The Broken Ones (Book 2): The Broken Families

by David Jobe

  Trip dismissed him with a wave without looking up from the game. He was probably winning.

  Silvia chuckled but shook her head. “I am so sorry, but I am going to have to decline such a gracious offer. You see, I have to work. I have a very demanding job of herding cats. Ornery cats at that. Maybe next time?”

  Chris nodded, tapping his index finger to his chin. “I do have a very busy schedule, what with avoiding meetings and being ornery and all. But, for you, just say the word and I’ll pencil you in. Somewhere between the avoiding and the ornery of course.”

  She smiled at him but sadness touched her pretty gray eyes. “You know, sometimes you have to go along to get along. Might be that you get out of here quicker if you start doing what the judge mandated.”

  “And be deprived of seeing you? That hardly seems like a fair trade, does it?”

  She mimicked his finger tapping on her own chin. “How about this? You go to your meeting, and when you get out of here, I’ll let you take me to the coffee shop down the street. It’s a nice open coffee house with some of the best brew you’ve ever tasted. Just coffee, jet setter. No flying around the world.”

  He blinked. It could be that she was playing the long odds. That she doubted he would ever get out of here, but it was a great offer. At least to him, it was. Maybe if and when he got out she would plead ignorance or tell him that she only did it to get him started, but even at a slim shot, it was a shot. It had been years since he dated. He looked at his drawn on watch and made a play at pondering. “Well, I think I can squeeze in one meeting.”

  Her smile was beautiful and made him hope even more she was being on the level. “Great. It’s in room four twenty, just down the hall. First hall on the left.”

  He laughed. “You have a room four twenty?”

  She gave a small laugh. “It’s actually room 42, but someone taped a zero behind it. Seems you aren’t the only one with a sense of inappropriate humor.” She gave him a wink and walked off. Maybe he imagined it, but her walk had a bit more sway to it that he was used to. Maybe he was just paying more attention.

  After she was out of sight, he slipped out of the nook and began making his way down the hall, but stopped. “Trip! Never mind the car man. I have a meeting to go to.”

  Trip answered with a finger. Not the middle one as Chris would have expected. His thumb. This place was crazy.

  He made it to the room just as everyone was introducing themselves. He found and empty chair in the circle of nine people. “And to the realm of humans, he gave nine rings.”

  An older woman sitting next to him leaned over and whispered, “I like your watch.”

  Chris stared at her, unsure how to respond. Was she being serious? “Um, thanks?”

  She grinned wide, revealing perfect teeth. “Can I borrow it sometime?”

  “I’m kind of attached to it?”

  “I am sure we can come to an arrangement.” She gave him a grin that was unsettling. It reminded him of the term “Man-Eater”, though he wasn’t sure which meaning she was going for.

  He nodded and tried to hide the shiver that ran over him. He decided to turn his attention back to the group. Just as he was getting settled, he realized that all eyes were on him. “Um, did I do something wrong?”

  A young man, maybe late thirties with a white coat and a clipboard smiled. “Not at all. It is just your turn to introduce yourself.”

  “What do you want to know, exactly?” He did not like all the eyes staring at him.

  “Well,” the young man said, “let’s start with your name, why you are here, and maybe something interesting about yourself.”

  Chris stood up and looked around the gathering of wide-eyed faces. “Names Jack Sparrow. Captain, if you will.”

  A thin man that had curled up his legs under his chin and had begun rocking in his pale pink plastic chair raised a hand and waved, “Hi, Jack.” He blinked when no one else gave the greeting that he was used to.

  The young man smiled at the Rocking Man and said, “That’s not his real name. Our new guest is quite the comedian.” He turned to smile at Chris. “Humor is a popular defense mechanism. You don’t need to feel defensive here. We’re all here to help each other.”

  Chris sat down. There he sat for a few moments, trying to think of something to say. “My name is Chris Taylor, and I’m here because I was an addict.” It came out in a gush, words spilling over his lips in a flood.

  The young man nodded. “I like the ‘was’. We’ll build on that. And what is something interesting about you?”

  “I’m afraid I’m not that interesting.”

  “Nonsense,” the young man said and was greeted with affirming nods from the group. “Everyone has something interesting about them.”

  “Well. There is this one thing.”

  “Go on,” purred Perfect Teeth next to him. Rocking Man nodded in support.

  He avoided looking at her or anyone. “Well, I can see the future when I’m high.”

  Chapter Six

  Two Sides of the Same Coin

  Allison Knox slumped down in a chair that was about three sizes too big for her. She imagined that the chair was meant to accommodate the larger individuals in the center, so for her small frame, it felt more like a love seat than a simple chair. It reminded her of sleeping on Mac’s sofa the last time she had been over there, and she felt her eyes start to water. She tried adjusting herself to become more comfortable, but the watchful eye of Doctor Rebecca Landers made that all the more difficult. Allison shifted in the chair, growing more and more self-conscious about the little noises the fake leather made in protest.

