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Committed Page 11

by Velvet Vaughn


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  Voices sounded in the hallway, jarring Rachel awake. Somehow she managed to fall asleep for a few hours after her late night excursion. With the morning light, the frightening news Ben dropped on her like an unpinned grenade just waiting to detonate seemed far-fetched.

  She was not, could not be pregnant.

  She would have been able to tell if she had been raped. She would be sore or something. She closed her eyes on a sigh. Yes, she would have known if her body had been violated.

  Her thoughts drifted to Ben and the amazing kiss they shared. She smiled. No doubt about it, the man knew his way around a woman’s lips. She frowned. Tia knew that about him, too.

  She should probably be worried about confessing her real reason for being at the hospital, but she trusted Ben. She didn't know him at all, but she felt like she did, on some molecular level. Like her body recognized him instantly.

  "Time to wake up, Ms. Mead. You need to eat and use the facilities." Nurse Helen tugged Rachel into a sitting position. "Come-on, don’t dawdle," she commanded.

  April smoothed the comforter in place and sat primly on the edge of the bed.

  "A schedule of today’s activities will be posted in the sitting area. The events in bold are not optional," the nurse advised as she dispensed medication.

  Rachel followed April’s lead and stashed her pills out of sight until Helen pushed the cart out the door. She stood and dropped her tablets in the cup April held out.

  As April deposited the cup on her nightstand, Rachel noticed the glossy magazine haphazardly tossed on the top. She moved closer to read the title. American Physician. The cover depicted a very distinguished-looking man with salt and pepper hair, a mustache and goatee and arrogant brown eyes.

  April followed her gaze. "Daddy dear," she spat.

  "This is your father?"

  "Step," April instantly corrected. "That man is no father of mine."

  Rachel lifted the publication. Upon closer look April’s step-father gave her the creeps, probably because she knew what kind of man he truly was from the way he treated his step-daughter. Or maybe it was the way his eyes seemed to leap out and pierce her with their cruel intensity.

  Peter entered right on schedule and swiped the hidden contraband. Dropping the magazine to the nightstand, she made a point of looking directly into his eyes as she offered a morning greeting. His genuine return smile lit his entire face, making the scars that covered one side practically invisible.

  Though friendly to her, he only had eyes for April…and she for him. The pure affection the two shared filled the room, drawing her in, enveloping her in their love. She decided she would help them get together as soon as she found out about Molly.

  With one last wistful glance over his shoulder, Peter departed. Rachel followed April down the hall to check the schedule. The first item on the list, highlighted in bold, was group therapy. Disgruntled, she realized she could not get out of the mandatory session.

  After a light breakfast in the cafeteria, they proceeded to the music room where Dr. Butler conducted the session. Held once a week, all functional patients were required to attend. Case workers would also be on hand.

  Over forty people filtered into the room and took a seat in one of the rows of metal chairs fanned around the room in semi-circles. Soft music floated in the air from hidden speakers and an assortment of musical instruments lined one wall. An upright piano held a prominent place on a small raised platform, the top littered with sheet music.

  The energy surrounding the room suddenly shifted. Knowing with dread who she would see, Rachel twisted in her seat. Sure enough, Harley lumbered inside followed closely by Lizzy and her doll Virginia. Harley’s narrowed glare zeroed in on her, blazing with fury. Without breaking eye contact, she dropped into a chair directly behind Rachel.

  Thump, thump, thump.

  Rachel’s jaw tightened, her nostrils flared with anger. Harley repeatedly slammed her heel into the back of the seat.

  Thump, thump, thump.

  Pretending to ignore it even as her head snapped back, she refused to give the bully the satisfaction of knowing how much her juvenile attempts annoyed her.

  When she didn’t get the reaction she hoped for Harley became more aggressive. The kicks landed faster and with more force. After one particularly sharp blow, Rachel bounced out of her seat, almost tumbling to the floor.

  Harley cackled nastily.

  That’s it. Rachel shot to her feet, fists clinched, her blood boiling. She couldn’t sit quietly any longer.

  "Harley, stop it this instant."

