by JM Darhower
She laughed so hard her knees buckled, and he grabbed a hold of her so she didn’t hit the ground. “I think it was nice of Tess to tell me.”
“Nice and Tess are two words that never belong in a sentence together. That bitch is far from nice.” Haven poked him hard in the ribs, and he grabbed his side. “Damn, hummingbird. Maybe I should call you a hawk. You can be feisty.”
She smiled. “You bring it out of me.”
He kissed the top of her head, grateful she was so comfortable with him that she didn’t try to pretend to be someone she wasn’t. “Why doesn’t this bother you? Everything Tess told you, my temper—it’s like it just rolls right off your back. I’m waiting for it all to sink in and you run away or something.”
“Some of it does bother me, but that’s not you anymore. Plus, you know I can’t run away. It’s impossible.”
“Why do you say that? It would be easy since no one even really knows you exist. You could slip away in the middle of the night. I mean, I’m not suggesting anything, so don’t get any ideas, but I’ve thought about it. After I turn 18 and get access to my trust fund, we could just disappear together and get away from all of this bullshit. Probably couldn’t take the Mazda, though, since it has a GPS chip in it somewhere.”
Before she could respond, Dominic’s voice rang out nearby. “What are you guys doing?”
“I’m trying to talk Haven into letting me angry dragon her, but so far it’s a no-go,” Carmine said, cocking an eyebrow at Tess. Haven covered her face, blushing.
“Don’t like your girlfriend knowing how much of a prick you really are?” Tess asked. Carmine stuck his middle finger up at her.
“Anyway,” Dominic said, giving them both a stern look. “We’re heading home. You good to drive, or do you guys need a ride?”
“I’m cool to drive,” Carmine said. “I didn’t drink much.”
They exchanged goodbyes, and Carmine glanced at his watch. “It’s almost one. You wanna head home too?”
She nodded. They climbed into the car, and he put it in gear, driving down the small road toward the highway. He glanced at Haven as she looked out the side window at the trees lining the road.
“What’s wrong?” She was being too silent.
“I thought you knew.”
“Knew what?”
“That I was chipped, too.”
He looked at her with confusion, turning down the music in the car. “What do you mean you’re chipped?”
“Like your car—a GPS chip.”
Carmine slammed the brakes as soon as the words registered, the car skidding to a stop with a loud squeal. Haven braced her hands against the dash, eyes wide with shock.
“There’s a tracking chip on you?”
“It’s in me,” she said. “Under my skin.”
“You’ve gotta be kidding. Your father chipped you like a dog?”
She shook her head. “My father didn’t do it. Yours did.”
He blinked a few times. “My father? Are you sure?”
“I’m sure. I was there when he did it. He stuck the needle into my back. He also scraped my cheek with some kind of cotton swap. I don’t know why, but he did it. He said I can never escape. It’s impossible.”
Carmine’s stomach sunk, and he suddenly felt like he was going to be sick.
* * * *
Vincent stepped off the elevator on the fifth floor of the Belden Stratford Hotel and strolled toward his room at the end of the hall. The dim lighting was easy on his tired eyes. He couldn’t recall the last time he’d gotten a good night sleep, his hectic schedule taking a toll on him like never before.
Jet-lagged and overwhelmed, he was looking forward to finally having some down time. The next ten hours of his schedule were uncharacteristically clear, and he had no intention of doing anything but lying in bed. He was sick of traveling. Sick of working. Sick of talking. Sick of thinking. He wanted, for once, to savor a bit of peace.
The moment he stepped into his hotel room, the phone in his pocket started to ring. He looked at the clock—nearly six in the morning.
He pulled out his phone, too exhausted to deal with business, and was surprised to see it was Carmine. Vincent sat down on the edge of the bed. “Isn’t it a bit early for you to be up, son?”
Carmine sighed. “It’s called insomnia, remember? I never sleep.”
Vincent knew the feeling well. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing’s wrong,” he said. “Can’t I call my father to wish him a happy New Year?”
