Madness

by J. L. Vallance

  “This is how you found him?” he asked, looking around the room.

  “Yes,” I replied. “They back door was kicked in.”

  “Can you show me?”

  I walked him to the kitchen, showed him around, shut the door and locked it the best I could. The officer asked me a few more questions, ones that I had no answers for, before explaining he’d need to get a written statement later. I nodded my head robotically, feeling the shock begin to wear off. I followed the officer and paramedics out the front door. After locking up, I climbed in my car and followed them to the hospital.

  My hands shook uncontrollably as I fought to regain control of my nerves. Who in the name of all that is holy would work him over like that? And why? For fuck’s sake. . . that was torturous. I tightened my hands on the wheel. They were still streaked with his blood. My stomach roiled with nausea.

  After we reached the hospital, I sat in the waiting room. It was too real and too familiar to be in the sterile and white space. Bright images of my stay came to the forefront, followed quickly by vivid pictures of my father, wasting away in a hospital bed. My body tensed and was covered in a light sheen of sweat. My limbs began to tingle—my body warning me that panic was coming soon if I didn’t rein in the anxiety. Not that I really had any control over that. Anxiety was seated comfortably in the driver’s seat. As always, that pompous bitch.

  I waited, sending multiple texts out to Max and Karleigh, doing my best to keep them posted until I knew more. An hour after we arrived, a nurse came for me, taking me back into the room where Rory lay on a cot, his eyes closed, face still bloodied and even more swollen.

  “The doctor wanted to talk with you,” she said, motioning to a chair. “He’ll be right in.”

  I skipped the chair and stood at Rory’s bedside, taking his hand in mine. He didn’t move with the touch. His skin was warm and soft. I’d missed the multiple cuts—cuts that proved he fought back—across his knuckles back at the apartment. That was small potatoes compared to the state of his face. I reached a hand up, brushing his hair back, not missing the sigh that escaped his lips.

  “Francesca?”

  I tore my eyes from Rory, taking in the tall, gray-haired man standing in the door. He wore powder blue scrubs with the top tucked in. His light blue eyes were framed with silver, wire-rimmed glasses. He gave me a soft, empathetic smile. God, they must teach them that in med school. Smile and then sock them in the crotch with agonizing truths.

  “Yes?” I replied.

  “My name is Dr. Sterling,” he introduced, crossing the room to shake my hand. “Mr. O’Neill asked me to speak to you, explain his injuries.”

  “Okay,” I responded, nodding my head.

  “He has a small orbital fracture on the right, and he had one laceration above his left eye there,” he explained, pointing to the area. “We’ve stitched that for him. Now, more serious is the fracture of his radius and ulna. He will be going to surgery for repair within the next couple of hours.”

  “Is he okay other than that, I mean, is his head okay?”

  “He will be fine,” he reassured me. “We’ve given him something for pain and something to help him relax. Do you have any questions?”

  I had a million and absolutely none all at once.

  “No, thank you, Doctor.”

  Dr. Sterling nodded again, gave me another sad yet hopeful smile, and walked out of the room. I crumbled into the chair, watching the steady rise and fall of Rory’s chest as he slept deeply. I looked down at myself and grimaced. I may have scrubbed his blood free from my hands, but it remained streaked across my chest and on my shorts and bare legs. The tears threatened to come, but I fought back. I resolved myself to finding strength in silence as well as knowing that with time and healing, Rory would be okay.

  At least physically. Emotionally? That remained up in the air.

  **

  I sat in the room with Rory as he slept off and on after surgery. Every time he opened his eyes, I was there—watching him, waiting for him to need me. He would look at me briefly before drifting back to sleep. A small part of me wondered if he did it to avoid talking. I had a lot of questions, and he would be answering them.

  “Go home and get some sleep,” he grumbled close to midnight. I stood and walked to the side of the bed.

  “I’m staying.”

  “You’re stubborn.”

