by Alice Ward
I knew that question hit him hard. He took a deep breath and said, “I would have him committed.”
The words were like a punch to my gut and it took me several seconds to respond. “Oh my god! I had no idea we were to that point! Is it really as bad as all that?”
“I’m afraid so, Auggie. The only treatment he responds to now is complete sedation. That means he cannot learn, cannot take part in group sessions. He can’t even hold a conversation with the doctors trying to examine him. Auggie, I can’t let you and the babies come back unless he’s confined. He cannot be trusted, not by anyone. He has a death wish.”
I didn’t want to hear the words but if Worth had said anything less, I would have accused him of lying. I knew my son. I had seen the lack of empathy; the cold, selfish way he treated the world. He didn’t fit in. He was lost to me, for the time being at least.
“Is there a possibility he’ll outgrow it, Worth?”
“I don’t know, sweetheart. It happens, I suppose, but it’s rare.” He lifted my hand to his lips. “Time will tell.”
Epilogue
Worth
It was, without a doubt, the saddest day in my life. My first-born son was being locked away from me, his mother and the rest of his family. He’d been examined by the top men in the field and they all said the same thing. “Confine him and pray for time to change him.”
There was a facility outside Lexington that was reserved for youth. I was afraid for his safety. The boys there were all problem children, some of whom had murdered. Ford was a novice, an innocent and unless they kept him separate from the general population, he would eventually have a confrontation. I only hoped they kept him with gentler patients, but I had no control over this.
I’d tried to reason with the judge. I’d offered to build a special building where Ford could be watched 24/7 by personnel and taken care of by a nursing staff. The judge, who had been one of my father’s victims, refused and I was stuck with his opinion.
I brought Auggie and the babies back in late April. There was no joy in this trip, in the progress on our new house or in the fact that it was springtime and Derby was upon us. I knew that she drove to the youth home at least twice a week and sat outside, hoping to catch a glimpse of him through a barred window. Social workers were in charge and they said they thought it best if we not visit him for a while. It seemed he was harboring a great deal of hatred for us. How do you deal with that? How do you justify when your own child hates you?
There was nothing to do but to concentrate on the little ones. They were growing rapidly and keeping Auggie busy. I had my other things to attend to, and the time I had left, I spent with Auggie and the babies.
Moving day was set for mid-summer. Walter and Mother had come up and we were going to do it all at the same time. The houses were beautiful; Beverly had out done herself. There was little joy in it though. If felt more like we were seeking shelter from a storm that may never end. In some ways, it felt like the end of the world.
We settled in and lived as nomads. Our hearts simply weren’t into any of it. I went to my clinic mechanically and pretty much let Tyler Peterson have full reins over the foundation. Auggie seemed to slump when she walked and no longer laughed or smiled. The only smiles were those of the twins and although they were infectious, eventually even they were too discouraged by the lack of response. We were all being held hostage by a mental illness we could neither diagnose or treat, much less cure.
Auggie and I made love, but it was a very strange, emotionally void engagement. We both felt as though we deserved no joy and yet we clung to one another in desperation to find something to be happy about. I finally got a colleague of mine from Boston to fly down and talk with us.
We spent the afternoon with Dr. Roger Benson, who was very highly respected in his field. We shared with him our situation with Ford and while he wasn’t there to see our son, he did express some opinions that I would make a point of following up on with Ford’s therapists.
He looked at the joyless faces of Auggie and myself, clucked his tongue and got right to the point. “This may sting a bit, but you need to hear it. You’re letting this wear you down and you will eventually fall into a depression that could be dangerous for not only you but the rest of your family. Your son is ill, as much as if he had a cancer. Time will tell if he is to be helped, but you cannot allow yourself to die with him. You have two other children and yourselves to think about.
“You must put some joy back into your lives. You are both bright, energetic, ambitious people who have so much to give to one another and to others. This foundation sounds like a wonderful idea for you, Worth. If you cannot help your son, help someone else’s. You never know what can happen until you put it out there in the universe and see what comes back.”
“Auggie, your love of horses is your salvation. Begin your work there; it is your essence. You have two more children and if you’re not careful, you will paint them with the dismal future of your oldest son. Become young parents again. Have birthday parties, take them to amusement parks and the zoo, take lots of pictures and let them lead normal lives. You have elderly parents and this isn’t fair to them. Count your blessings and include them in your lives. No matter what you do, you cannot control what is happening to Ford. There are new diagnostic procedures all the time. New medications and significant advancements in the field of mental health. I don’t have to tell you this, Worth. Give them a chance to evolve. Give him time to get through puberty and reach adulthood. Perhaps these will all connect at some point and provide a solution for him. But in the meantime, you must live.”
His words held wisdom and purpose for us. Slowly, we began to live again and didn’t allow the feelings of guilt to get in our way. Sometimes, it meant that we had to forget about Ford. It was almost as if he had ceased to exist. We still weren’t permitted to see him, so we lived without him.
Auggie and I decided to have a recommitment ceremony. We wanted to be married again, in a church with a minister and this time, our youngest children would be by our sides. We invited everyone we knew and held the ceremony in a small church in our tiny community. Our babies were sitting up and wore circlets of flowers upon their tiny heads. We blew kisses in the direction of Ford but resolved to go on without him.
