The Next Ten: Beginnings Series Books 11 - 20

by Jacqueline Druga

  “I’ve helped you enough. Don’t ask me.”

  “John, you don’t have a choice. I’ll pull the plug . . . literally.”

  John became engulfed with rage at the insinuation Johnny slyly made about the freezer case. “I’m not doing your dirty work.”

  “Yeah, you will, but on some stuff you can’t. This is brilliant. Brilliant. And like always . . .” Johnny sighed out. “I already laid the ground work.”

  “I don’t want to know.”

  “I won’t tell you anyhow. But . . . I will let you know when your part comes up.”

  John stared at Johnny, but the view of him was broken when Hal’s body slipped between them.

  “Mr. Matoose,” Hal said, “I see you have found pleasant company to keep.”

  John faced forward and lifted his drink.

  After looking back at Johnny, Hal leaned into John and made sure his voice was at a whisper but loud enough for Johnny to hear. “I have told you, I know about your past. You don’t fool me. I’ll be watching you, especially when you’re in my town.”

  John stood up and set down his glass. “I believe my turn has come up.” He walked away.

  Nasally, high and whiney, Johnny spoke through his immature laughter. “Better watch out. You’re in my town.”

  Raising one eyebrow, Hal turned around to face Johnny. “Excuse me?”

  “Can you be any more of an asshole Uncle Hal? Who do you think you are? God? Man, I thought my fuckin father was an ego trip.”

  “My God, Johnny. It warms my heart how endearing you speak of Frank.”

  “Oh, yeah. Let’s run to my dad’s defense.”

  “In a heartbeat. He’s my brother.”

  “Wow. Aren’t you just the heroic UWA leader?” Johnny finished his drink. “You act the part, picking on innocent people like John and myself to bully.”

  “Innocent?” Hal chuckled. “Johnny, you’re about as innocent as . . .”

  “You?” Johnny finished Hal’s sentence.

  Hal, with a smirk, looked away. “Are you going to accuse me of something?”

  “I don’t need to accuse you. I know and I will bask when I watch the great Leader, Capt. Hal Slagel, fall to the punishment everyone is voting on now.”

  “Punishment? For Bev’s murder?” Hal questioned.

  “Yeah. You’re alibi is dead. Then there’s that bandana.”

  With partially closed eyes, Hal shook his head. “I know of no such bandana. Johnny, if you held such a powerful thing as the evidence of my so called guilt, I truly believe you would have used it by now. No.” Hal shook his head. “I think if you had it, you screwed up and don’t anymore.”

  “You don’t think?” Johnny stood up.

  Hal flashed a tight and closed mouthed smile. “You’re bluffing.”

  “Call it. Go on.”

  With a taunt, Hal leaned his face to Johnny’s. “I call your bluff. Do it.”

  The corner of Johnny’s mouth raised in arrogance. “You’re on.” He exhaled and sat back down. “When the time is right.”

  Hal laughed. “When the time is right?” He started to walk and gave a hard swat to Johnny’s back. “This ought to be good.”

  Johnny’s eyes fluttered as he watched Hal walk out through the corner of his eye. Right then and there, Johnny wanted to leave the bar, go back to Beginnings, and turn in that bandana, but like a well-choreographed dance, it all had to be perfect. Desperation had to hit the investigation first before the evidence would be so welcomed that there wouldn’t be any doubt. That was when Johnny would turn in the evidence and that, like Johnny promised Hal, would be when the time was right.

  ^^^^

  “Insane?” In his living room, Hal spun in question to John Matoose.

  “That’s what he said,” John explained. “But he confirmed she suspects him. He didn’t come out and say what or if she knows for sure. And he rigged that box. He confirmed that too.’

  “Insane?” Hal repeated in shock.

  “That’s why he said he won’t kill her and why no one will believe her.”

  “But insane?” Hal shook his head. “How in God’s name can he make people think Ellen is insane?”

  “Um, Hal, I’m no expert in psychology, but if Ellen attacked and freaked out on Johnny in the middle of the street, that’s pretty good ground work laid.”