  “I learned from the best.”

  “Oh yeah, who is that?” he asked, licking his lips.

  “Patrick Winters,” I answered. “My dad.”

  “I see.”

  “Rory, what happened today?” I asked. “Who did this?”

  He smiled, although it was crooked. A little laugh escaped. I had a moment to ponder the possibility that he was delirious from the pain meds. Or maybe just the pain.

  “Can I have some water?”

  I grabbed the cup from the bedside table and handed it to him. He emptied it in four large gulps before handing it back to me and running the back of his hand over his lips.

  “Rory?”

  “It would seem that I can’t just live a life untainted.”

  He went silent, closed his eyes, and let me believe for a moment that he might drift off to sleep. If I allowed it.

  “What does that mean?” I asked, touching his hand.

  “It means that I make mistake after mistake. And I’ll never learn from any of them,” he answered. “I have more addictions than I can keep track of. Anything that can give me a thrill—keep my mind off my problems. Fucking thing is, all they do is give me more problems.”

  “Just tell me.”

  “Doogan’s his name. He’s a real fucker. I’m into him for thirty grand.”

  “Thirty grand—you’re talking money? For what?”

  “He’s a bookie, Frankie.”

  “So he kicked your ass? Because you can really pay him if he makes you unable to work or worse, kills you!”

  “Yeah, well that’s how they operate in his line of work.”

  This is how life is for him. It’s second nature to be running, to be boozing, to have one foot in the grave and one on the pavement. I’m supposed to have a child with him, to live this life? How? Every time I let myself believe he’s changing, he’s growing and evolving, something new creeps out to slap me in the face.

  “What happens next?” I asked, exhausted with it all. I turned from him and sat back in the chair, resting my head in my hands.

  “He took my car, said it’s his, and that will take my balance down to twenty. I have two weeks to pay him.”

  “Or?” He glanced over at me, his face giving me the answer he didn’t dare to speak. “And you have nothing to give, right?”

  “If I did, I wouldn’t have had my face knocked in and my arm busted,” he answered. “Don’t worry about it, Frankie. I’ll figure something out.”

  That was my fear. He’d figure something out that would be markedly worse than what he already faced. Because that’s what boys did. They did stupid, stupid things. Especially this boy it would seem.

  “You’re playing with fire, O’Neill. All these idiotic things you keep doing, they are going to catch up to you. Sooner rather than later.”

  “You don’t think I know that?” he snapped, sitting forward in the bed. “I know I am a fuck up. The only good choice I have made in my life is to pursue you.”

  “I guess that depends on perspective.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “This, Rory, this. . . relationship, it’s so complicated. We have so many problems on our own, and then you add us together. I don’t know whether I should keep trying or run away.”

  “I’ll run after you,” he replied without hesitation.

  I nodded my head and looked out the window.

  “Hey, it will all work out, Bubbles. I promise.”

  All of my hopes for the night had been dashed when I walked into his apartment. The thought of telling him that he would be a father flew out the window as I
raced behind the ambulance. I needed more time to think, to fix what was going on in his messed up world. I had to go see Doogan.

  Chapter 28

  I’ve been afraid in my life. Fear was an emotion I’d been well acquainted with, whether I cared for it or not. Seeing Doogan and his goon brigade crash into my apartment didn’t bring me fear. Oddly, it brought relief. I knew he was coming; it’s why I left the shop when I did. What if I hadn’t been there and Frankie had? The thought of what could have happened made me physically ill.

  The fear that coursed through me didn’t come from the merciless beating I withstood. It came the moment I opened my eyes and looked at Frankie’s frightened face. I wasn’t just scared, I was devastated. I put her through the worst. Over and over.

  Max had been right.

  I should have walked away from her long ago. Before we reached our end, I’d break her beyond the point of repair. Not because I wanted to. No, I loved her too fucking much. It would be because I’m such a fucking idiot, and I only have the capacity to destroy.

