Wicked Burn (24 page)

She sat up straighter when she heard the buzz of the electronic lock on the door that led to the patients’ residential wing. A young male attendant entered the room, followed by Stephen. Despite Stephen’s vast improvements over the past four weeks, it pained Niall to see him shuffle after the younger man like an obedient dog. One thing that had not improved with Stephen’s new medication regimen was his appetite. His clothing hung loosely on his gaunt, stooped frame.

“Good morning, Eli,” Niall greeted the attendant as they approached her. “Good morning, Stephen. How are you feeling today?”

“Okay,” Stephen mumbled.

“He just got a haircut,” Eli said with a smile. “Looking pretty spiffy.”

“It looks nice, Stephen,” Niall agreed.

As usual, Stephen didn’t meet her eyes but stared at the floor. He grimaced as he ran his hand over his burr haircut. The color of it—a rich, golden brown—had once nearly perfectly matched Michael’s hue. Niall saw that a good deal of gray was mixed with the brown now.

Eli laughed at his ward’s distasteful expression over his haircut. “So I guess Rose told you that Stephen wanted to talk to you, right?” Eli asked brightly.

Niall nodded.

“Okay. I’ll give you two some privacy, then. I’ll just be over on the other side of the day room,” he told Niall, giving her a significant look. Dr. Fardesh had taken Stephen off his one-to-one status, whereby an attendant was required to be in close proximity to him twenty-four hours a day due to possible suicide attempts or violence toward others. Nevertheless, Stephen was still very vulnerable to stressors of any kind, easily becoming anxious and erratic in his behavior if his daily routine was altered in the slightest.

Since he began to have periods of lucidity just before Christmas, Niall had made a point of visiting him at least once a week, often several times. She’d spoken with Rose Gonzalez and Dr. Fardesh at length about whether it would actually be helpful for her to come, determined to do what was right under these circumstances and not just whatever her parents determined was appropriate. The only reason she’d agreed to come at all was because Dr. Fardesh said that Stephen had begun to mention not only Niall’s name but Michael’s, both during his brief sessions with Dr. Fardesh and with his art therapist.

“I get the impression that Stephen is trying to work through something, Niall,” Dr. Fardesh had explained last week. “This medication regime we have him on is no cure, of course, but it might be giving him some psychological resources to try and cope, at least minimally, with his past. He’s been drawing pictures of Michael during his art therapy sessions. A few days ago he asked me how old Michael would have been today if he had lived. As you know, that sort of acknowledgment of Michael—let alone his death—has been unprecedented for Stephen since he’s been under my care.”

Niall had been flabbergasted by the news. To her knowledge, Michael’s name hadn’t passed Stephen’s lips since their four-year-old son’s funeral. It was soon afterward that her husband began to drink heavily and that his behavior became increasingly erratic, agitated, and eventually violent. By the time Matthew Manning’s trial came around, Stephen had declined both physically and psychologically to such a degree that Niall had no choice but to hospitalize him.

He hadn’t been out of a hospital or psychiatric facility for a single day since then.

“Is there anything I can do to help?” Niall had asked Dr. Fardesh.

“Just continue to do what you have been doing: listen and offer him support. You know that Rose told him about the divorce proceedings?”

Niall nodded. She’d been glad to hear from Rose Gonzalez that she had indeed ended up informing Stephen back in December about their divorce, after he’d shown several weeks of stability. The fact that Stephen hadn’t relapsed when he heard the news, but continued to have an unprecedented period of relative lucidity and stable functioning, had heartened Niall.

“He’s handled that news very well,” Dr. Fardesh mused. “When he does bring up your name, it’s always associated with Michael. What he’s trying to work through definitely relates to Michael’s murder. He occasionally mentions the name
Marchant
or the
Marchant account.
Does that mean anything to you?”

Niall’s brow crinkled as she searched her memories but came up empty-handed. The name sounded vaguely familiar, but . . .

“No . . . I don’t think I know that name.”

Dr. Fardesh shrugged. “Well, whatever the name means to Stephen, he becomes quite agitated whenever he brings it up.”