That night we made love with a renewed zest. Auggie became my young bride again and my hands passed over her tender skin as though it was newly discovered. She opened herself to me and our gentleness was replaced by a frenzy born of long denial. It was a coupling of souls this time; not just two young bodies that were attracted physically. We were tied at the soul. For better or for worse.
What we didn’t expect was that the worst part would follow so closely.
Auggie
Worth’s cell buzzed in the middle of our wedding night. It was Bernie and Worth answered, his face contorting through a variety of expressions. I was trying to listen in, but their voices were low in the dark of the night and I couldn’t understand what was being said.
Worth even stood and left the room at one point, which was when I feared for the worst.
When he came back, he’d hung up and took my hands in his. “Auggie, we have to do something that could turn out very badly, but we have no choice. They’ve not left us with a choice.”
I swallowed hard, trying to not let terror seize me. “What?”
“That was Bernie and he just got a phone call from Ford. Ford was attacked earlier today by one of the roughest boys in the institution and was beaten quite badly. There was no doctor on hand to take care of him, so he was left to his own devices in the medical ward. He found a way to escape and has been in hiding until he found a way to call.”
I tried to get up, but Worth placed his hands on my shoulders, holding me down.
“Bernie is on his way to pick him up. We will see to it that he’s treated medically and then Bernie is going to take him out of state.”
My hand flew to my mouth as I tried to comprehend the implicatio
ns.
“Auggie, we can’t let him return to that facility; he may not be so lucky next time. This means our son is going into hiding. As long as Bernie is with him, things should be fine. But we have no guarantees. Bernie is one helluva good man. He is offering to give up his own freedom to keep Ford safe.”
“But… can’t we—”
Worth shook his head. “You can’t risk the babies by having them close to Ford. I can’t do it, the officials will know it is me and I won’t leave you and the babies.” Worth pressed his hands on his temples, as if attempting to keep his head from exploding. “I’m giving Bernie money and they’ll leave the state and head west. We may never be able to see either of them again; that will be up to Bernie’s discretion. One thing I know, Ford is not safe here and neither are we. We have no choice. I need you to agree to this, Auggie. It will take both of us, working together to keep all of our children safe and happy. To do this, they must be apart. Do you agree?”
I wanted to scream “no” but found myself nodding. It seemed my brain wanted to work even when my heart was dying. “That will make Bernie a kidnapper.”
“Yes, it will. I may have them leave the country entirely.”
I looked into Worth’s eyes, finding strength there. I swallowed hard. “What can I do?”
“You can forget this conversation ever took place. Never speak of it to a living soul; not even our parents. As far as we’re concerned, Ford escaped and his location is unknown. We never had that phone call and never spoke to Bernie.”
I leaned into his chest, needing his comfort, needing his warmth. “I trust you, Worth. They can’t put us all in jail.”
He kissed my hair. “We have no choice, Auggie. Ford is running the show now.”
THE END
Continue on to read BOOK THREE of The Bluegrass Billionaire Trilogy: Bluegrass Rebellion.
Bluegrass Rebellion
THE BLUEGRASS BILLIONAIRE TRILGOY
BOOK 3
Alice Ward & Jessica Blake
BOOK DESCRIPTION
The LaViere men – wealthy, controlling, self-centered and willful. Although generations separated them, they retained their legacies of power. Magnetic and perpetually driven to excel, their appetites for dominance over their women was unrelenting. While their wealth set them apart, the cost of those they destroyed was greater than any fortune imaginable.
Auggie, the copper-haired beauty who mentally jousted with her handsome Worth paid her price and yet asked for more. Liane, the sensitive creature with intuitive empathy sought to conquer her Hawk and paid her price as well – yet neither of them could deny themselves their men.
A saga of generations where wealth was measured by the foes they conquered. Psychological swordplay left only a few standing. Who would they be?
Bluegrass Rebellion is a standalone novel with an HEA and No Cliffhanger.
CHAPTER ONE
Hawk
Standing in the stirrups of my beloved Diablo, I gained a few precious inches to look down upon the rolling hillside of Carlos Acres.
Home.
I shook my head, cursing my nostalgia, and sat down on the horse, leaning forward to scratch his soft neck. They say you can’t go home again. It’s an expression generally meaning that time changes all that’s familiar while our memories are filed like so many images arranged in place but locked in time. For me, however, it wasn’t an expression — it was a reality.
From my vantage point, I’d never thought my adopted name to be more fitting. As a child, I’d longed to be a hawk; the hunter who surveyed his prey from gliding heights, ready to drop and kill with neither conscience nor warning. When it became necessary for me to choose a new name, Hawk came immediately to my lips. Sansabri was just as easy. It meant homeless in French — a fitting name for a man who had none.
Born Worthington LaViere, IV, I was the firstborn son of Worthington, III and Auggie LaViere — the very people whose estate upon which I now overlooked. Carlos Acres wasn’t my home, and for the time being, the LaVieres couldn’t be my parents. Not after what I’d done.
