in a prison far less accommodating than that local jail you just tried to tear apart.” He cocks his head toward the door we just exited.

“We need to know if the boy’s okay. That’s all. Can you find that out?” Brendan steps forward before I choke the bureaucracy out of the black-suited fuck who wants us to think he has much more important work he could be doing.

“No. And neither can you. I’m telling you again. You either follow me and get in the car which will drop you at the airport, or you will rot in jail here. Either way, you will still not know anything.”

I think of Promise’s expression when I left. How she hugged me so tight, counting on me. The weight of my responsibility to her is like a lead yoke across my shoulders. How can I go back empty handed?

The tightness in my throat is all about Jordan. The sound of his scream and the terror in his eyes as he looked down to see the growing red stain on this shirt. The way his eyes pleaded with me for help burned into me like a broken promise.

“Did they give you our phones back?” I bark the question at Jacob, trying to push away the horror of possibilities that surround my thoughts of Jordan.

“No, they’re gone.” He looks at me and cuts me off when I open my mouth in protest. “And don’t ask for them.” He shakes his head in disgust. “Listen, you don’t get it, do you? Those people in there,” he says as he points back behind him toward the crumbling building, “they are not your allies. You are lucky I was able to pull up your military record and get some top brass to vouch for you. It doesn’t matter one mouse turd what actually happened in that house. You are at a disadvantage here that you don’t even seem to understand. So, as far as your cell phone? I don’t give a shit. Now, the car is back around this way. You can either follow me or,” he says as he tips his head behind him, “see that uniform that’s watching us through the window?”

Brendan and I both turn to see a tall, uniformed officer with his arms crossed, staring us down through the station’s front window.

Jacob nods with an exasperated smile and Brendan puts a hand on my shoulder.

“Let’s go, dude. It’s over. I’m sorry.”

My stomach churns. There isn't much I'm scared of, but telling Promise I have worse news than before I left? That shit scares me half to death.

Promise

Two days and Bruce hasn’t been able to reach Beck. See? What was I thinking? Playing house, thinking I deserved some sort of happily ever after.

I’m laying here in the hospital. I see people walk by the open door of my room and they're smiling and I just have to wonder why.

Are some people just born that way? Are they just blessed with some genetic code that I don’t have?

I’m beginning to think the last few months with Beckett were some sort of test. An evil, cosmic way of teasing me with the contrast. Seems now that I’ve had this glimpse of happiness, it only makes the return to this darkness so much more poignant.

It’s like an alien has been living inside of me, growing stronger all the time. Something that lives off some other free will, and now it is now feeding on me. Any glimmer of hope I had about my life has been gobbled up and spat out by this thing. This entity that has sprung back to life inside of me. It chews on my insides, leaving this raw hopelessness in its wake. Despair that can’t even begin to be described so simply as 'pain.'

The doctor and Bruce say it will pass. This consuming black cloud that shows me just how far down I can go.

But it's clear to me that there are several types of people in the world. Those that are lucky enough to have some twist of DNA that gives them the ability to feel joy and contentment. Sure, they may go through trials and troubles, but it’s not the same. They bounce back.

Then, there are the others. Like me. It’s almost as though you live for so long in so much pain, you become addicted to it. It seeks you out, claims you. You may be clean for a while, step away and feel the light kiss your face, but in the end, it calls you back and in a sick, disgusting way, the darkness feels like home.

I’m thinking frightening thoughts. Thoughts about the baby. About how it would be better off without me. Everything feels dark, heavy and insurmountable.

They are weaning me off the sedatives and the My muscles have stopped quivering and jerking uncontrollably. But now, I’m fighting the sheets because my skin feels like a raw open wound. My insides are shaking, freezing cold as my flesh secretes a layer of continuous sweat.

I don't know how I will ever feel anything other than this. No matter how many times they reassure me it will only be another day or so. That I’m having an extreme reaction. I’m not so sure. I’m afraid this is just who I am now. Who I’ve always been. The medication is a flimsy mask which I tore away to expose the real me.