  Thinking about the street incident, Hal snapped his fingers. “He said something about a drug. She adamantly denied using it to Elliott. A . . . . Anthium? Do you know it?”

  John took a moment to think. “I’m not sure. I could be mistaken, but I think that’s a behavioral drug they use at the clinic for the insane ones. It’s like lithium.”

  “Can you find out about it? Everything you can.”

  “I’ll see what I can do but ask Robbie. He would know.”

  “Good idea,” Hal said.

  “You don’t think she’s using it, do you.”

  “Good Lord, no,” Hal sounded insistent. “But Johnny could be . . .against her. If that’s the case, he already started doing so.”

  ^^^^

  Dean experienced a lot of guilt and he found it hard to believe that he actually fell asleep. Ellen was his wife and he shouldn’t have thrown that responsibility on Frank. After hours of searching and following around the clues of her trail as if it were a game of ‘Where’s Ellen?’, at two in the morning, Frank finally brought her home. Dean was grateful that he did and he promised Frank he would make it up to him for all the sleep he lost.

  Ellen went straight to bed and said nothing to Dean. He supposed that questioning her about the drug had something to do with it. In fact, he knew. Frank confirmed that in one of the numerous radio progress reports he gave Dean on locating Ellen. Dean only wished he could have radioed Frank but since Frank’s radio wasn’t working, Dean had to settle for when Frank used the Social Hall radio. It was loud at the hall but he was able to make out Frank’s reports. A lot of times, Dean told him to forget the search and come back. But Frank was insistent and it paid off.

  He brought Ellen home.

  Apologies to hand out were plentiful and Dean wanted to start with Ellen. Though early, a new day would give him a fresh start. Perhaps he would wake her, make her breakfast, and spend time he needed with her.

  With his back sore from sleeping on the couch, Dean braved the darkened bedroom and turned on the bathroom light for some brightness in the room.

  Ellen snuggled on her side close to the edge of the bed and Dean slipped in beside her. Slowly he spooned up next to her. “El,” he whispered then kissed her neck softly. “El?”

  A grumble came from Ellen and she flipped herself on her stomach, raised her arms, and buried her head under the pillow.

  Just as Dean tossed his hand up in defeat, he noticed her shirt had lifted some in her fit. Had the bathroom light not been on, he would never had seen it. On her side, more toward her back, was what looked like a huge bruise.

  Dean blinked several times. He focused to see it, but the dark of the room inhibited it. He reached over to his side of the bed, lifted the lamp from the night stand, placed it on the floor, and turned it on.

  Ellen’s back lit up dimly. Thinking, ‘shit’, Dean reached to her. Slowly, trying not to wake her, he lifted her shirt more. Every ounce of air escaped him when he saw the multitudes of bruises on Ellen’s back.

  “Dean, cut it out. I’m not in the mood.” Ellen snapped, pulled the covers over her shoulder, and rolled back on her side in a tight ball.

  Ellen covered up, the bruises were hidden again, but it didn’t matter. Dean saw the them. A warning flag went up inside of him and the suspicious injuries on Ellen’s back confirmed something was wrong. If she didn’t tell him the truth, he would find out for himself.

  ^^^^

  “It’s five in the fuckin morning,” Frank griped as he walked with Dean toward town.

  “I know.”

  “Five in the fuckin morning, Dean. Do you know what time I went to be
d?”

  “Yes, Frank, I do. I’m sorry.”

  Frank huffed, “You’re like the fuckin worst person to have an understanding with. Do you realize you have me doing all your spousal dirty work? I yell at her for you. I chase her, find her, and bring her home all while you look like the fuckin good guy.”

  “No, I don’t Frank. I never look like the good guy. That’s why you can get away with the dirty work. You’ll still smell like a rose.”

  “True.” Frank bobbed his head.

  “This is important. It isn’t neurotic.” Dean stopped walking. He sounded frazzled. “This is so serious.”

  “What’s up?”