  Rachel whirled around. She hadn’t even seen Jen enter.

  "We have talked about your anger management issues," the case worker chastised.

  "But—"

  "Do we need to revisit them?"

  Contrite, Harley shook her head, her hands pleading with Jen. For the first time, Rachel noticed the faded red scars that crisscrossed her wrists, the thick leather bands that usually covered them gone.

  Harley had tried to kill herself.

  Judging by the number of jagged lines and the faded pink, white and red color, she had tried repeatedly, and recently.

  With sudden clarity, Harley’s behavior made sense. Rachel was no psychologist, but she concluded by the way Harley dressed and acted, she felt like a man trapped in a woman’s body. She had probably been ridiculed as a child so now she used anger as a shield, effectively building a wall around herself, shutting out the rest of the world. In essence, she drew first blood with her scathing remarks before people could make fun of her.

  Harley noticed the direction of her gaze and shoved her hands in her pockets, her eyes narrowing dangerously.

  Jen cleared her throat loudly.

  With great effort, Harley mumbled, "Sorry."

  Rachel nodded her acceptance and smiled thankfully to Jen.

  Jen turned to Elizabeth. "How are you doing, Lizzy? Are you remembering to eat?"

  Lizzy chewed on her bottom lip and nodded, her attention on her doll.

  Jen brushed a hand over her pale blond hair. "Good. We want you healthy."

  A hush fell over the room as Dr. Butler waltzed in and claimed the seat at the top of the semi-circle. Three more people entered with tags clipped to their jackets resembling the one attached to Jen’s blazer. Jen smiled encouragingly at Rachel and then joined the group behind Dr. Butler.

  The counseling session lasted all morning. Patients took turns discussing dilemmas or issues. Dr. Butler provided guidance and issued competent solutions for problems ranging from one patient’s refusal to eat pudding to another’s suicidal thoughts.

  Although attendance was mandatory, participation was not. Several people declined to contribute to the discussion, Rachel included. She remained in character, sullen and silent. April kept up her charade beautifully, staring into space and twirling a lock of hair between her fingers. If she didn’t know better, she would still believe April was drugged.

  Several times throughout the morning, she tried to push the image of Ben and his talented mouth out of her mind but she kept finding her thoughts drifting back to him. Where was he right now? What was he doing? Was he doing it with Tia?

  With a muttered curse, she refocused on the session. Dr. Butler broke the assembly up into four smaller groups, each headed by a case worker. She made sure she didn’t land in Harley’s unit.

  Dr. Butler moved effortlessly around the room monitoring the dialogue. Rachel felt like a huge fraud listening to the very real troubles some of the people faced. Before her stay in Bexley, her biggest worry had been what shoes to wear with what gown for the upcoming gala.

  Reality was a harsh slap across the face.

  She led a very shallow, pampered life. It took a stint in a psychiatric hospital for her to realize she wasn’t cut out for the life of a socialite. Deep down, she had always known it, but not wanting to upset her parents, she had gone along with the pretense.

  Lunch time rolled around and Dr
. Butler dismissed the group. Most of the patients including April and Rachel headed for the cafeteria. Rapid, heavy footsteps were her only warning as an angry shove sent her flying into the wall.

  "Hey," she protested.

  "You should watch where you are going," Harley taunted. Brushing past, she snickered and nudged Lizzy with her elbow. Lizzy looked at her gloomily.

  "What was that about?" April whispered worriedly, her eyes wide and frightened. "Harley is the meanest person here. You don’t want her as an enemy."

  Too late. She suspected April had also been at the receiving end of Harley’s evilness before. Her next words confirmed it.

  "Harley was my roommate for two weeks," she whispered. "She made my life miserable, and it was no bed of roses to begin with."

  Rachel recalled the scars on Harley’s wrists with a fresh wave of sympathy, thinking her life hadn’t exactly been a cake-walk either. Still, that didn’t give the woman an excuse to treat others cruelly.

  "I don’t wish bad things on anyone," April continued, "but if someone had to disappear, I don’t know why it couldn’t be her. She's heartless."