  The office she was in was small and reminded her of the assistant principal’s office at her school. The two side walls were lined with floor to ceiling bookshelves packed tight with all variety of books. Some shelves were clearly designated for a particular genre, as she could make out a horror shelf close by that held some of her favorites from Stephen King, Dean Koontz and someone named Clive Barker. The last sounded familiar but made Allison think of movies instead of books. The wall behind the doctor was covered with plaques, awards, and certificates. The frames were so tightly packed together they touched in places. The office felt as if the idea of using it for an office may have been an afterthought. Allison wondered if they pulled up the colorful throw carpet would they find a depressed drain that hinted this might have once been a storage closet of some sort.

  Doctor Landers was a slender woman of shorter stature but nestled among those accolades and books, she held herself with the quiet conviction of someone who knew what she was about. The doctor’s hair was a short blonde that curved off at just above the shoulders. Pale blue eyes watched Allison from behind fashionable black square glasses. The doctor was one of those women who Allison could tell was older than her own mother, but who had managed to age with quiet grace. Though wrinkles had begun to creep in around the corners of her eyes and lips, they seemed to simply add to the woman’s sense of personal knowledge. “You look tired.” Dr. Landers noted, writing on a large pad of yellow paper.

  Allison tried to smile, but it felt weak. “Tell me about it.”

  Doctor Landers smiled a warm smile on pale pink lips. “Actually, I was hoping you could tell me about it.”

  At first, Allison had to stifle the urge to shut the woman down immediately. She had never been one to go about freely expressing her feelings to people. The only person who had gotten her to open up at all had been Mac, and even with him she had stayed guarded. Then she began to think about where she was. She was in a sort of hybrid jail meets prison, awaiting trial for at least murder. She had heard this morning that she was being charged with Murder One, and that came with a life sentence if convicted. It wasn’t that much of a leap of logic to realize that she might be in a tight spot and could use all the help she could get. Even if that help was just helping her calm the raging storm of fear and doubt that dominated her mind.

  Doctor Landers set her pen down, smiling a
bit more. “You have me for an hour. We can talk about anything you want.”

  “You aren’t going to show me ink blots and ask me to tell you what they are?”

  Doctor Landers shook her head. “No. I don’t think that is necessary at this point. Besides, I would like to get to know you as a person. How about you tell me what your morning has been like. Feel free to say whatever you want. This is a safe place and nothing you say to me will be repeated unless you threaten yourself or someone else.”

  Allison nodded. “That sounds reasonable. Where should I start?”

  Doctor Landers took a brief glance at a folder on her desk. “It says here that you have had a couple visitors today already. Would you care to tell me about that?”

  Allison sighed but nodded. “It started with my mom and dad coming to see me. That was not an experience I hope to ever recreate.”

  “Why is that?”

  “Well, my mom shows up in her work attire. You can always tell her work clothes from her regular clothes because they’re well pressed, ironed and immaculate. Her hair was up in her no-nonsense bun and you could just tell that I was a stop on the way into work. My dad was there as well, in his officer’s uniform, wrinkled with a very visible stain on the sleeve. Odds are that he was on his way home from an overnight shift at the courthouse and I was the last stop before he could go home and rest. So, the first thing I think when I see them is that this is the first time I think I have ever seen them in the same room for at least a few months. That alone made me feel bad.” Allison paused, realizing that the doctor was writing on her notepad. “Now, I’m not trying to imply that I’m dysfunctional because my parents are rarely together. No, they have both always been so supportive. If I was ever in need, they would come running.” Allison sighed and rested her head on the chair back, fighting back the tears that started to form in her eyes.

  “How did your mom treat you this morning?” Allison couldn’t see her, but she could hear the quiet scrapes of the pen on the paper.

  “Well, the thing you need to know about my mom is that she absolutely hates being confrontational in public. She lives in constant fear of making a scene. Usually, she just gets quiet until we get home or behind doors somewhere, and then she’ll launch into full lecture mode. That was why today when she dropped right away into lecture mode in front of three officers I was shocked. She made in clear in no uncertain terms that she was disappointed in me. She wondered aloud how I could have been so uncaring as to bring this kind of attention to our family. How my actions could very well cost her and my father their jobs. She blames it all on Mac and, apparently, my teenage hormones.” A weak chuckle escaped her lips.

  “What about your dad?”

  Allison smiled though now a tear slipped free of her right eye and streaked down her face. “He remained quiet through my mom’s hour long rant. He just stood in the back with those big arms of his crossed across his chest. I could see that the muscles in his neck were strained and that he was trying to keep still. I thought at first that maybe he was just that angry at me. But, the more I watched him, the more I got the feeling that all he wanted to do was hug me.” The tears were streaming down her face now. “After mom got up and walked out, he quietly slipped into the seat and picked up the phone my mom had been yelling at me through. He says to me in that even laid back tone of his, “Don’t you worry about mom’s and my job. We can find work elsewhere if the need arises. You have enough on your plate without her dumping that nonsense on you.” I loved him for not lying to me. He didn’t try to tell me that their jobs weren’t in jeopardy, only that he had it under control and for me to focus on the problems before me. Then he went on to say, “I am not sure how much news you get in here, but that Patton boy is said to be in stable condition now. Talk around the shop is that he will get a minor charge and be able to plea out for probation.” He smiled at me and I knew that he had heard more about me, but wasn’t going to drop that bomb. So I asked him if he was mad at me. I am not going to lie. I was more worried my dad was upset with me than my mom. He chuckled and said to me, “Baby girl. When I taught you how to shoot and took you to all those ranges, it was with the understanding that one day you would use that training to defend your lives or the lives of the ones you love. Your mom is a good Christian woman, so she believes that everyone can be redeemed. I, on the other hand, have walked the worst of humanity back to their cells and listened to what they brag about with their friends. It hurts my heart that it had to be you to stop that psycho’s warpath, but I have no doubt if you hadn’t, she would have gone on killing until someone had.”

