Naturally, with her mind in such a whirl, she’d nearly locked herself out of his apartment by her first two failed attempts at cracking the elevator code. When finally she stepped inside and the doors closed in front of her, she whispered, “Son of a bitch…”
Upon reaching the top floor, she had to navigate through yet another maze of security, punching in more numbers. It didn’t help matters that she had five hundred other things on her mind.
Finally, as she rushed down the hallway toward his front door, she could hear the echoes of The Style Council’s “My Ever Changing Moods” playing softly in the background. The soothing jazz beat peppered with powerful lyrics of a soul lost somewhere in a conflicting world of bitterness and sweetness lured her closer.
“You’re crying,” Drew said immediately as he hovered in the foyer in his bare feet with his crisp white shirt hanging outside his jeans. Taking her bag from her shoulder, he hustled her through and closed the door just as quickly. “Maxine…what’s wrong, little one? What has you upset?”
Before she could compose a logical answer or make an attempt to stop her tears, she whispered, “Drew…oh, Drew…”
That soft gaze faded to panic as he attempted to figure out this sudden shift within Maxine. Last he saw her, she was begging for kisses and looking forward to spending the evening together in anticipation of her next scene. Now, he couldn’t discern her emotions, and Drew loathed nothing more than losing control.
“What’s this all about?” he spat, throttled into defense mode.
The fear and concern in his eyes made her shudder. She didn’t want it to be like this with her own show of emotion overflowing. He needed her right now. Her own thoughts and feelings could wait. However, she couldn’t ignore her own compassion for him.
“Drew, I didn’t mean…” Maxine reached out but didn’t touch him. Fear exploded within her—not of Drew himself, but in apprehension that she could obliterate her chances with him by her own hurry to jump to conclusions. “I…can we sit down?”
Lips falling open, he forced himself to relax—to take a step back from her. She was scared. And he couldn’t have that. “I’m sorry,” he said at last. “Come, Maxine.”
Drew hooked his arm around her back sans his usual air of affection. Regardless of how hard he tried to emulate that things were fine, he remained rigid to the touch—to any touch—as he led her through the cavernous room toward the sofa.
“Can I get you anything before we talk here?” he asked. With the shake of her head, he took the seat beside her and lifted his leg up on the couch to maintain some distance between them. He had no idea what the hell was on her mind—what the fuck he could have done to upset her—but he had to know, and he was an impatient person. “Tell me what’s going on, Maxine.”
With great reluctance, she reached out to take his hand, whispering, “May I?”
“Of course,” he said and offered her a promising squeeze. “Talk to me…”
He was already on to her. It was now or never. But she promised herself that she wouldn’t badger him to reveal a single detail.
“Drew, I just want you to know that this doesn’t matter to me—I mean…it matters, but not in the sense of making or breaking anything here…with us…”
While she rambled, he leaned in closer. “What are you talking about?”
Conflicted, Maxine held her tongue as she scrambled to find the right words. She felt as if her own troubles were so insignificant to the garish memories through which he suffered every day of his life. Nothing seemed even remotely adequate to say to him.
“You’ve been so dear to me. You’ve helped me—you’re still helping me—through my problems,” she began with considerable trepidation. “But that’s all trivial compared to what you've been through.”
“It's not trivial, little one,” he tried to assure her. “And I know how much you're hurting. I understand that all too well...”
Touching her hand to his cheek, brushing her fingers over his lips, Maxine said, “Never as much as you are, Drew...” she murmured. “Never. And one day, I hope you'll be able to tell me everything. But I'm not going to push you...”
Drew stiffened once more, thoughts consumed by indecision. Eyes squinting shut, he pulled in a breath and held it. Seeing him like this, so fraught with the terror from his own personal nightmares, was so very rough for Maxine, but she refused to budge. She wasn't in this for just the good times.
“Maxine, what’s gotten into you?” he asked. “Why this sudden discussion of…of my…”
Hands shielding her face, she shook her head solemnly. “Oh, Drew…I can’t…”
Impatience rising, his voice embodied the anger that began to build within. He hated playing these coaxing games. “Look, you need to talk to me right now,” he said. “Something is upsetting you, and I need to know so that we can fix it…”
Maxine’s hands fell to her sides, but she still couldn’t face him. Instead, she struggled with herself just to spit out the words. “Ben’s mother—she knows who you are, Drew,” she tried to explain. “She thinks that you’re…there was a case…a little girl was murdered…and the other child in the house…and it may be you?”
His eyes rolled upward. His nostrils flared. She knows now, Mack. You have to tell her. You can’t hide from this forever. She may want to walk out that door when you’ve finished, but she deserves to know, and you should have been the fucking person to tell her. You fucked up again…
Without warning, Drew forced himself from the couch, then stomped over to a small cabinet on the opposite side of the room as if his life depended on this one single mission. She could hear him rifling through the top drawer, but almost methodically, as if he knew exactly what he was searching for.
Before returning to her, however, he breathed again, taking a moment to gather his courage. As he slumped back down to the couch with Maxine, separating them by a cushion in between, he handed her a small framed but faded photograph.
“What's this?”