  "Nothing to worry about," Rachel lied. "We just had a little disagreement." I called her a bitch, you know the usual.

  April’s chin lifted defiantly. "Well, if she comes back, she’ll have to fight me, too."

  Rachel swallowed the emotion that clogged her throat. She hadn’t known April long but she found a friend for life.

  Chapter Twelve

  "So Benny, how are you? Are you enjoying working at our establishment?"

  Oscar Bexley strolled forward, hand outstretched, a sincere smile on his face. Ben returned the shake, biting back the urge to correct Bexley’s use of his hated nickname. "Yeah, it’s good."

  "You used to be a cop, right? You would know a thing or two about guns."

  Warning bells sounded in his head. Without changing expression, he nodded. "A thing or two," he agreed.

  "Good, good. I want to show you something."

  He followed Bexley to his office and waited while the doctor inserted a key in the lock and opened the door. He tried to surreptitiously canvas the office while Oscar spoke. He noted a four-drawer filing cabinet next to a large mahogany desk with matching bookcases. A thick oriental carpet covered the tile floor and potted plants added greenery to the cozy space. Two leather chairs rested in front of an ornate fireplace and a matching couch pushed up against the wall beneath a large window. Thick, dark curtains that matched the ones in Frederick’s office draped casually at either side, framing the view of the exotic gardens below. Several degrees and awards hung proudly on the wall. The office screamed success.

  Bexley padded to the bookcase and withdrew a black leather case from the top shelf. "We had an incident here a few years ago. A patient became delusional and unruly. He smuggled in a knife and held a nurse hostage. Since then, we’ve been very diligent about checking personal effects. I don’t like having any weapons, especially guns, on premises so this one makes me understandably uneasy."

  Oscar worked the lock as he continued to explain, "I successfully treated a high profile client during the time of the attack. When he left, he insisted on sending me this for my protection as a thank you gift." Oscar chuckled. "He’s a card carrying member of the NRA."

  Oscar lifted the lid. Stepping closer, Ben peered into the box and let out a low whistle. Resting on a bed of crushed black velvet was a shiny new SIG Sauer P226 X-Five.

  "It is a good weapon, I take it?"

  Ben nodded absently. Good? Hell, no, not good. Try freaking awesome. The 9mm recoil semi-automatic pistol was a beauty. Stainless steel case, walnut handle, the retail price would set someone back almost two and a half grand.

  Oscar watched him closely. "I can see the lust in your eyes. Go ahead, you can pick it up and look at it," Bexley coaxed with a smile. "I know nothing about guns and don’t see myself ever shooting one. It will probably end up in my safe deposit box."

  What a shame. Fingering the gun, he tested the weight in his hand. Not bad. Not bad at all. He still preferred his Glock, which was precisely weighted to his hand, but this baby would do in a pinch. He checked the clip. Nineteen round magazine.

  No doubt about it, this was an exquisite piece of weaponry…something that a complete novice should not have in his possession.

  "Nice firearm," he understated. "Probably not for an amateur, though."

  "Whoa, don’t shoot."

  Ben lowered the weapon and spun to the voice. Arthur Michaels strolled in followed by a distinguished-looking man Ben didn’t recognize. Arthur’s arms were raised in the universal surrender sign, a grin splitting his face.

  "I was just showing Benny a gift a former patient sent me," Oscar explained.

  Ben carefully placed the gun back in the case. Michaels eyed the SIG as if it were a poisonous snake, his lips narrowing in revulsion.

  "I’m not proud of it, but guns frighten me," he said with a self-deprecating laugh. "I’ve never even held one."

  "To be honest, I feel the same way," Oscar concurred, closing the lid and locking the case. "I tried to decline the gift." He resettled the box back on the bookcase shelf.

  Michaels pivoted to Ben. "Mr. Smith, I’d like you to meet Dr. Harmon Sloane, noted surgeon and member of the Bexley Board of Directors."

  Tall with salt and pepper hair, Sloane kept his mustache and goatee neatly groomed. Ben shook his hand, instantly pegging him as an arrogant, self-important egomaniac.