  “Ellen goes after Johnny, right? For no reason. It makes no sense. It really doesn’t. Then Johnny rattled off that really obscure reason because of the drug?”

  “Which you bought,” Frank said.

  “No,” Dean corrected. “I only asked. Anyhow . . . when I woke up, I thought I’d make up with El about it. So I slipped into bed . . .”

  “Dean.” Frank stopped him. “I don’t want to hear your little man perverted stories.”

  “Shut up, Frank, and listen. I slipped into bed. When she turned away from me . . .” Dean paused in irritation when Frank laughed. “When she turned away, I saw bruises, a ton of them all up and down her back.”

  Frank froze. “Fuck. Someone’s been beating her up? Fuckin Elliott Ryder. I’m killing him.”

  “Frank. No.” Dean grabbed his arm. “I think we should talk to Johnny.”

  Slowly Frank turned back around. “What do you mean?”

  “Johnny was the one who brought up Anthium and he knows if you don’t need it, it causes opposite side effects. We use it to calm patients in Containment. If they don’t have a chemical imbalance, after taking Anthium, they certainly will look like they do. There are a lot of side effects, but one of them occurs to anyone who takes it regularly or in high volumes. It weakens the epidermis and dermis layers of the skin, the blood thins, and slight hemorrhaging under the skin occurs with ease.”

  Frank just stared.

  “You’re lost.”

  “Completely.”

  “O.K.” Dean held up his hand. “In laymen’s terms, if you take Anthium, you will bruise very, very easily. The severity of it depends on the doses and frequency.”

  “So you don’t think someone is beating her up?” Frank asked.

  “If Ellen is taking Anthium in high doses or frequently, she could casually walk into a wall and look like she fell off a train. Along with predominant bruising, some of the other side effects are: loss of appetite, lack of concentration, nervousness, fits of unprovoked rage, mood swings, and periods of blackouts. All of those, with the exception of the blackouts, we have seen Ellen exhibit the past week.”

  “O.K., I’ll give you that. But . . . mood swings, nervousness, anger, lack of concentration, and bruising. Dean, if Ellen is being abused, and she’s hiding it, wouldn’t she be showing the same symptoms.”

  “That’s a valid point.”

  “Thank you.” Frank nodded.

  “But who the hell would be beating Ellen?”

  “Elliott Ryder.”

  “Stop it, Frank,” Dean said disgusted. “Elliott is not abusing Ellen.”

  “My brother Hal.”

  Dean grunted and started to walk.

  “You?”

  “Knock it off.”

  “You know this really explains why she wouldn’t sleep with me last night.”

  Dean stopped and turned around. “What do you mean?”

  “Dean,” Frank snickered. “Fool around? Have intimate relations. Get . . .”

  “Frank,” Dean cringed. “I know what that means. What do you mean she wouldn’t sleep with you last night?”

  “I tried,” Frank explained. “We messed around for a long time but as soon as I tried to get her . . . her . . .” Frank noticed the glare Dean gave him. “What’s wrong?”

  “I thought you said it took you hours to find her.”

  “Did I say that?” Frank looked up to the sky. “No. It did take me hours to find her. That wasn’t last night I was trying to . . .”

  “Frank, stop. You lied to me to cover up that you were trying to sleep with my wife.”

  “You share her with me, Dean. I’m allowed as long as I don’t tell you. That was my way of not telling you.”

  “Lying?” Dean asked.

  “But it’s good it came out. You should know.”

  “Why . . . why should I know?” Dean asked sarcastically.

  “Because if she’s not sleeping with me, she’s either hiding her body from me or sleeping with someone else, like Hal. Right?”

  “Wrong.” Dean shook his head. “I’m her husband. How do you know she didn’t sleep with you because she’s been sleeping with me?”

  “Has she?”

  Dean hesitated. “No.” He ignored Frank’s taunting ‘ha’. “But that’s beside the point.”

  “Yes it is unless she’s sleeping with Hal. Fuckin Hal.”

  “Frank,” Dean lost it. “She isn’t sleeping with Hal. It’s the bruises. The bruises. God!” Dean started walking again.

