by Aaron Lazar
Somehow. Some way. I’d figure it out.
“Come on. Let’s ask Fritzi for some blueberry pancakes.”
Chapter 62
June 15th, 2013
I went back to The Seacrest to help each day, in spite of Libby’s protests. Rudy and Fritzi, on the other hand, seemed grateful for my help, even though they both were well aware that she and I had intimately reconnected before Ian came home.
Libby assured her father that we had broken it off, once she knew her husband was alive, but I wondered if she was doing it more for herself, or for him. I wasn’t sure how Rudy felt about Ian, how much he knew about the past. In spite of everything, he welcomed me back into the home like old times, and I fell into the old role of good ol’ Finn from the garden and stables, asked to come inside to handle a few more jobs.
On the second day, Ian refused to eat the cereal I brought up to him, pushing it away and uttering one word. “Crap.”
I’d asked him what he wanted instead, but he said nothing, just turned his eyes dull and defocused, staring at the television. I left the tray on the bedside table, but he hadn’t touched it by lunch.
At the end of the first week, a few more hints of nastiness poked up through the supposed childlike façade.
I had decided to pick up a dozen donuts that morning, and stopped by The Dunkin Donuts near Paines Creek Road to choose an assortment of tempting confections.
Libby, her father and Fritzi, had been working hard. They still hadn’t found an aid to come by at night to watch Ian, and had been taking exhausting shifts. They needed a break, and although they liked to eat healthy, I didn’t think they’d care if I brought a few sugary treats into the house for a change.
Libby accepted a donut with a wan smile. She sat back down at the kitchen table with her coffee and her lemon-filled powdered donut, her eyes glazed. “Thanks, Finn.”
Fritzi frowned, pretending to be offended and usurped, then smiled and picked two glazed donuts out of the box and set them on a plate. “Well. I guess I don’t have to make breakfast. Wunderbar!”
Rudy was still sleeping, having taken the night shift.
“Is Ian up yet?” I asked. It was only seven, but he’d been waking earlier over the past few days.
Libby nodded. “I think so. I heard him mumbling on the monitor. I was just about to make eggs.”
Fritzi started to jump up. “That’s my job, little missy.”
I held up a hand. “No. These donuts and a glass of milk should take care of him. You gals need a rest.”
I set aside a chocolate glazed—my favorite—then carried the rest of the box upstairs with a tumbler full of cold milk.
“Morning, big guy,” I said, maneuvering my way through the doorway.
He lay back in bed, still flat on his pillows, uttering a low grunt.
It didn’t faze me. “Hungry? I brought a special treat. You can pick whatever you like.”
As hard as it had been for me to help care for a man who hurt my Libby in years gone by, I made myself face the fact that he was changed now, a completely different man. Crippled, probably brain damaged, and helpless, I had to let it go.
I headed for the bed and flipped back the cover of the box. “What kind do you like?”
He stared at the ceiling.
“Oh, okay. Want me to help you up?” I set the donuts and milk down on the bed table and reached for his controller, pushing the UP button. Slowly and with some creaking and squeaking, the head of the bed rose higher.
He still lay like a lump, so I reached behind and adjusted his pillow. “There you go. Better?”
He grunted again. “Guess so.”
At least he was talking now.
“Comfy?”
“I have to take a leak.”
I tried not to show any reaction, but I hadn’t done this before. “Okay.” I forced a smile. “How do I help you?”
He pointed to the urinal on the table by the window. “I’ll need that.” He wiggled a bit in bed to get his arms over the covers, then pulled down the sheet and blanket to expose his pajama bottoms. “And I need you to stop being so fucking cheerful,” he added.
Whoa. Where had that come from?
“Sorry,” I said, trying to sound less like a cheery nurse. “I haven’t done this much.”
He took the urinal from me. “No kidding.”
I turned my back and walked to the window to open the blinds. “Let me know if you need help,” I said.
“I’m done.” With a rustle of clothing, he covered up. “Why do they have a freakin’ gardener doing nurse work, anyway?”
I reached for the warm container, trying not to grimace. “I’ll just take this to the bathroom.”