“And he brings it up in association with Michael?” Niall asked, puzzled.

Dr. Fardesh had nodded. “Don’t be too concerned with it. It will either come out or it won’t. These things take time for an individual like Stephen to process.”

Stephen typically never said much to Niall when she’d come to visit over the last month. He still quickly became restless and agitated in her presence, although never to the point of violence. But he did recognize her and call her by her name. He’d even recognized Alexis on that initial visit back in December, and Niall Chandler Sr. on subsequent visits. That had created some disproportionate expectations from Niall’s parents, who seemed convinced that Stephen would be back behind his desk at Chandler Financial someday soon, barking out orders and making brilliant business decisions under pressure.

Her parents continued to cling to these unrealistic expectations despite Dr. Fardesh and Rose Gonzalez’s warnings as to the monumental unlikelihood of them. Stephen needed supervision and assistance in order to maintain his most basic hygiene, continued to shy away from all strangers, and typically spoke approximately fifty words per day cumulatively to Dr. Fardesh and the various other employees at Evergreen Park to whom he was accustomed. If someone didn’t put a tray of food directly in front of him and encourage him repeatedly to eat, Niall had little doubt that Stephen would eventually starve if left to his own devices.

Niall had taken to just ignoring her parents when they rattled on about Stephen’s miraculous improvements. She was still furious with her mother for what she’d done in front of Vic back in December. But Niall had been so overwhelmed by her own feelings of guilt, grief, and hopelessness when it came to Stephen that she hadn’t yet confronted Alexis about her underhanded, passive aggressive behavior on that day.

And she hadn’t seen Vic since he’d cast one last incredulous, furious glance at Niall before he walked out of her apartment for the last time.

Better not to think about that now. It pained her excruciatingly to think of losing Vic when she’d just found him. And she needed all of her psychological resources to deal with what occurred now, here in the present. She could focus on only one step at a time. She had Stephen to consider, as well as the increasing stress and work associated with the upcoming exhibit at the museum. In addition she’d received notice that she could officially close on her condominium in three weeks, and thus had all the planning associated with that endeavor filling up her days.

Vic had tried to contact her back in December after that ugly incident with Alexis, but Niall hadn’t returned his calls. Maybe he’d believed that her refusal to speak to him signaled guilt—or even disinterest—because the phone calls had stopped. Just as she’d done earlier that fall, she carefully avoided seeing him. She’d begun to wonder if he was even spending any time in his apartment since Christmas, because she rarely heard his door opening or closing at night or in the morning.

And she’d listened so carefully for any sounds indicating his presence. As she lay in bed at night, alone and miserable, that’s practically all she did.

Whenever she considered what she should do about Vic, a sort of emotional paralysis overcame her. All she could do was focus on
now
, on
this
step of her life. If she thought too far into the future, she was afraid she would miss a step and spill down a steep, treacherous, emotional staircase.

“It was movie night last night, wasn’t it?” Niall asked Stephen when he sat awkwardly on the couch across from her. She noticed that he glanced over to Eli in the attached solarium. Niall knew that what Rose said was true—Stephen was a grown man, not a child. Nevertheless, that was what he reminded her of presently as he affirmed to himself that Eli, a familiar, comfortable presence, hadn’t wandered too far away from him.

“Yeah,” he mumbled as he picked at his pant leg nervously.

“Anything good?” Niall prompted warmly.

“Clint Eastwood.”

Niall remained seated when Stephen stood and began to pace restlessly in front of the couch. She sensed his rising tension.

“Rose called and told me that you said you wanted to speak with me about something,” Niall said evenly. She started when Stephen suddenly struck his thigh hard with a closed fist. His movements became jerkier as his pacing quickened.

“Stephen, everything is okay.” Her voice automatically shifted to the calm, even cadence that she knew from experience often soothed Stephen. Her heart began throbbing loudly in her ears. Just as frequently her efforts at calming him hadn’t worked. She knew intellectually that this time was different. Stephen had made some significant improvements. Hadn’t he? Still, it was hard to assure her body of that when it had experienced a mortal threat from him on several occasions. Niall’s eyes skittered anxiously to where Eli sat reading a magazine in the atrium.