  At six-three, he had never been looked down on by someone shorter than him, but Sloane did his best. Clearly vexed to be associating with the hired help, his haughty speech and pretentious swagger made it clear that he considered himself light years above a security guard.

  Ben suffered through an endless stream of meaningless conversation before excusing himself. He was off duty and scheduled to meet Jake in half an hour. Heading to his room to change, he rounded the corner and barely avoided plowing down a patient.

  "Beware the bogeyman."

  Gary. He helped subdue him one night when the man became unruly and he had spotted him several times wandering the halls, an ever-present crucifix extended in front of his body, his lips moving in silent conversation. Ben had never paid any attention to his ramblings before.

  "What did you say?"

  "Beware the bogeyman," Gary repeated. "I’ve seen him. Beware."

  "You’ve seen the bogeyman?"

  Gary grabbed his arm, nodding frantically. "The bogeyman is here. You must believe me."

  An exasperated nurse appeared and ushered Gary back to his room. He watched the man shuffle away, their gazes locked. Shaking off the odd feeling, he continued upstairs to change.

  Selecting faded jeans and a navy sweatshirt, he laced on a pair of Nikes, affixed iPod plugs in his ears and headed outside.

  Making sure he wasn’t followed, he jogged over to the local high school, bought a ticket and climbed the bleachers. The scent of freshly-brewed coffee and buttery popcorn filled the air as cheers rang out through the stands. A contest between the local football team and their fierce rivals brought out hundreds of spectators but he had no interest in the game.

  When he reached the top row, he took a seat next to a dark haired, deadly looking man in a black leather jacket.

  "How’s it hanging, buddy?" He bumped knuckles with his former partner Jake Kincaid.

  "Long, strong and itching for a thong", Jake answered at their long-standing joke. Shoveling popcorn in his mouth, he nodded at the field. "Kid’s a hell of a quarterback."

  Proving his statement, the boy dropped back, eyed the field and let a bomb rip sixty yards to an open receiver for a touchdown. Fans surged to their feet in a chorus of cheers. The metal bleachers rocked and air horns blasted happily through the air. A cannon boomed, indicating a successful extra point.

  Ben swiped a handful of popcorn and waited for the noise to die down before he turned to his friend, filling him in on what he learned so far.
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  "Nothing yet on Donelle?"

  "No, and we have a problem."

  "What kind of problem," Jake asked around another mouthful of the salty treat.

  "A friend of Molly Miller."

  "One of the missing girls?" At Ben’s nod, he added, "Is she asking questions or something?"

  "Or something,” Ben deadpanned. "She went and got herself committed."

  Jake’s brows dipped skeptically. "She sane?"

  "Completely." And beautiful and kisses like a goddess and a body to die for and…

  Jake snapped fingers in front of his face. "Yo, Colton."

  He shook his head. "Uh, sorry, what was that?"

  "I asked what the hell she’s doing there. Is she a detective?" Jake eyed him speculatively.

  God, he had to focus or Jake would pick up on his attraction to Rachel. He never had been able to hide his true emotions from his long-time friend. Jake was the only person in the world who knew how deeply Amanda’s betrayal affected him. He stood by his side, got shit-faced with him and joined in as he damned all women to hell. But when the sun arose the next morning, Jake refused to let him wallow in pity. He picked him up, dusted him off and shoved him back into the land of the living.

  If not for Jake, he would probably still be hanging out with his good buddies Jack Daniels and Jim Beam.

  He carefully schooled his features. "No, she’s not a detective, just a friend who got the runaround when she asked questions."

  "What happened?"

  "Molly called her frightened and pregnant and didn’t know how she got that way. The call was cut off and then she disappeared. When the friend made inquiries, she was informed that Molly had left on her own, except she never showed up anywhere. The friend decided to take matters into her own hands and investigate."

  "You need to get her out of there."

  "Understatement of the year," he drawled. "Besides, it’s easier said than done. I tried to force her to leave without blowing my cover. She wouldn’t hear of it. Damn headstrong female," he grumbled.

  Jake threw back his head and roared with laughter.

 

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