When I came back, he was staring at me. “Aren’t you supposed to be mucking out stalls?”
I shrugged and went for the donuts.
He reached out and clamped a hand on my wrist. “I asked you a question, barn boy.”
I pulled back, twisting his hand off my wrist. “Christ. What’s wrong with you?”
He sneered. “Pretty obvious, isn’t it?”
I stepped back. “Well, I know you can’t walk, but what the fuck is wrong with your head? You treat everyone like this who offers to help? You know, I’d rather be on my own farm, working the blueberry fields today. I came to help the family. To help you. So shut the hell up and pick a damned donut.”
Libby showed up in the doorway with a basket of clean laundry. She looked scared.
Ian turned to her, his face still dark. “You let the help talk to you this way, Lib? Huh? Seems like this guy ought to be fired.”
She paled and looked back and forth between us. “Finn? What’s going on?”
I collected myself. “Nothing. Now, do you want a donut, or not?”
He nodded, took the box, pretended to pick one, then lifted it up and threw it across the room. The box slammed against the wall a few feet from Libby’s head. She dropped the basket of clothes, fear stamped on her face.
Jelly smeared the white wallpaper and dripped toward the floor. Powdered sugar floated in the air, then settled on the carpet. Donuts rolled into corners.
“Ian!” Libby said, her face contorted in anger. “That was a terrible thing to do.”
I didn’t think his face could darken any more. When he spoke, he spit the words, and I finally knew what she meant when she’d described him as a monster a few weeks ago.
“I said I wanted eggs this morning. Does this look like eggs to you?”
I started to pick up the mess while Libby swayed in the doorway. “I’ve got it,” I said.
“Let him do the dirty work,” Ian said. “That’s what he’s paid for.”
I dumped everything into the trash bin, pulled the bag out of the receptacle, and tied it off. “For your information, asshole,” I said. “I haven’t worked here for several weeks. I’m rich now. I don’t need to be here.”
That shook him. “What?” His head pivoted from me to Libby, and back again. “The smelly barn boy has money now?”
I bristled, wanting to punch his lights out, but I held back.
Libby tried to smooth it over. “Finn has been good enough to volunteer to help you, Ian. He’s here of his own will. Until we get the nursing staff situated, that is.”
I glanced at her, grateful she stood up for me.
Ian huffed. “Don’t do me any favors, McGraw.”
I stood tall, ignoring his stream of insults. “I’m not doing it for you, jerkoff. I’m doing it for your father-in-law and wife. They’re good people. And I owe them.”
Light dawned in his eyes. “Whoa. Wait a minute. You’ve got the hots for my wife, don’t you?”
Libby avoided his eyes, turning to put away clean clothes in the bureau.
I laughed. “Think again, nimrod.”
I turned and left, with Libby in tow.
“What the hell happened in there?” she whispered, turning me toward her before we went down to the first floor.
&nbs
p; I shook my head. “I don’t know. He’s losing it. My God. Is this how he used to be?”
“Exactly. Except he could walk then. And he used his fists and feet, all the time.”
“Did he show this side of himself to your dad? To Fritzi?”
“No. He was very charming to them.”
“Man. He’s demonic, Libby. How did you put up with him?”
“It wasn’t easy.” Her eyes teared. “Mostly he was on duty overseas, so it made it tolerable. But when he came home...”
“Didn’t your family have any idea? How did he hide it? How did you?”
She loosed a laugh. “I was quite inventive about it. Being around horses gives you plenty of excuses for injuries.”
“I should have known. I didn’t even suspect.”
“No, nobody did.”
“You should tell Rudy,” I said.
She stiffened. “I don’t know. I…”
“Tell him,” I said. “Or I will.”
Chapter 63
June 17th, 2013
11:55 PM
The call came two days later. I shot out of bed to grab my cell phone, which I’d left in my jeans pockets hanging on the chair.
“Hello?”
Libby whispered urgently into the phone. “Finn. He has a knife!”
Heart hammering, I pressed the phone closer to my ear. “What?” I grabbed a denim shirt from the hook on the wall and shrugged into it, shuffling into my shoes. “Ian?” I said, whistling to Ace, who got up and followed me down the stairs.
