Sonata by Moonlight

by A. E. Easterlin

  Mercy, she was pathetic. She needed to get to work; she didn’t have time for sexual fantasies about her lover. She could spend all day thinking about him, wanting him, missing him. The way they’d left things, she might have a long wait before she talked to him again. She wanted to tell him about Jess, but if he was going to continue avoiding her, she wouldn’t have that chance.

  “Brodie,” she whispered under her breath. “You can run, but you can’t hide. Don’t give up on us. You don’t want that…and neither do I.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  The minute Allison walked into her therapy room, she knew something was terribly wrong. Shep, Jon, and the guys were all on the lookout for her. Their bodies alert, frozen expressions on their faces, their gazes flashing warning signals. Danger. She followed their glances to the other side of the room and sucked in a breath. Her heart sank.

  Sam Bennett. Wild-eyed and tense, shaking, shell-shocked, holding a long, wicked knife in front of him. Where the hell had he gotten a knife? It took an act of God to get through hospital security these days.

  He was sweating. Distended veins stood out like a road map in the pallor of his face. His gaze locked on hers, a mask of sheer malevolence eclipsing his normally acquiescent expression. There was no doubt in her mind he meant business. He raised the knife and pointed the tip of the blade directly at her. Why? Why this? Why now?

  In full protection mode, Gabe pushed her behind him, but she shook her head. Physical encounters were a part of the job. Trained for the unexpected eventuality of violence, Allison put a restraining hand on Gabe’s arm and moved slowly from behind him.

  Sam needed help. If she turned her back on him now, what would it say about her ability or the validity of her treatments? She’d spent the last four years of her life dedicated to a therapy with the proven potential to heal the shattered minds of damaged men and women. Sam Bennett was on the frontlines of the battle—no way would she walk away. She had to try and reach him.

  She stepped close to Jon and whispered in his ear, “Security.” He quietly back-stepped from the room while Joe flanked Gabe. They weren’t going to let Sam hurt her. She took a step; they took a step. Behind her back, she motioned for them to stand down. Sam was standing on a precipice, possibly delusional. She wanted to defuse the situation, not exacerbate it.

  “Sam,” she said calmly. “I know you’re upset. I understand. Whatever it is, we can work through it, I promise. But you have to put the knife down. Put it down, and we can talk about whatever is bothering you.” She took a step closer to him, hands by her side. Slowly. Non-threatening.

  Sweat coursed down his florid face. “Work through it? How? Can you bring my wife and child back to me? Can you convince her not to marry that son of a bitch who stole her from me? They’re taking my boy to Virginia, can you believe that? Getting married, and taking him away where I’ll never see him again?” His voice rose as he choked out his misery.

  This, then was the catalyst. The event that kept him locked in pain. His wife abandoning him, tearing apart his family. His support system had failed completely. Not only had his immediate family in Pennsylvania turned their backs on him, but his wife had, also. His heart as well as his mind was in danger.

  Adrenaline rushed through her veins. Her heart pounded. If she could build on this, it might be possible to facilitate a healing.

  Allison sat on the chair next to him. The guys faded back, giving her privacy to work, alert to come to her aid if needed. Keeping her voice soft, she took Sam’s calloused hand in hers. “I can’t do anything about your wife’s decision to remarry. Sometimes we just have to face the disappointments in our lives and go on, and it’s rarely easy. But you’re a father. There is no way your wife can refuse to let you see your son. Don’t you see? By threatening us, you’re playing right into their hands, giving them a reason to keep him away from you. You don’t want them to be afraid you’ll hurt the boy, do you? You’re a responsible man, a good father. You’ve come so far. Please don’t throw it all away.”

  Some of his desperation faded, and the knife slipped a fraction of an inch. His hand began to shake uncontrollably. “It’s too late.”

  She shook her head, and leaned in to make eye contact. “It’s not too late. It’s never too late. You’re better, but you’re not well. And you’ve worked so hard to recover from your injuries. It would have destroyed a lesser man. You’re stronger than you think. Please, let me help you through this. It’s what I do; what I’m here for. It’s what you’re here for.”