Looking up at Maxine were the sad and tired faces of two small children. With brown hair to her shoulders, the little girl was so gaunt—almost as if some sort of sickness had ravaged her body—and her tattered clothes hung from her skeletal frame. The little boy had a head full of wild, curly blond hair that Maxine would have recognized anywhere.
Fingers tracing over the sweet tiny boy in the photo, Maxine smiled at him. “That's you!”
“Yes, that's me...” he reluctantly admitted. “One of the only photos in existence of me before the age of five.”
While Maxine clung to the fear that she didn’t want to know the answer, she still had to ask. “And...the little girl?”
“That's my sister, Maxine,” he said so quietly that she almost didn't hear him. “My big sister...”
Maxine no longer cared about this distance he so obviously wanted to keep between them and kicked off her shoes as she crawled across the couch to sit in his lap. Fingers wrapped around his arms, she gave him a quick shake. “Look at me, my sweet man,” she pleaded. “Look at me…”
Instinctively, Maxine squeezed his hand and brought it to her lips. “You don't have to tell me, Drew,” she said, the tears already pooling in her eyes. “Not today...whenever you feel...”
“No, Maxine,” he insisted. “Today...”
She wished so desperately that she could erase all the turmoil that plagued his consciousness. Maxine knew this decision to reveal all to her left him gutted and likely paralyzed him with fear over what her reaction might be.
“You made a promise to me last night,” she reminded him. “You swore to me that if things got uncomfortable, you’d stop. No questions asked. That promise stands today, Drew—from me to you.”
While Drew did indeed want to talk, Maxine knew she had to be the one to guide the conversation, but she struggled to find the right words. Nothing she could possibly say could be the right thing.
“Um...so…you were...born here in the city?” she finally
asked.
“Yeah, first child of Maggie and Declan McKenzie,” he nodded. “They had tried for a couple of years before I finally came along. Mom had a couple of miscarriages, and she actually began to wonder if she’d ever become a mother. To say that her pregnancy was celebrated was an understatement.”
Although she was loved and very much wanted, Maxine noted the contrast to her own mother’s unexpected pregnancy and her heart swelled with sadness. His parents were desperate to have a child—only to have him swiped from their arms.
“I guess I was only a few hours old,” Drew continued. “Dad always told me that Mom really didn’t want to let me go that night. The nurses apparently came in three times before she finally allowed them to return me to the nursery. To this day, he regrets ignoring her intuition…”
“A hospital should be a safe haven,” Maxine’s voice soothed. “They had no reason to believe otherwise…”
“Well, let’s just say that my brother was born at home with a midwife before that became fashionable again,” he said.
“So…you were taken…”
With a thorough nod, he clutched the photo that he still held in his hands so tightly that his knuckles whitened. “Middle of the night. From what I’m told, the guy was wearing scrubs and a stethoscope. Came in just as the nurses were changing shifts, then slipped down a back staircase with me…”
“And you said that money wasn’t the motivator?”
“They never asked for a penny,” Drew explained. “Although later I heard that ransom was his initial intention, but that he buckled under the media scrutiny.”
“It was…a couple that kidnapped you?”
“They had three of us in captivity,” Drew said and snapped his head in a turn to face her. “There was my older sister…and my little brother who allegedly belonged to the man. And to this day, I consider them my siblings just as much as Adam McKenzie is my blood brother…”
I want to just hold you right now—rock you in my arms—and let you know that you are so very loved by so many people, she thought.
“Do you…you remember then?” Maxine stumbled. “You have memories of that time?”
“Unfortunately, yes,” he answered. “A lot of it, I didn’t piece together until I was older, when my parents eventually told me what the police had found—discovered some things on my own. And frankly, I saw the articles with my own eyes. My mother wanted to shield me from it, but you can’t stop a teenager from digging around to uncover his own past.”
“Safeword?” she asked him suddenly.
Gently, his finger brushed her lips, closing them. “Green,” he whispered. “I want to tell you, Maxine, because I have faith in your honesty and in your discretion. And I’m learning to trust you.”
Silence fell upon their conversation momentarily. Even in the midst of his own despair, Drew managed to touch her heart. However, a pall of anguish still lingered between them. This would indeed grow far worse by the time it ever got better for Drew if that day ever arrived. Perhaps, though, this moment functioned as a turning point for him, and she refused to allow him to continue to endure his angst alone.
“I want you to know that I won’t say a word to Ben—I didn’t even tell him about our brief conversation the other day,” she broke the headiness with her soft assurance. “He had no idea until his mother brought it up today.”
“And I believe you, little one. I don’t think you’d betray me—or anyone else—when it comes to matters of the heart,” he said. “But there’s so much more…”
It’s now or never, he reasoned. And she was still there…she hadn’t left him. Yet…
“He…the guy…brought me back to a house in Brooklyn. He was a grifter. Somehow, he weaseled his way into the life of…that woman…my…”
Maxine cringed with her own anger toward these awful excuses for human beings, and she wanted nothing more than to squeeze her arms around him. However, she didn’t want to pressure him with physical affection. Drew wasn’t ready for that yet. He needed to talk first. Coddling could come later if he permitted.