“Yes. Please hurry. I’ve called 911, but you’re closer.”
“Where is he?” I asked, trying to picture how he might be threatening her.
“In the bedroom. He’s got my father.”
Adrenaline coursed through me. “I’ll be there in two minutes.”
Skidding down the hall, I rounded the corner, grabbed the Jeep’s keys, and jumped inside, with Ace just seconds behind me. “Hold on, boy.”
My dog looked excited, as if an unexpected midnight drive was a great adventure in his somewhat predictable doggie world. He sat up straight, eyes on the road, tongue lolling.
“Here we go.” I put the Jeep into drive and careened down the curvy driveway, spitting gravel and sliding sideways around the curves. In seconds, I was on the main road that skirted the beaches, and in another minute, I sped up the oyster shell drive of The Seacrest.
“Come on, boy.” I had a feeling my dog might come in handy, and he bounded at my side with purpose, as if he knew we had business to attend.
I burst into the kitchen. In her nightgown, Fritzi cried in the corner with the portable phone pressed to her ear.
“Upstairs!” she sobbed. “He’s got the mister.” She pointed to the phone. “It’s the police. They are coming.” Another ragged sob tore from her. “Oh, please. Please help. He has a knife.”
Without stopping to ask questions, I churned through the kitchen, around the living room to the stairway, up the stairs two at a time, and skidded to a stop outside Ian’s bedroom door, where Libby leaned against the doorframe, tears streaming down her cheeks.
“Please, Ian. Let him go. He never did anything to hurt you.”
I caught her attention and drew her toward me, out of sight of Ian, dragging her into Rudy’s bedroom next door. “What’s going on?” I whispered furiously.
“He thinks my father’s the enemy. He’s having a flashback, or something.”
“Okay. I’m going in.” I left her sputtering in the bedroom and streaked toward Ian’s room, Ace close on my heels.
Inside, Ian held Rudy by the hair, pulling his head back as if to make it easier to cut his throat with what looked like a very sharp steak knife. Last night Rudy had grilled sirloins as a special treat for Ian. It had been his pre-war favorite.
“Ian,” I said in what I hoped was a non-threatening tone of voice. “What’s going on here?” Ace and I approached slowly, and a low growl came from my dog.
“Don’t come any closer!” Ian screamed, yanking Rudy’s head back harder, his eyes burning fever-bright. “I’ll kill him if you take another step.”
“Ian?” I inched forward. “Why are you holding Rudy? He’s been very good to you.”
“No way! This jerk was trying to sneak up on my troops.”
“Look at him. Look around you. You’re in your bedroom at The Seacrest. It’s quiet here. No enemies. The war is over.” Okay, so I lied a little, but I wanted to try to pull him out of his state.
“Keep the fuck away,” he growled. In a moment of surprise, his face changed as if he registered new knowledge. “Wait a minute. Aren’t you the creep who’s humping my wife? You’re poking my woman while I’m fighting for freedom. Aren’t you proud?”
I ignored the accusations, since they were actually true. “Let Rudy go,” I said, seriously worried about the man’s heart condition. Rudy’s face was red, his breathing came hard. All we needed was for him to have another heart attack.
“NO.” Ian’s face hardened. “I can’t give up my leverage.”
“Look at him, Ian. He’s an old man. He has white hair. He’s sick. Very sick. You’ve gotta let him go.” I eased forward a few more steps, but to my horror, I noticed a few drops of blood appearing at the edge of the knife where it cut into Rudy’s skin. “Wait!”
Rudy moaned, and before I could say more, Ace jumped to the bed and grabbed Ian’s knife hand in his teeth. He clamped down hard, shaking the man’s wrist, eliciting a scream from Ian.
The crazed man dropped his hold on Rudy. I quickly pulled Rudy away, pushing him toward the door, but now Ian fought with my dog as if he thought he were in hand-to-hand combat with the enemy.
“Ian, stop!” I ran toward the bed and joined the fight, going for the knife first, which was far too close to my dog’s side.