  Rory O’Neill—destroyer of goodness.

  Frankie stayed at my side all night. She slept in that stupidly uncomfortable looking chair. Her face looked soft and relaxed, and my bones ached to hold her. My heart ached to have a different life with her.

  As long as I stayed, as long as I continued to hold onto my addictions—to Ryan—I’d be doomed to fail. I’d be doomed to destroy her.

  I had to leave.

  Before it’s too late.

  **

  Five phone calls, three stops, and two threats later, I stood in front of the building where I was guaranteed Doogan ran his business from.

  It looked like a simple bar from the outside. Brick front, a few large windows through which I could see dark wood furniture, and some muscle out front to guard the gates. I sat in my truck across the street, the thick envelope resting in my bag, pressed against my thigh, branded me a fool.

  I woke in that hospital room and made two decisions. The first was that I was going to pay this Doogan off for Rory. Luckily, I had a nice nest egg I’d been saving since I took over the winery that I could use. I had plans to buy a big house in the middle of nowhere. A place where I could lose myself. I still had that plan; it would just take a little longer now. Fact was, I loved Rory. I loved him enough to put myself on the line to ensure his safety. After all, I needed him. We had a baby coming.

  The second decision was that while he might not be perfect, neither was I. Even with my many imperfections, he chose me. And I chose him too. I made the decision to get through this Doogan situation and then ask Rory to move in with me. We’d get to the baby news. I needed a few moments to catch my breath.

  I opened the door and climbed down from the truck. The muscle across the street watched every step as I crossed the street and stuck out an arm to halt me as I reached for the door.

  “I think you are looking for another bar to get a drink, Miss,” he advised in a gravelly voice.

  I met his icy stare, noted the swelling around his eye along with the potentially broken nose, and smiled on the inside. All I could do was hope that Rory was the cause of that damage.

  “No, I think I am looking for Doogan. He is here. I’ve confirmed as much with a couple people.”

  “What business do you have with Mr. Doogan?”

  “The private kind,” I replied, crossing my arms over my chest.

  “Look—”

  “No, you look,” I interrupted, finding lady balls somewhere. “I have business with him since he decided to knock the fuck out of someone I care about. Either he can see me now, or I can go to the cops. You tell me what would be better?”

  He eyed me cautiously before grabbing me by the wrist and hauling me into the bar.

  There is nothing more suspicious than an empty bar during happy hour. And I mean empty—there were damn near tumbleweeds moving across the floor. A lone bartender stood behind the bar, eyeing me like I was fresh filet. No music played, there were no TVs playing sport stations. There was nothing. It was all just a front for the illegal activity that went on behind closed doors.

  “Wait here,” tall, dark, and surly ordered before disappearing down a dark hall.

  I sat where I was told, my nerves running wild as I looked around the bar. My mind started to wake from its long hibernation and was berating me for my never ending stupidity.

  “Let’s go.”

  I looked up to the entrance of the dark hall, looked at the muscle that had ordered me to stay put, and followed his new command. I met him where he stood and wanted to deck him when he grabbed my wrist roughly and dragged me down the corridor.

  “You don’t have to drag me like a child. I was doing as you asked,” I snapped, attempting to pull my arm free. Attempt was all I did.

  He grunted his response, pulling me farther into the dark hall. Once we finally reached the end, he grabbed the handle of a large black painted door and opened it roughly. He pushed me inside, releasing my arm, causing me to nearly fall to the floor. I cringed at the thought of my bare skin touching the grimy looking carpet that may have once been tan but was now spotted and covered in a thick layer of dirt.

  “Thanks a million, jackwad,” I seethed, giving him my best death glare. He laughed in response.

  “You don’t belong in a place like this, girl.”

  I turned my head slowly to look at the man behind the desk. He was dressed in a sharp black suit, a green silk tie around his neck. Oh the lethal things I could do with that tie. His face was framed in neat red curls and his jade eyes stood out, piercing me where I stood. He was handsome in a menacing way. Like he could be a fighter or a. . . bookie.

