Love Lies Bleeding (30 page)
She whirled to see Dr. Douglas standing in the waiting room.
“Sorry it took so long. We had an emergency that took precedence.” He lowered his eyes to the clipboard in his hand and scanned the report. “The tests came back normal,” he said, lifting his eyes to meet hers.
“Normal?”
He nodded. “There was no evidence of swelling or bleeding, but I’d like to keep her in the hospital overnight for observation.”
Puzzled, Anne cocked her head. “If everything looked normal, then what’s causing the blackouts?”
“It could’ve been sleepwalking. Has she ever had a problem with that in the past?”
“Not that I’m aware of.”
“Has she been anxious? Had any additional stress?”
“She broke off her engagement to Dr. Van Horn.”
“How has she been handling that?”
“She seemed sad that it hadn’t worked out, but also relieved. The past few days, she’s been making plans for her future and her attitude appeared optimistic.”
“Overly?”
“What do you mean?”
“Has she been manic?”
“Are you wondering if she’s bipolar?”
“The blackouts concern me. Based on the CAT scan, there doesn’t appear to be a physiological reason for them.” He made a few notes on the clipboard. “I’d like to run a few more tests to see if there’s anything we might be missing.” He shoved his pen in his pocket. “I’d also like Dr. Crane to do an evaluation.”
“A psychiatrist?”
“Yes, and we’ll need her medical records.”
“Sam can give you the names of the physicians who treated her after her attack.”
Dr. Douglas frowned slightly. “Something else you should know. Samantha refused to list her parents on her release-of-information form. Evidently she doesn’t want her father involved in her care.” He paused, waiting for Anne to explain. When she didn’t, he continued: “You’re the only one she named.”
Anne looked down. Lawrence Moore wasn’t going to like that. Hopefully, the doctors would be the ones explaining it to him, and not her.
“May I see her now?”
Dr. Douglas nodded. “She should be in her room.” He pointed down the hall. “They can tell you her room number at the nurses’ station.”
After stopping by the nurses’ station, Anne rode the elevator up to Sam’s floor and found her room. The door was partially closed, and she peeked in.
Sam was reclining in the bed with her face toward the window. She turned as Anne swung the door open. When she saw her, her face flushed with anger. “You promised you wouldn’t let them keep me,” she spit out.
“No,” Anne said firmly as she entered the room and crossed to Sam’s bed. “I said we’d follow the doctor’s orders.”
Sam snorted and faced away from her.
“You’re only in for observation and a few tests. Dr. Douglas is planning on releasing you tomorrow.” Placing a hand on Sam’s shoulder, she drew Sam’s attention to her. “Did he go over the CAT scan with you?”
“Yes.” Her lips curled. “They said my brain is ‘normal,’ whatever that is.”
“Did he tell you that he wants you to talk to someone?”
“Someone?” she barked. “Another shrink, you mean.”
“Sam, Dr. Douglas just wants to help you.”
“That’s what they all say.”
“But,” Anne argued, “Dr. Douglas is good. I’d trust him if I—”
“Samantha,” a voice cried from the doorway. Anne’s head jerked toward the sound. With her heart sinking, she saw Lawrence Moore silhouetted in the doorway, with Jackson Van Horn hovering right behind him. She rolled her eyes as Jackson pushed past Mr. Moore and rushed to stand next to Anne at Sam’s bedside.
Sam’s reaction was to scoot to the far side. “What are you doing here?”
Before he answered, Lawrence Moore broke in, addressing Anne. “Step outside with me. I want to speak with you,” he commanded.
Anne didn’t budge.
“Now,” he said.
She looked down at Sam and saw a silent plea in her eyes. “I’m not leaving Sam.”
“I’m warning you, Ms. Weaver. Don’t make me call security.”
“It’s okay, Anne, go,” Sam said, her eyes shifting from Anne to Dr. Van Horn.
Once they were out in the hallway, Anne pulled the door shut and spun on Lawrence Moore. “You’re not my employer and I don’t take orders from you,” she hissed, firing the first salvo.
His response was to arch an eyebrow. “I’m not going to engage in a scene with you, Ms. Weaver.” He pulled out a leather-covered checkbook. “How much do we owe you for services rendered?” He named a figure that made Anne’s eyes bulge.
“You’re trying to pay me off,” she spit out.