  Reaching her hand toward the disturbed man, she gently tugged on the top of the knife blade. “Sam? May I please have the knife?”

  Security noisily breached the door and filled the entrance of the room. Perceiving a threat, Sam tightened his hold on the weapon and once again pointed the blade. Before anyone could react, his arm snaked out, wrapped around her neck, and he jerked her hard against his chest. Shoving the blade against the tender skin at her throat, he hissed through his teeth. “Stay back! Come any closer, and I swear I’ll cut her.”

  Allison schooled herself not to overreact. Any sudden movement could provoke a strike. She swallowed against the sting of the blade. Sam meant business. She could smell his fear. Could he smell hers?

  “Sam,” she whispered. “Please.” The realization of her own mortality flashed through her brain. All she could think about was Brodie. How much she loved him. How much she needed him. How much she wanted to be in his arms—just one more time.

  Her heart skipped a beat as Joe edged around the side, slowly inching closer to her. Sam caught the movement out of the corner of his eye and swiveled in his direction. The sting of the blade forced a whimper from her throat. The knife pressed her tender flesh and she felt a trickle of blood drip from under her chin. Allison swallowed but dared not move.

  “Sam, don’t,” she begged. “You don’t want to do this. Think of your son. Think of what this is doing to your chances of a relationship with him.”

  The four uniformed men at the door moved forward slightly, and Sam’s eyes grew wide.

  “Get back,” he yelled in panic. “I’ll cut her! I swear it!”

  Hospital security didn’t carry weapons, but they were big, burly men. Their size alone was intimidating. She knew they’d been trained to handle situations like this. But Sam had crossed the line—he wasn’t thinking clearly. If he reacted, there was a real possibility they’d both be hurt, and he’d have one more trauma to overcome. And she could be dead.

  She held up her shaking palm, warning the guards to stop, waving them away. Reluctantly, they stood down, backtracked, and hovered outside in the hall. Knowing they were there and ready to assist, Allison spoke softly to the troubled man.

  “Sam, take a deep breath and listen to me. You don’t want to hurt me. I know you don’t. You’re hurting and scared. I am, too. But I want to remind you of how valued you are; how much we care about you. How much your service has meant to the entire country. You’ve come here every week and bared your soul. We may not have walked in your shoes, but each man here has experienced some of the same pain. They know what you’re going through, and we can help you through this. You’re an important part of our group, and every one of us is proud of the progress you’ve made.”

  “Yeah, buddy,” Jon interjected from the left. “You’re doing great. Don’t throw it all away. You don’t want to hurt Ms. Chandler. She’s on your side, man. Let her go. You don’t really want to hurt her.”

  Sam’s head moved and from the corner of her eye, she saw him searching the faces of one man after the other. She could hear his ragged breath, feel a loosening of the tension in his arm as the muscles in his neck relaxed and his shoulders dropped. A heavy sigh escaped his lips. He relaxed his hold on the knife and eased his grip on her body.

  She held still, not wanting to provoke him, and tried to breathe evenly. “The nightmares and breaks with reality aren’t your fault,” she continued. “Give me a chance—continuing therapy can make
a huge difference. Every step you take forward is a victory for all of us. Please, let us help you. We know what you’re going through. We care about you.”

  Gradually, without being aware of it, Sam lowered the knife. She gingerly removed it from his fingers and threw it across the room. One of the men—Joe?—grabbed her arms and pulled her from the danger zone. She watched as the wounded warrior slumped, and his body began to shake uncontrollably. One of the guys handed her a bottled water. She twisted the cap off and handed the bottle to Sam. He gulped it down without taking a breath.

  Then, “I’m sorry…I’m sorry…I’m sorry,” his voice rumbled low in his chest. “Please, forgive me. I don’t know what came over me. I got the news about my ex’s marriage and that she was moving out of state, and everything went berserk. I’m sorry if I hurt you, Ms. Chandler.” He buried his head in his hands. “God…how long is this shit going to go on?”