Vincent was surprised. Carmine had certainly never called for casual conversation before. “Happy New Year to you, too. Did you all have a nice night?”
“It was okay, I guess.”
“No fighting?”
“No, I didn’t send anyone to the hospital.”
“Good,” he said, yawning. The sky outside was starting to lighten as dawn approached. “What are you guys going to do today?”
“I don’t know,” Carmine said, “but I guess you’ll be able to tell later. You know, because of the tracking chip in Haven.”
The words nearly went straight over Vincent’s head, and it took a minute for them to sink in. “She told you about that?”
“She may have mentioned it,” he said. “She also may have said you swabbed her cheek. She isn’t like our cousin or something, is she? Illegitimate child?”
Vincent sighed, having no intention of getting into this topic with his son. “There's no blood relation.”
“Okay, whatever. I was just curious.”
Vincent closed his eyes. His son was on to him.
Peace was fleeting once again.
Chapter 26
The first week of January swiftly passed by as the boys headed back to school. Haven lay in bed for a while that Friday morning before strolling out into the library. Glancing toward the stairs, she gasped and grabbed her chest as her heart nearly stalled. Standing a few feet in front of her, with his arms crossed over his chest, was Dr. DeMarco.
He’d been in Chicago all week, so he was the last person she expected to come face-to-face with. She stared at him, wondering when he’d gotten home, but more curious as to what he was doing on the third floor. There was a part of her—the part that would never forget what he did—that screamed something wasn’t right. She searched for some hidden emotion and saw a flicker of aggravation in his eyes.
“Good morning, Dr. DeMarco.”
“Good morning.” His voice was cold and detached. “Grab your coat and meet me downstairs.”
Fear nearly consumed her, but she tried to keep her outward composure. He continued to stare at her, waiting for acknowledgement. She didn’t know why—it wasn’t as if she could tell him no. If he told her to be somewhere, she’d be there, regardless of if she wanted to or not.
“Yes, sir.”
She exhaled sharply once he was gone, shaking her head as she grabbed her coat. She stuck her hands into her pockets as she descended the stairs, her palms sweaty. Was this the end of her time here? Was he tired of her? What would he do to her? Would he sell her? What if she never saw Carmine again?
In the middle of her near-breakdown, a hand gripped her shoulder. She recoiled and saw Dr. DeMarco behind her. “You’re awfully jumpy today.”
“Sorry.”
He glanced at his watch. “Come on. I don’t want to be late.”
Dr. DeMarco opened the front door, and she kept her head down as she stepped outside. He set the alarm and locked up, brushing past her to the car as if she weren’t even there.
Haven stared in the side mirror as he started down the driveway, watching as the house disappeared behind the rows of dense trees. Sighing, she glanced at Dr. DeMarco, wishing she knew what was bothering him. She kept her gaze on him for too long, and he cut his eyes at her. “It’s rude to stare, child. If you have a question, ask it. Otherwise, mind your manners. I’m not in the mood for insolence today.”
Dr. DeMarco’s unpredictability rattled her. She had no
idea what insolence was, but she had no intention of giving it to him. “I was just wondering where we were going, sir.”
“The hospital,” he said, the same time Haven spotted the building in the distance. He pulled into the parking spot and shut off the car. “Just like at the football game, I expect you to be on your best behavior.”
She sat still, staring out the windshield at the sign with ‘Dr. Vincent DeMarco’ written on it in blue. “I’ll be good, sir.”
Haven followed him into the building, keeping his pace so not to lag behind. They headed straight for the elevator, and despite the fact that it only took thirty seconds, her anxiety tripled during the ride to the third floor. Logically she knew Dr. DeMarco wouldn’t lay a hand on her in public, but it wasn’t easy being rational when confined in a small box with a man capable of harm.
She breathed a sigh of relief as the doors opened, and she followed Dr. DeMarco down a long corridor. Watching her feet, she didn’t notice he'd stopped until she ran into the back of him. Gasping, she took a few steps back and held her hands up to shield herself. Dr. DeMarco stood in place, his hand twitching at his side. He balled it into a fist, fighting to keep his temper in check.