***
Many years ago, my sanity seemed to be in question. I can’t say that I blamed them for their diagnosis. In fact, I remembered only a small part of what went down, so I had little defense. My mind was like an old black and white silent film I saw once; flickering images that lacked depth and sound, leaving gaps that left you unsure of the ending.
A few salient facts left their impressions on me, like claws still digging under my skin. The first was that I wasn’t welcomed at home or in my family. Bernie did his best to shield me, but there were only so many excuses he could use before the bullshit bucket was empty. I knew he walked more than one line, as a man himself as well as an intermediary between my father and me. He was always tentative as if his responses to my questions could calm me or trigger a far different response.
Looking back, I thought he was afraid of me. Now that I was older, it’s more likely he was afraid of what life would deal him. He’d left so much behind in order to protect me. I remembered that much. Given his options and the world to which he’d belonged, he’d chosen to become my surrogate father.
The second fact was that Mexico was not where we belonged. It was a good idea for a few years until things calmed down and people forgot about me. Even though we moved around quite often, we were still targets. Bernie was too good looking, and I was too rich. How strange to be exiled to a land where your strongest qualities became your handicaps.
I didn’t retain that handicap for long, however. One night when Bernie was asleep, I sneaked out to investigate a group of young guys I’d watched from the window for weeks. They’d catch me watching and motion for me to come out and be with them. I was too naïve to realize their intentions had nothing to do with anything but the money they thought I had.
I caught up with them that night, and they dragged me into the shadows, stripped me and razor-slashed my face. Once they’d left, I managed to stagger to our door, naked and bleeding badly. I screamed Bernie’s name and beat my hands against the thick wood. He found me collapsed on the doorstep and carried me inside where he bathed and stitched my face as well as he could. He didn’t dare call attention to us by getting a local doctor, and I eventually passed out from the pain. Bernie stitched slowly and cautiously, applying disinfectant as he went. I finally awakened, my face wrapped in the torn strips of a white cotton sheet. When at last the bandages could stay off, he and I were forced to accept the disfiguring scars left behind. That was when I’d begun wearing sunglasses — always. I think it was my effort to hide my ugliness from an even uglier world.
Bernie’s “handicap” had caught up with him eventually as well. I knew he was lonely, and I understood that women weren’t the solution. He’d left me in our small but immaculately elegant apartment that night. He’d given me strict instructions about locking the door and shuttering the windows, no matter how curious I became.
Even though he never told me, I had a fairly good idea where he was headed. His kind frequented one part of town. The night passed slowly, and he didn’t come back. As the sun began to rise, I defied his orders and went looking for him.
After hours of searching, I finally spotted the neckerchief he wore. It matched his eyes and he rather favored it. It was hanging from a branch in a shriveled laurel tree and I clutched it in my hand as I headed for the federales.
His bandana wasn’t the only thing they eventually found. He had been beaten so badly I could barely identify him. I ordered cremation; there was no money for anything better. I dropped his ashes into the muddy trickle of a river; the only water available for a hundred miles. The man who had become my parent, my tutor and my only link to the man I was born to be was gone.
I was alone then and scared shitless. Bernie had been the connection to my family, not to mention my sole source of income. He had parceled it out as needed. I think he was afraid I’d buy drugs or do something equally stupid. So, now, as rich as I was, I was
also flat broke and totally alone. I had no idea what to do. I didn’t know how or even want to contact my father. If my parents had wanted me, they’d have brought me home long before. It seemed like they were more about rewarding Bernie for his selflessness than supporting me.
As it turned out, I happened across an American minister and his wife who had come to the country to start a mission. I knew I couldn’t use my own passport, but I managed to trade it for enough money to buy a phony American birth certificate, driver’s license and passport with my new name. The next time the minister went back to California, I was sitting in his back seat. They were good people, and I had a good story. It was enough to get me back into the country where I belonged.
California was a good place to begin a new life with a new identity. After all, three million Californians were illegal aliens, and that made a system in which it was easy to get lost. Looking back, those few years were probably the most formative of my life at that point. I had to learn how to survive. While I didn’t naturally fit the beach bum look, I took it on. Eventually, it was me.
I grew to just over six-foot-three with deep blue eyes. My hair had become a sun and bleach-enhanced head of curly blond. Working odd jobs at first, I tied in with a group of young people who crammed, all fifteen of them, into a retro-style trailer across the street from the ocean. While drugs were abundant, I’d seen enough of how they screwed with people’s lives in Mexico to steer wide.
I found a job with a beachside peda-cab company and eventually saved enough money to begin my own, and then to franchise. Bernie had tutored me to the equivalent of a high school diploma, enrolling me in every virtual school he could. With that advantage, I enrolled in the university and emerged with a pocket of degrees that were nothing more than alternate identities in a world where life was a series of passports to the opportunities you sought.
Not remembering a great deal about my parents, for whatever reason, I had to fill in some gaps with imagination. I remembered my father had a string of highly successful clinics, so I figured that’s where my head for business originated. I couldn’t remember him being at home very often, and when he was, he seemed caught up in some sort of “greater plan,” making him unavailable to me. I knew I should remember more from those years. After all, I wasn’t set aside until I was thirteen.