  Allison looked up and noticed that the doctor was frowning at her story. “You don’t agree with what he said, do you?”

  The doctor appeared to catch herself and the frown vanished as if it had never been there. “What I think is of no matter. I’m not here to pass judgment on you. My job is to help you understand you. In the end, it will have to be your will, your want, to change that determines if I am able to help you.”

  “But you don’t agree that Miss Fire couldn’t be reformed?”

  Doctor Landers appeared to consider her words carefully. “I work here in the hopes of rehabilitating the lost souls that come through my door. The woman you killed sat where you did, not a month ago and threatened to burn me alive in my office. A few days later she was back in my office asking me to help her come to terms with what she had done. I do not think she was close to reform, but I do believe that she was one step closer to it when you ended her life.”

  Allison nodded. “I’m sorry I wasted your time.”

  Doctor Landers blinked. “You didn’t waste my time. Nor will you. What happened to Miss Givens was unfortunate, but a danger of the path she had chosen. Just as a junkie risks an overdose every time they relapse, so a killer risks death when they relapse. Her chance at redemption has passed. Now we focus on yours.”

  “You think I need redeeming?”

  “Don’t you? You killed two people.”

  “In self-defense.”

  “They weren’t attacking you.”

  Allison slumped but said nothing.

  The doctor rifled through her folder and brought out an article. She placed it in the small space on the desk in front of Allison. It was the cover of the local newspaper. On the cover she could see herself, wearing her hero outfit. She was holding two guns on a kneeling Miss Fire. The angle of the photo was well placed enough that the missing limb Allison had shot off was concealed behind Miss Fire’s body. Judging from the shot, this was taken a moment before Allison killed the fire throwing fiend. The picture was black and white and the shadows around Allison’s face made her look so full of anger and hate. Written in bold above the picture was “The Executioner”. Though the paper was folded over, Allison could see that the article was quick to launch into calling Allison a murderer and the worst of vigilantes.

  The doctor produced another article and placed it next to the first. This one was in color and showed almost the same scene, but a slightly different angle. The sun was shining behind Allison’s head and the effect was that it gave Allison a sort of halo. In less jarring lettering the words “Angel of Death” was written. The article continued on to illustrate that what Allison did was to save lives. That source said that Miss Givens had already made it clear that she was bent on killing more people, including Allison’s lifelong friend.

  “Which do you think better depicts the occurrence on the freeway?” The doctor waited with pencil ready.

  Allison stared in shock at both of the pictures. “Is that what they are calling me?”

  “Yes. Half the world is calling you the Executioner. The other half is calling you the Angel of Death.”

  “Neither are very nice.”

  “They don’t give out puppy dog names to people who execute others on national television.”

  Tears began anew down Allison’s face. “I want to go back to my cell.”

  “Of course. But keep in mind that this,” she
tapped the newspapers, “is not going to go away. Soon you will go on trial, and a jury of your peers will decide if what you did is this.” She pointed at the angel article, “Or this.” She tapped on the executioner article. “Either way they decide, you will still have to live with this.” Again she tapped the executioner article. “You should spend your time deciding if you are going to stay on the course you have chosen for yourself. Or if you are going to take charge and return to being a responsible citizen.”

  “I want to go to my cell.”

  Chapter Seven

  Meet the Questgiver

  It was the incessant beeping that broke through Machiavelli Patton’s unconsciousness first. The beep was loud and irritating and before long Mac’s head began to hurt at the shrill noise of it. Pain thundered through his body, raging like a storm. The strong odor of cleaner assaulted his senses, making his eyes water.

  “Nurse, his IV bag is empty.” A man’s voice, appearing to come just left of him. “I also believe he might be overdue for his pain meds. I can see his forehead scrunching up like he’s in pain.”

  There was a soft chuckle from somewhere past Mac’s feet and a woman replied. “Of course, Officer Lanton. I’ll get right on that. Don’t tell on me to Nurse Millie.”

  Lanton chuckled. “Never. Besides, she would just tell me to hush up and stick to police work and let y’all do all the hard work.”

  “Smart woman.” The nurse replied, her voice trailing away.

  “Seems like.” Lanton muttered under his breath just loud enough for Mac to hear.

  “You like her?” Mac asked, opening his eyes to look over at Officer Lanton. Mac had already figured out he was in the hospital. The flood of memories of the battle on the freeway rushed back into his mind and with it the memory of his failure. Officer Lanton wasn’t wrong, the painkillers appeared to be wearing off, as every fiber of his body was waking up and yelling at him in unison.