Pulling out a set of keys, he unlocked a door and flicked on a light inside the room. “Sit down. I’ll be back.”
As soon as she stepped into the room, she could hear his footsteps start down the hallway. She stood in the spot for a moment, reading his nameplate on his desk, before glancing around at the rest of the office. It was orderly, books lining a shelf and folders stacked on his desk. There weren’t any personal items, no family pictures or ‘world’s greatest dad’ coffee mugs. The walls were white and plain, everything wooden except for the black leather chairs.
It looked like the house—sterilized and cold.
She sat down in one of the chairs and folded her hands in her lap, picking at her fingernails. Dr. DeMarco returned eventually and sat down behind his desk, putting on his glasses. She risked a peek at him and saw he was reading something in a file. He sensed her eyes again and sighed dramatically. “Ask.”
“I was just wondering why we were here, sir.”
“I needed to get back to work, and you need a shot.” He pulled a book off a shelf and handed it to her. “A nurse will be around in a while, but other than that, you’re just going to be sitting here most of the day. May as well try to entertain yourself, since you apparently know how to read now.”
* * * *
The late bell sounded throughout the school just as Carmine slid into his seat in third period English. The teacher, Mrs. Chavis, shot him a look that clearly said ‘lucky fucker’ before clearing her throat and addressing the class.
“Today, ladies and gentlemen, we’re going to start our study on Dante Alighieri. Usually, I’d begin with his most popular work, The Divine Comedy, but with Valentine’s Day a month away, I thought we’d do La Vita Nuova. Can anyone tell me what that means?”
No one raised their hand, Carmine included, but Mrs. Chavis turned to him anyway. “Mr. DeMarco, care to help? I've heard a few of your female classmates suggest you speak fluent Italian.”
If by fluent she meant he knew enough to successfully offend an entire country if needed be, then yes, he was fluent.
“The New Life,” he answered, annoyed at being put on the spot.
“Exactly,” she said. “La Vita Nuova, or The New Life, is a story about Dante's love for Beatrice, from the first time he saw her until her death. Many consider it one of the greatest love stories of all time.”
Mrs. Chavis started handing out packets of the text, pausing as she set one on Carmine's desk. “Since you know Italian, I'm sure you'll be of great insight to us as we go through the translation.”
“I can't wait to hear DeMarco read us a love story,” Graham Martin called out. “It'll be like watching him grow a vag.”
Carmine snatched a piece of paper out of his notebook and balled it up, throwing it across the room. It pelted Graham in the side of his head, and he balked. The chatter of their classmates grew as Mrs. Chavis glared at Carmine. “We don't throw things in the classroom.”
“But yet it’s acceptable for him to say that crap about me?”
Graham laughed. “You can dish it out, but you can't take it? Maybe you already have a vag.”
Carmine jumped up as Mrs. Chavis got between them. “Graham, if I have to speak to you again, you’re getting detention. Same for you, Carmine. There won't be any more warnings.”
Carmine sat back down and glared at Graham from across the room. His eyes drifted to the clock. Fifty minutes until lunchtime.
* * * *
Dr. DeMarco’s office was silent, except for the sound of the occasional turned page. Haven fidgeted as the minutes slowly passed.
After a while there was a knock at the door, and Dr. DeMarco stood up to answer it. ”Good afternoon.”
A young blond-haired woman walked in, smiling sweetly at Dr. DeMarco. “Happy birthday!”
Haven froze. No one had told her it was his birthday.
“Thanks,” he said, not sounding enthusiastic as he turned back to Haven. “I’ll grab some lunch for you.”
He narrowed his eyes in a silent warning before walking out.
“I’m Jen,” the woman said once he was gone. “It’s nice to see the girl that whipped Carmine into shape. How did you manage that, anyway?”