With renewed anger and surprising speed, Ian slid an arm around my neck, throttling me with biceps stronger than they looked. I jabbed an elbow into his middle, twisting and turning beneath the clamping arm that cut off my air supply.
The knife flashed, jabbing me in the side. Bucking free now, I went for the knife again, missed, and landed a good punch on Ian’s chin. His head rocked back, but it didn’t seem to faze him, and although this maniac was paralyzed from the waist down, his inordinate upper body strength made him a surprising threat.
Libby screamed in the background and ran to Rudy, who lay on his back, breathing hard and clutching his chest.
No. No. NO! Not what we need right now.
“Finn! I think he’s having another attack.” She wailed, ran for the phone in the corner, and began shouting into it.
My attention was diverted for only a second, but it was enough for Ian to gain the advantage again. He shoved Ace off the bed with one arm, eliciting a whimper from my brave friend. With maniacal glee, he reached for my arm, twisting it around my back, and jerking up hard. With his knife hand free now, he raised it to plunge into my chest.
Ace launched at the knife hand, yelped once when Ian slammed a fist against him, but with tenacity born of his breed, he dug his teeth deep into Ian’s flesh. I ducked out of the hold, turned, and rammed my fist into his face. “Stop it, Ian. Drop the damned knife.”
In a moment of sudden clarity, his eyes widened, taking in the carnage around him.
There was blood all over the bed, and my side ached like hell. My dog was covered in the red stuff, too, although I didn’t know if it was his, or mine. I prayed it was my own. Rudy lay wheezing on the floor. Libby sobbed heavily over him. “I don’t think he’s breathing, Finn.”
Ian’s eyes clouded. “What?” He looked from Rudy to Libby, to me, and back to Libby. “I’m sorry,” he said. Jerking his knife hand back, he lifted it high above his chest.
“No!” Libby shouted.
Ian swiftly plunged the knife into his own heart.
I rocked back on my heels. “No! Cripes, no!”
Ian’s eyes rolled back, breath hissed from his lips, blood trickled
from his mouth, and his head lolled to the side.
Libby stood, unsure who to turn to next. I hurried to her side, kneeling over Rudy. I listened for his heartbeat, listened for breathing. It was there. I heard the air whistling in and out.
“He’s alive,” I said. “Did you get an ambulance?”
She nodded tearfully. “Uh huh.”
“I’m gonna check on Ace.” I ran to his side, where he lay on the rug near the bed, licking his leg. “Oh, crap, Libby. He’s hurt.”
Ian’s flailing knife had cut his leg deeply, and it bled in a steady stream on the rug.
I reached for the sheet, yanked it off the bed, and stripped a good-sized piece from it. Carefully, I tied it tight around his leg, stroking his side. “It’s okay, buddy. You’re gonna be okay.”
Screams of the emergency vehicles filled the air. I turned to Libby. “They’ll take care of your father.” Motioning toward Ian, I grimaced. “He’s past help. But I’ve gotta get Ace to the emergency care vet. Now.”
She nodded, seeming to pull strength from somewhere deep inside herself. “Of course. Go!”
With care, I slid my arms beneath my dog and lifted his eighty-five pounds into the air, ignoring the stitch in my side from my own wound. He whimpered, but I soothed him with my voice. “Hang in there, buddy. I’ve got you.”
With speed born of panic and fear, I hurried downstairs and to the Jeep.
Chapter 64
June 18th, 2013
2:55 AM
I made it to the emergency vet clinic in South Dennis in twenty minutes, after rousing them on the phone and arranging to meet the team at their facilities. They assessed the damage, stitched and bound his leg, found another small cut on Ace’s side, treated it, and wheeled him into another room for X-rays.
Doctor Steenvoorden returned with my dog on a gurney twenty minutes later. I hurried to my pal’s side, patting his head and talking to him. I received a tail wag in return, and a flutter of hope filled me.
The doctor held a film up to the lighted panel mounted on the wall. “He was lucky,” he said. “No breaks. He lost a lot of blood. But he’ll be fine. You did well getting him here when you did.”