  “Where I don’t belong, Doogan, is a hospital, watching over someone you tuned up.”

  “It is unwise to speak of things, to make accusations, when you know nothing of me or my business.”

  “I got to see your work,” I replied. “Rory O’Neill—he tells me he owes you twenty grand?”

  “I did not see that coming,” Doogan said, rising from his chair, coming to stand in front of me. “O’Neill sends a naive and unprepared girl to do his bidding?”

  “O’Neill has no idea I’m here,” I answered, lifting my chin. “Is that what he owes, twenty?”

  He eyed me speculatively, and my skin began to crawl with unease. I was such a moron for coming here. But what was my other choice? Should I have called and made an electronic payment over the phone or sent a money order? Perhaps PayPal? No, these men were in the business of face to face dealings.

  “We could work something out. Take a little off the top.” His voice smoldered as he reached a battered hand up to touch my cheek. I nearly vomited in my mouth, pulling back from his grasp. I wouldn’t want him to touch me even if I hadn’t known he’d used those hands to beat Rory to a bloody pulp less than twenty-four hours earlier. “Then O’Neill wouldn’t have to struggle to find the twenty large he still owes me.”

  “He doesn’t have to struggle,” I snapped, pulling the manila envelope from my bag and slapping it against his chest. “Here is all twenty. Pay him no more visits and take no more bets from him. He’s out of the game. And for the record, I’m not some whore that can be pimped out to resolve bets.”

  Doogan tipped his head back, his curls slipping from around his face, and he laughed. The sound echoed around the room, and Muscles joined in. I gritted my teeth and waited for them to finish.

  “You are far more than just a whore,” he sneered. “But I can appreciate your fire, girl. I’ll take your money, but I’ll make no guarantee that I’ll not take any further bets from O’Neill.”

  “He is ill. You should feel ashamed for taking advantage—”

  “You are very lucky you have made it this long unharmed. Don’t come into my house and tell me my business, girl,” he snapped, grabbing my arm. “I make my living preying on the ill. If they’re dumb enough to come to me, they face the consequences of that choice.”

  “You are suc
h a noble man.” Anyone in the room could see the sarcasm tainting those words.

  “More noble than most. I allowed him to live. A lesser man would have killed the little loser.”

  I smiled and fought against the anxiety ramming into my body. This man is a monster. If Rory were to continue any involvement with him, he’d surely end his life. Probably mine as well.

  “Thank you for meeting with me, Doogan,” I said, knowing I’d only be asking for ill fortune if I continued to stand there and poke at him.

  “O’Neill will not be getting his car back, but he is square. Don’t come here again, girl. You won’t be lucky enough to make it out a second time.”

  I didn’t hesitate when he released me, I turned and took off for the door—where I met Muscles and was manhandled once more down the long hall and out into the sun-filled street. My pulse raced in my throat, and my palms were coated in sweat as he shoved me forcefully.

  “Heed his warning.” His words grated against my overly sensitive skin, and I waved a hand at him as I walked across the street and climbed into my truck.

  I sat there, unmoving, unbreathing, for a few minutes. My mind was blank, and my hand shook as I fought to fit the key into the ignition. All I wanted was to go home, have a cup of tea, and take a long nap. I wanted to take a shower to remove the heebie jeebies that being in Doogan’s office gave me, and I wanted to forget the whole experience ever happened.

  My phone rang, and I answered.

  “What the fuck were you thinking?” Rory snapped without giving any greeting. “They released me over an hour ago. Max picked me up and I had him bring me to your place. Get the fuck away from Doogan’s and get here.”

  He hung up without me giving any response. I threw my phone on the seat next to me and started toward home. What the shit? Did Doogan have Rory on insta-dial? Was he pressing the call button as I turned my back from him?