Her heart rate spiked as Jen pulled out a needle. “I don’t know…”
Jen smiled. “It’s unexplainable, huh? That boy used to land himself or someone else in the ER every week with all the fighting he did. It’s been months since it’s happened. I know Dr. DeMarco has to be happy.”
“I don’t know,” Haven said. “I don’t even know if he knows.”
“Of course he knows. He can sense things others don’t, and he knows his kids well,” she said, shrugging like it was no big deal. “Turn around and unbutton your jeans for me, please. This has to go in the rear.”
Haven did as she was told, bracing herself.
“It’s hard to believe the worst medical attention Carmine causes anyone these days is for his girlfriend to get birth control.”
Haven winced as the needle penetrated her skin. Birth control? She was pulling her pants back up when there was a tap on the door. Jen opened it. “That was quick.”
Dr. DeMarco walked in and set two food containers on his desk, pushing one toward Haven as she retook her seat. “Being a doctor has its perks sometimes.”
“I don’t see why you get special treatment,” Jen teased.
Dr. DeMarco smiled. “This place would go down in flames without me. It’s only fair they let me cut in line in the cafeteria.”
Haven opened her container and poked at the food in front of her when Jen laughed. “It’s your birthday, so I’ll let that slide. You two enjoy your lunch. Once again, it’s nice to meet you. Don’t let those DeMarco men give you too much trouble. Sometimes you have to show them who’s boss.”
Dr. DeMarco let out a laugh at those words.
Jen started to walk out but paused in the doorway. “Plus, I've heard Carmine likes his girls kinky, so I’m sure he’d appreciate a little domination.”
The amusement died in Dr. DeMarco’s eyes, his expression twisting again to aggravation. As soon as the door shut, Haven’s hand trembled and shook the fork.
“Eat,” Dr. DeMarco said forcefully, the word harsh. She flinched and took a bite, so nauseated she had a hard time swallowing. After about ten minutes of thick tension and forcing down half of her food, she set her fork aside, hoping that would satisfy him.
He grabbed her tray and dropped it into the trashcan with a thud. She watched as he picked up his office phone and dialed a number, putting it on speakerphone as it rang. Dread rocked her when she heard the familiar voice answer the line.
“Yeah?” Carmine said. “Why are you calling me at lunch?”
“I need to see you at the hospital as soon as you get out of s
chool.”
There was a pause. “I didn’t do it.”
Dr. DeMarco sighed. “Didn’t do what?”
“Whatever you think I did.”
“Just come to my office,” Dr. DeMarco said. “I’m not in the mood for your antics today.”
He hung up before Carmine could respond, his attention shifting to Haven. “Today’s my birthday, you know.”
“Happy birthday, sir,” she said. “No one told me.”
He nodded. “That’s because there’s no reason to celebrate. It may be the day I was given life, but it’s also the day my life was taken from me. I may be able to hop into the car and drive to the store, but it doesn't mean anything. At the end of the day, anything I’m told to do, I have to do it or face death. Were you aware of that aspect of my life?”
She shook her head. She wasn’t aware of much of his life. Carmine alluded to the things his father did, but he never elaborated.
Dr. DeMarco continued after a moment. “I’ve watched it happen too many times to count. I’ve witnessed men ordered to murder their own family, and they’d either do it or die themselves. I wasn’t kidding around when I told you the man that visited the house was my master, just as no matter what I do, you’ll continue to see me as your master. Because I hold the key to your survival, just as Sal holds the key to mine. I wasn’t much older than Carmine when I got involved, and I was just as stupid then as he is now. He has no idea what it is he’s getting himself into with any of this—neither of you do. And that’s why there’s nothing happy about my birthday.”
She was too stunned to speak. He stared at her quizzically. “Did you acknowledge your birthday in Blackburn?”
She shook her head. “I don’t know what day it is.”
His brow furrowed, and Haven waited for him to say something, but instead he just picked up his pen. She figured the conversation was over and reached for the book to pass the time when Dr. DeMarco’s voice rang out once more, paralyzing her. “Are you in love with him?”