“No,” he said, tapping the checkbook. “I’m simply paying you your wages plus a bonus.” He frowned. “I doubt that you deserve the latter—my daughter
was
injured twice while in your keeping—but Samantha seems rather attached to you.”
“Sam doesn’t need a keeper.”
His lips curled in a sneer. “You’ve been acquainted with my daughter for barely a month. I’ve known her for thirty-five years. I believe I’m in a better position to—”
Anne cut him off. “I don’t think you know your daughter at all. If you did, you’d know how strong she is.”
“Really? Then what is she doing in the hospital, and why does her doctor suspect an underlying mental illness?” Noticing the surprise on Anne’s face, he smirked. “We spoke with Dr. Douglas.”
Confused, Anne shook her head. “But he told me Sam wouldn’t include you on her release of information.”
“She didn’t include me, but we had proof that Jackson is one of her treating physicians.”
Anne glared at him and crossed her arms over her chest. “Yeah, about that—what’s a plastic surgeon doing prescribing anti-anxiety medications for his fiancée? How ethical is that?”
He smacked the checkbook in his open palm. “It’s none of your concern. If my offer isn’t enough, how much do you want?”
Anne stood tall and locked her gaze on him. “Nothing, Mr. Moore. I want nothing from you.”
Spinning on her heel, she marched off down the hall.
T
ake a deep breath,
I tell myself. Her anger is still niggling at me. How dare she treat me that way? She is nothing—less than nothing. Hadn’t I been kind and sweet to her? Hadn’t it been enough? No, with women, it is never enough. I’ve tried to please my entire life, but it has never been enough for them. Passed over and ignored—that has been my fate.
The injustice stuns me.
If only I could punish them all. The desire to hurt something, anything, threatens to overwhelm me, but I regain control. That’s what it’s all about isn’t? Control. Maintain my control. Maintain the facade. I smile to myself. If they only knew who they were dealing with. If I allowed the mask to slip, they’d be trembling with fear. I’m delighted at the thought. To stand tall, to stand like a man, to be recognized for who I truly am. I brace my shoulders in response only to sag as the next thought courses through my brain.
They always stop me. Knock me down and step on me. My anger surges at their unfairness and I’m forced to battle my rage again. I know what might happen if I loosen the leash that holds it at bay. I’m still paying for the only time it slipped from my control.
I carry on a dialogue with myself while the world goes on around me; no one suspects what’s really going on inside my head. On the outside, I appear as I always have. Concerned, only wanting what’s best for those I care about. Care? Ha, when has anyone ever cared about me?
You must quiet your emotions. Think. You were rejected, true, but there are ways to turn the situation to your advantage. Isn’t the true measure of a man the ability to take a disadvantage and turn it into an advantage?
And who is she to stand against me?
Pour on the charm,
I tell myself; you know her weakness, use it. Manipulate her and her father. Make yourself indispensable. Do whatever it takes to achieve your goals.
S
am felt like a trapped animal. Jackson and her father stared down at her with identical expressions. Benevolent and condescending—like she was some five-year-old in need of their wisdom. This couldn’t be happening to her. She rolled on her side away from them. Her father appeared in her line of vision. With a sigh, she moved onto her back and flicked on the TV. When her father reached down and killed the power, she continued to stare at the blank screen.
“Samantha, we need to talk,” he said.
“No, we don’t,” she replied, her attention never leaving the black screen.
He reached down and turned her chin until she faced him. “Yes, we do. You’re in the hospital again.”
She jerked her chin out of his fingers. “I know I’m in the hospital. I had a minor accident and I’ll be released tomorrow.”
Her father gripped the side of the bed. “I don’t think so. These doctors are fine for cuts and bruises, but you need specialists to handle your condition. You can’t find them in a rural area like this.”
“What condition, Dad?”
“Your blackouts.” His eyes left hers and went to Jackson, standing across from him. “We’ve found a residential facility up by Duluth that can help you both physically and mentally.”
“Duluth? Are you sure that’s far enough away from the Cities? Why not Canada?” she shot off sarcastically. “I’m sure no one’s ever heard of Lawrence Moore in Canada. A damaged daughter wouldn’t affect your reputation up there.”
“That’s enough,” he insisted. “The decision has been made.”