  “You’re all right. This is an episode, nothing more. It sometimes happens during treatment. Out there on the battlefield, if the odds are stacked against you, if the enemy is at the gates, do you give up?”

  Shep interrupted. “No. Because your unit is depending on you. During an attack, we might have to fall back and we may lose ground. But we don’t run. We dig in and fight. You do what you have to do to get the job done.”

  Allison walked over and resumed her seat beside Sam. “It’s the same here. We’re battling an enemy that wants to destroy us. So we’ve taken a step back, and now we’ll regroup. But we’re not going to quit. The battle is why we’re both here. And together we’ll win. Now, do you feel like we could continue?”

  Sam nodded, lips pursed in determination. “Sorry, guys.” He met each comrade’s gaze square on.

  Allison took a deep breath and said to Gabe. “Please let the people in the hall know we’re all okay, and then close the door. Remember, everyone, this is just us—when we’re here we’re in a safe place to share. In this room we can expose our deepest fears and most vulnerable emotions. No recriminations. No apologies. That’s what we just experienced. Understood?”

  Checking Sam to make sure he was okay for her to continue, she addressed the group in a calm, steady voice. “Everyone take a deep breath and have a seat. Relax. We’re all good.” She moved toward the piano and took her seat. “There are a few personal favorites I’d like to play for you this morning. Songs that have been of special comfort to me when I was in a dark place. Let’s try something. Someone dim the lights. Good. Now, close your eyes. Let’s all think about a place and time that was special to us. A vacation spot, or a happy occasion, or being with a person you love, someone who makes you smile. Clear your minds of any negativity, open yourself to the music, just be quiet and listen. Are we ready?”

  She played Claude Debussey’s “Clair de Lune,” and “Memories” from the musical Cats, then Camille Saint Saëns’ “The Swan,” and ended with Chopin’s famous “Raindrop Sonata.” All comforting, calming pieces, chosen to tap into the emotions of the men in the room, helping resolve the heightened drama of Sam’s break.

  By the end of the hour, the men gathered around their comrade with encouraging man-hugs and fist bumps. Allison was so proud of these men, of what they’d achieved. They’d progressed so far. Her heart warmed with gratitude, not only for their response to her but to and for each other.

  Sam followed her around the room with regretful eyes, apologizing profusely for scaring her, for threatening her. She reassured him with a gentle hand on his shoulder. “I’m fine. Try to be alert to things that could trigger your episodes. If you feel yourself losing control, call me. I’m here for you anytime.”

  Crisis averted.

  Allison thanked them for attending and was the first to leave the room. It was then the shaking began. She searched the faces of the crowd in the hall. She wanted Brodie, needed his broad chest and strong arms to hold her.

  “Brodie,” she whispered under her breath. “Brodie,” she cried a little louder.

  Mary Leo elbowed the people crowding the doorway. She found Allison and quickly moved to her side. She examined her face, searching for signs of shock, and hustled her toward her office.

  “You handled that very well, Allison,” she said, stroking and patting her arm. “There’s a scratch on your neck. I can clean it up for you, or Dr. Maxwell can take a look at you.”

  “Just get me a little antiseptic. It’s nothing.” But her hands were still shaking when she took the alcohol prep from Dr. Leo. Nerves. Reaction to the adrenaline dump and to the realization that so many things could have gone wrong in there. She was so very grateful nothing did.

  Her head swung toward the door as she heard sounds coming from the hall. Security had their hands on Sam’s arms and were escorting him from the therapy room. She glanced at Dr. Leo, a silent question on her lips.

  “Examination room,” she answered. “Dr. Randall is going to admit him for observation. Are you considering filing charges with BPD?”

  She was in the middle of telling Dr. Leo an absolute no when Jess Harper elbowed his way through the doctors, nurses, and security. His frantic gaze searched the corridor until he saw her sitting in Dr. Leo’s office. He loomed in the doorway, brows furrowed, his face contorted with worry.

  “My God, Allison, I just heard what happened. Are you all right?” Before she knew what he was doing, he stalked in, pulled her into his arms, and hugged her tight to his chest. Hands on her shoulders, he pushed her back, held her directly in front of him, and gave her a gentle shake.