“They weren’t your parents, Drew,” Maxine said. “They were just a man and a woman. You don’t have to explain.”
With one quick glance in her direction, Drew’s face twisted in disgust, but Maxine noticed the tenderness fighting to emerge through the sadness in his eyes. At that moment, she knew that he did want to confide—to share the darkest moments of his life—with her. While he likely wouldn’t admit his progress to himself, this was a huge step forward.
“So you were in a house in Brooklyn?” she asked.
“Flatbush, I think. A double-family home with two apartments. Before us, her mother once lived downstairs. But…we only went downstairs…when…he—”
As he cut himself off, he gently eased Maxine away. Standing up, he nearly popped the cushion from the couch with his force, then took off in a couple of strides to pace the floor.
“I think I went outside maybe all of three times in my entire life in those five years. I wasn’t even potty trained. They just kept me in diapers, and rarely bothered to change them. I can remember how the roaches in that house crawled all over me every night when we turned out the lights for bed,” he blathered manically. “The mice—I considered them my pets, when they weren't stealing what little food we had. I even named them...”
Listening so carefully, Maxine absorbed his every word, knowing full well that these harsh realities were only glimpses of the horrors about which he had yet to disclose. “Oh, Drew...” she sighed.
“Hey, it was the only life I knew—the vermin and MTV when the cable wasn’t shut off,” he reminisced sorely. “There wasn't much beyond the walls of that house.”
Stepping with trepidation, Maxine followed him to the center of the floor and stopped just short of where he continued to circle around like a puppy disturbed by the Fourth of July fireworks. “Eighties music,” she observed. “That’s why you still listen…”
“MTV was my only comfort, little one,” he said and paused for a just a moment. “As young as I was, I knew I could turn up the volume and cover up the sounds of crying…and immerse myself in someone else’s little world for three minutes at a time.”
“So...you said there were three children...living there?” Maxine questioned. “You were all kidnapped?”
“With my sister—there was some shady deal with her birth mother.” Face sans emotion, Drew shook his head. Maxine almost felt as if he were telling her a story not about himself—but about someone else's tragic childhood. “I was taken from the hospital. And I think my baby brother was an inconvenience to his own mother, so she just dumped him off on our doorstep—claiming that man to be his father.”
From the fragments of the story she knew so far, Maxine was afraid to inquire of the little girl. In fact, that could have been one facet of this maze of terror that Drew might refuse to discuss entirely.
“May I ask about your baby brother, Drew? Where is he? What became of him?”
Drew shrugged. “I know that after we had been discovered, he was returned to his mother,” Drew said. “From my understanding, she died of AIDS a few years down the road—she used dirty needles shooting heroin. I did see him a couple of times before her death—my parents allowed me that, and they even tried to help the mother for a time. After she died, though, he disappeared into the system. Ran away from a foster home. Mom and Dad had even thought about adopting him, but I guess all the red tape got in the way.”
“I’m sorry…” was all she could think of to say.
“It kills me every day to know that we had to be separated,” he said, anguish rising with every word. “I don’t even know if he's still alive...”
“You must have some hope, though?” she wondered.
“I do,” he admitted. “And every couple of years, I try again to find him. I'm not giving up until I have some answers there—good or bad.”
“That’s something, though, Drew,” she said. “There’s a flick
er of light at the end of this dark tunnel…”
“Yeah, but I wonder, too, how much he remembers—if anything. I think he was only a little over a year when…”
As his voice trailed off and his words disappeared, Maxine reached out and took his hand, and without further thought, she guided him over to the couch and methodically sat down right beside him.
“Unfortunately, I have a very long and vivid memory. And things only got progressively worse as time went on.”
While Maxine wanted to know more, she was so very terrified to find out. However, she had to do this—had to be there for him.
“Tell me,” she said, running her fingers through his hair.
“Well, both of them—the man and the woman—were abusive in their own ways,” he began. “I just remember...there were drugs, pipes, needles...all over that apartment. Beatings—for all of us. He'd broken Molly’s arm at one point, and they never sought medical attention. The woman’s jaw was crooked, resulting from another one of his tirades. Someone was always crying....” Drew stopped for a moment and closed his eyes, fighting to hold back his own emotions. “And you never wanted to go downstairs with him…”
“W-why?” Maxine held her breath in the quietude and waited for his reply.
“In that empty apartment,” Drew began, his voice holding steady, “he would just lock the door and leave you in the darkness for what seemed like days. No food. No light. The windows were boarded up. Alone with the bugs and the rats and whatever else was crawling around down there…”
“And this woman…she just went along with everything?”
“Please do yourself a favor and don’t Google this whole thing, Maxine,” Drew warned her with bitterness suddenly raging from his lips. “No one really knows—but me—what happened in that house, and she’s equally to blame. She’s undeserving of the sympathy that played out in the press for her.”
“Sympathy?” Maxine nearly choked on the word.
“He’d abused her so much that she couldn’t function. It was almost as if she were brainwashed,” he explained. “If you saw the before and after photos of her, you’d never guess she was the same woman…that’s how badly he…he…deformed her…and the media just rallied behind her.”
WRAPPED: The Manhattan Bound Series, Book Two Page 3