I look at the people walking by my door and I honestly wonder how they are even able to stand. To walk and function. Let alone smile. I’ve fallen. Not falling. I’m no longer falling. I’ve hit the bottom and it feels final.

I’m at the muddy depth of this well. It has slick sides and I've got no will to dig my fingers in and climb. It's too far.

How can
I
ever be a mother?

I can’t.

Jordan is gone. Beckett is gone.

Even Bruce has given up trying to reason with me. To assuage my fears. Because he knows that I'm right. Something has gone terribly wrong. The fear is part of me. Eating at me. I honestly don’t care to feel it any longer. I wish I’d never felt the happiness. The hope. It only makes my decision more difficult.

A nurse arrives to check on me every twenty minutes. Bruce stayed with me until I kicked him out. I don’t need him staring at me. I don’t need him to keep reminding me people love me. How does that make it any easier? It doesn’t. It makes me feel worse. To realize somehow that I tricked all those people into thinking I had something to offer. That I deserved their love.

I know what I have to do. I’ll do it, and pay the price. He deserves to be free and I can’t ever be free. Some people just don’t get a happily ever after. They just don’t.

And I’m one of them.

Beckett

The doctor is talking like he thinks what he's saying makes some sort of sense. “She had an extreme reaction to the withdrawal from her medication—”

I'm starting to get frustrated. “What fucking medication? My wife doesn’t take any medication.” I bite down until I hear my teeth crack. The doctor’s chest rises as he waits for the angry beast in front of him to become a rational husband. I'm trying, I really am, but this shit, on top of everything else, is clouding my judgment. I suck on my teeth and shove both hands in my pockets, trying for a moment to stem the tide of fury that is rising in my gut.

The young doctor rubs a hand across his stubble-covered chin. He’s barely old enough to have hair on his balls. I shift my weight and crack my neck. Then I center myself and nod for him to continue.

“The combination of medicaitons we used to try to counteract the acute depression brought on by the withdrawal became a factor. It sent her into a mild psychosis.”

I wrest my hands from my pockets, transferring them to grip my head so it doesn’t fly apart and plaster my brains all over the white walls. On the flight, all I could think about was how I was going to tell her what had happened. And now I'm not even sure she'll understand it.

When I deplaned three hours ago, I headed straight to Bruce’s apartment. I banged on the door until one of his neighbors came out in the hall and looked like they might call the cops. Since I didn’t have a fucking phone, I drove to his second home.

Windfield.

I had stomped up the back stairs to the second floor and practically ran down one of the care staff that happened to walk by as I stood outside the door of Bruce’s office.

“He’s been gone for a few days.” She was a twenty-something brunette with a ponytail and a compassionate look in her eye. She stopped as I leaned back against the wall, grabbing the back of my neck. “He’s never taken a sick day in the six years I’ve been here, so I know something bad is going on. He’s always here.”

“Do you know what happened? Where he is?”

“Naw. Nobody knows.”

“Well he must have called someone, and let them know he wouldn’t be in. He wouldn’t just leave.”

“Yeah, I’m sure he talked to Rochelle. She’s the Executive Director. He reports to her.” The woman shook her head, giving me a sympathetic twist of her lips. “But she's not that nice.” She softened her words to a whisper. “She probably won’t even talk to you. She’s like that. Power’s gone to her head.”

“Oh yeah? I’ll see about that. Thank you. You have no idea how much I appreciate your help.”

“Oh, anytime.” I didn't miss her visual inspection of the crotch of my pants. “I know you. I know Promise. She’s a lucky girl. I hope she comes back to work soon.” She looked at me quizzically. “Hey, ain’t you two supposed to be on your honeymoon? What are you doing here looking for Bruce?” The pitch of her voice raised, then turned into playful excitement.

“It’s a long story.” I gripped my chin, the scruff on my jaw making a scratching sound under my fingers. “Thanks again.” I turned toward the elevator, then quickly glanced back at the brunette and she read the question in my eyes.

“Down two floors.” She smiled. “Then turn left. You’ll see the sign. Good luck.” She chuckled and started to hum as she sashayed away.

“I don’t need luck,” I muttered as I punched the down button with enough force it nearly stuck inside the metal circles.