  “I was coming to your office with a list from my mother of the faculty and students who volunteered to play at the fundraiser when I overheard all the commotion, and a nurse told me you’d had a bad incident during your therapy group.” His gaze roved her body, as if making sure she wasn’t hurt. He pulled her close again. “You scared the life out of me. Can I get you anything? Take you to your office? You look like you could use a few minutes.”

  “No, Jess,” Mary Leo protested. “Why don’t you take her home? We can handle things here.”

  “That’s silly. I’m all right,” she reassured them. “Really. I’m trained for situations such as this. Both of you, I appreciate your concern, but please go on about your business. I could use a cup of coffee, but I’m not going home.” Still, she leaned into Jess as he led her out into the hallway.

  Just as they reached the door, she caught sight of a man in her peripheral vision and stiffened. With Jess’s arm firmly around her, and a sinking sensation in the pit of her stomach, she cried aloud.

  “Brodie!”

  He must have heard. He shouldered the doctors and nurses aside and rushed in her direction. His gaze lasered on her. Then he froze, face white, and glared daggers at Jess. No hint of warmth or sympathy or caring visible, he coldly raked her body with a disdainful smirk. His gaze swiveled from one to the other before he turned on his heel and left.

  Allison moved to run after him, but Jess held her back. All color draining from her face, she called through a throat traumatized by Sam’s attack, heart sinking as she watched the man she loved turn away from her.

  “Damn stubborn man,” Jess barked.

  “No,” she said quietly, her hand on his arm. “Let him go.”

  “He doesn’t know, Allison, and you need him.” He removed her hand and took off after Brodie. Jess spat out a curse under his breath. “Son of a bitch! Slow down.”

  She stared at Brodie’s angry figure rooted at the bank of elevators. “Don’t worry. Things couldn’t get any worse. I’m not sure it matters anymore.”

  ****

  Brodie felt Mary Leo join him by the elevator and realized he couldn’t avoid her. He paused, waiting for the dressing down he knew he deserved. She’d already pushed the down button, but he punched it a few times anyway, impatient, hoping to avoid the inevitable.

  She narrowed her eyes and shook her head in disgust. Damn. After the intimate little scene between Allison and Harper, a disapproving woman was all he ne
eded. She wasn’t going anywhere. They waited in silence until he relented and looked down at her.

  “Dr. Leo,” he said, acknowledging her presence.

  “Colonel Miller,” she returned. And, in her own inimitable style, she added, “You, sir, are an ass.”

  Showing her disgust and exasperation, she shook her head and sighed. He felt about four years old and three feet tall. But he was too angry to care.

  “Yeah, I am. But she doesn’t need me. She has Harper.”

  “Don’t be a fool as well as an ass. I don’t know what your feelings are for Allison, but hers for you are very special. Don’t let what you think you saw back there jeopardize your relationship. You won’t get anywhere by running away. Make up your mind and stake your claim. Or you might regret it for the rest of your life.”

  She faced him, glaring from every inch of her five-foot-two frame. “A woman gets a particular look in her eye when she cares for a man. The color deepens, the muscles soften. It’s a very revealing phenomenon. Did you know Allison watches you that way when you aren’t looking? She has extra-sensory perception where you’re concerned. And you wouldn’t be so jealous of Mr. Harper if you didn’t care for her just as much. Life’s short, Colonel Miller. We have no guarantees of tomorrow. You should know that better than anyone. Take my advice and don’t throw away the best thing you’ve ever had.”

  Brodie clenched his fists at his side, a tic working in his cheek. “Shit! I’ll take the stairs.” And down he went.

  He knew Dr. Leo was right, but it didn’t help. A buddy in security at the VA had called him about what went down in Allison’s session, and he’d run from the football field straight to the VA. If her life was being threatened, sick or not, the man who dared threaten her was going down. By the time he got there, however, she’d defused the situation and was using it as a learning experience. Damn fool woman. She should be more careful. Men weren’t responsible for their actions when they were in a full-blown episode. He should know.