Tears threatened while her panic rose. Taking a deep breath, she shoved it down. Any sign of weakness would be fatal. “No.”
“Yes,” he insisted.
“I’m an adult—you can’t force me.”
Again, her father looked at Jackson. Her body stiffened. What did they have planned?
She didn’t have to wait long for the answer.
“We’ve petitioned for a competency hearing.”
“No,” she gasped, “you can’t do this to me. I am not crazy!”
Her father took her hand in his. “Of course you’re not. You’re simply going through a rough patch and need a little extra help in dealing with it.”
“Rough patch? Then why do you want to lock me up?” The tears began to run down her cheeks and she angrily swiped them away.
“Princess, I’m worried,” he said, squeezing her hand. “I want my perfect baby girl back, and everything else we’ve tried has failed.”
She pulled her hand away. “No, it hasn’t,” she argued. “I was doing pretty good until this afternoon.”
“Jackson disagrees.”
She shot Jackson a withering look and he retreated back a step. “I don’t care what Jackson thinks. We’re through.”
“Darling, I know you’re angry over what happened with that silly dog, but you don’t mean that.”
“Don’t tell me what I mean,” she exclaimed. “You can drug me, you can badger me, from now until hell freezes over, but it won’t make a difference.” She clutched the bedcovers tightly in her hands. “I want you out of my life, and I’d appreciate it if you’d . . .” She took a deep breath. “Get. Out. Of. My. Room.”
Jackson’s attention flew to her father, who gave a slight nod. Without a word, Jackson turned and left.
Her father waited until the door shut softly. “Princess—”
“Don’t call me ‘Princess,’ ” she spit.
“Fine, if you object.” He leaned in closer and said in a conspiratorial tone, “I’m beginning to understand why Jackson lost your affection, but we’ll deal with that later. Right now we need to get you well.”
Sam lowered her eyes and tried to think, but it was hard with her father hovering over her. She didn’t doubt that her father would make good on his threat of a competency hearing, and right now she wasn’t so sure that he wouldn’t be able to persuade a judge he was right. She knew how persuasive her father could be. No, she had to come up with a plan. If not, by this time tomorrow she’d find herself bundled up and on her way to lockup. She glanced up and saw her father staring at her with an all-knowing look in his eyes. She had to get him out of her room so she could think.
Faking a yawn, she stretched her arms over her head. “I’m so tired,” she said, forcing her voice to slur while she let her arms fall. Through slitted eyes, she saw a look of victory flash on her father’s face.
“I understand. Get some sleep, Prin—er, Samantha,” he said, stroking her hair. “We’ll talk after you’re rested.”
Sam remained motionless until she was sure her father had left the room. Sneaking out of bed, she crept over to the door and placed her ear against it. She heard her father’s low voice talking with Jackson.
“She can be held for seventy-two hours?” her father asked.
“That’s right, and during that time a judge will hold the hearing.”
“I don’t know.” Sam heard the hesitancy in her father’s voice. “I think it would be better if she went willingly.”
“But she won’t,” Jackson insisted. “You can’t allow this to continue, Lawrence. That Weaver woman has too much influence over her. I’ve done a little research and Anne Weaver is in serious financial trouble. She’s not about to let the golden goose slip through her fingers. She wants to milk Sam for whatever she can, and she’ll persuade Sam to fight you.”
“I thought you vetted this woman,” her father said with a hint of anger in his voice.
“I did. She came highly recommended.”
“Humph. If she thinks she can manipulate my daughter, she’s sadly mistaken. I’ll make sure she never works again.”
Their voices became fainter, and Sam assumed they were leaving. Leaning against the door, she thought of the unintended irony of her dad’s last remark. He wouldn’t let Anne try to manipulate her, but he didn’t have qualms about allowing Jackson . . . or himself . . . to give it a shot. Her lips tightened with determination. He was wrong on all counts.
She
wouldn’t allow herself to be manipulated.
With legs trembling, she crossed to the closet and pulled out her clothes. Thank God they hadn’t taken her shoes. Dressing, she plotted what she’d do. She couldn’t go back to the cabin in case her father and Jackson had taken up residence there. And Anne’s? She frowned as she pulled her shirt over her head. Her father already had Anne in his gun sight; going there would only cause her more trouble. No, it had to be somewhere they’d least expect.