Stephen began to mumble in a manic, pressured fashion as he paced. The hairs on the back of Niall’s neck prickled as they stood on end.

“. . . Had to make that meeting . . . Richard Marchant insisted it had to be me . . . wouldn’t accept Marietta doing it . . .”

“Marietta?” Niall asked in rising confusion. Marietta had been Stephen’s top manager at Chandler Financial years back. It struck Niall as bizarre to hear him say her name suddenly.

“. . . You acted all pissed off that day . . . know we agreed that I would take Michael to preschool on Mondays . . . but I had to be at that Marchant meeting . . . and what was your job compared to mine? Huh? I was the one who made all the money . . . Why should I have to worry about taking the kid to school?”

Niall jumped when Stephen violently struck his thigh again as he paced.

“Stephen? Don’t . . . You’ll hurt yourself. Stephen . . .
please
. . .” Niall attempted to break through his increasing agitation, but he paid her no heed. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Eli putting down his magazine and standing.

In all of the terror and shock that had followed Matthew Manning opening fire on a group of children, parents, and teachers that day, killing three adults and four children, Niall had completely forgotten that she and Stephen had argued over who would take Michael to preschool that morning.

“It
should
have been you who took Michael to school!” Stephen shouted suddenly, several drops of saliva shooting forcefully from his mouth.

Niall’s heart pounded horribly in her chest.

“It
was
me, Stephen,” she said shakily. “I don’t know what you mean . . . It
was
me who took Michael to school that day.”

Stephen stopped abruptly in his pacing and whirled around. His face looked like a horrific mask, twisted and rigid. Only his eyes seemed real as they peered through to the outside world, making Niall think of a wild, dangerous, trapped animal.

“But it should have been
me
!” Stephen shouted suddenly, his tone a mixture of horror and regret. “If
I
had been there, maybe . . . maybe . . .”

Niall shook her head as tears coursed down her cheeks. She’d had no idea that he suffered from so much guilt. She’d always assumed that when he ranted at her, shouting “it should have been you,” that in his confusion and madness, he expressed an anguished wish that Niall had been the one to be murdered instead of their son.

“
No
, Stephen . . . you couldn’t have stopped it,” she whispered. “What Matthew Manning did made no sense. No one could have predicted it. Your being there wouldn’t have changed things—”

“Stephen?” Eli queried as he approached from the side, careful not to make any abrupt movements. Several other attendants entered the day room from the locked unit, moving rapidly toward Stephen. Niall realized distantly that Eli must have activated some kind of alarm. “Why don’t we go back to your room for a while, bud?”

Niall didn’t even blink when Stephen lunged at her violently. It was as if some primitive part of her being had been expecting it. He’d been in touch with his guilt ever so briefly, and it had been too painful for him.

The defense of madness needed to be erected once again.

“
It should have been you, Niall!
” he snarled.

And in that moment Niall knew that she hadn’t been wrong in thinking that Stephen had a primitive wish that she was dead instead of their son. It was just that his wish was more complicated than she’d assumed. In truth, every time he told her that it should have been her, what he really meant was “It should have been me.” Should have been him who took Michael to preschool that day . . . should have been him who died instead of an innocent four-year-old boy. But his misguided guilt was so intense that in order to survive psychologically, he needed to project it onto her.

He required the insulation of his madness.

Eli stopped Stephen’s violent pitch toward her by grabbing him from behind, immobilizing his arms at his sides. Stephen’s glittering, manic eyes remained glued to Niall as he bent his knees and tried to throw Eli off him, making them both lose balance and fall heavily to the floor. He struggled like a wild animal as the other attendants rushed to assist Eli, who was taking the brunt of Stephen’s desperate attempts to come to terms with his own guilt.

“
Go
, Ms. Chandler. Your presence is making it worse,” one of the older attendants barked at her before he turned his attention to trying to restrain Stephen’s flailing right leg.