  “Where are you going?” Frank hurried to catch up to Dean.

  “Containment. If Ellen is taking Anthium, she has an ample supply at her disposal. And if she’s taking them from there, we can find out.”

  “How?”

  “Basic math.” Dean approached the Containment door.

  “Oh, yeah. My forte.” Frank followed Dean into the building.

  Elliott was eating an apple and reading while sitting in the dining room. He was slightly startled when he heard the security door buzz. He looked down at his watch then up, just in time to see Frank and Dean walk by. “Gentlemen?” he called out.

  Frank backtracked with a far lean back of his body and peeked into the dining room. “No, it’s just us.” He gave a thumbs up.

  Dean shook his head. “He was talking to us.”

  “Oh.”

  Elliott stepped out of the dining room. “Is something wrong?”

  “No,” Dean answered then showed him a clipboard. “I’m doing a med supply check.”

  “All right.” Elliott nodded then turned to go back in the dining room.

  “Yeah and he needs me with him,” Frank stated to cover his tracks.

  Dean rolled his eyes.

  Curious, Elliott looked at Frank. “Why?”

  “Why what?” Frank asked.

  “Does he need you with him?” Elliott questioned.

  “Who?”

  “Dean,” Elliott responded.

  “What about him?”

  Elliot turned and went back into the dining room.

  Frank tossed up his hands. “O.K., so don’t tell me what you wanted to know. Come on, Dean.” Frank started to walk down the hall to Ellen’s office. “Man, fuckin Elliott. He’s got a problem. Don’t you think? And I’m not talking about his dying thing. Which, by the way, have you told him?”

  Slowing down as he entered Ellen’s office, Dean looked at Frank. “Have I told Elliott he’s sick?”

  “No. Dying.”

  Dean shut the office door. “Of course not.”

  “Dean, that’s not right. You should tell him. He needs to know.”

  “He’s not dying, Frank.”

  “Oh my God,” Frank gasped. “You said he was.”

  Grunting, Dean spun to him. “I mean he’s not going to die if I can help it. Why are we talking about this?”

  “Because Ellen acted all shocked when I . . . . never mind. What are we doing in here?”

  “Check this out.” Dean set down the clipboard.

  Frank looked at the board lying on the desk.

  “Frank?” Dean stood before an open cabinet on the wall. “Over here.”

  “Huh?” Frank snapped his view from the clipboard. “Oh. I thought you meant the clipboard. Sorry.”

  “Here.” Dean lifted a pill bottle. “Four people in here
get Anthium twice a day. That’s eight a day she is to give out. She took a hundred Monday morning from the clinic. Full stock.” Dean took the chart from the inside of the cupboard door. “According to this, she’s given out five days worth. That’s forty. Counting these should show . . .” Dean opened the bottle and dumped out the pills. He started counting them. “Shit. There’s forty-four.”

  “Oh, man.”

  With an exhale, Dean counted the pills again. “Tell me about it.”

  “Someone didn’t get their medicine. No wonder these people are fuckin gone.”

  Stunned, Dean looked up. “What? Where are you getting that?”

  “You said.”

  “When?”

  “Just now.” Frank pointed to the pills. “She took a hundred. You said she should have given forty. There’s forty-four.”

  “Remaining. Forty-four remaining.”

  “O.K.”

  “There’s sixteen unaccounted for.”

  “Wait.” Frank closed his eyes and moved his fingers about. “Oh, shit.”

  “See?”

  “She’s really screwing up. There’s sixty pills left?”

  “No forty-four!” Dean snapped.

  “Dean! Make up your mind! Is there sixty or forty-four!”

  “Forty-four plus sixteen unaccounted.”

  “Dean! For a scientist, you suck at math. Forty-four plus sixteen equals . . .”

  “Sixty. I know.”

  Frank tossed up his hands.”So why are you arguing with me?”

  Both of Dean’s hands slapped hard to his own face. “Oh my God, you’ve managed to confuse me.”

  “Math can be confusing,” Frank took on an explaining mode. “However, I think being a man in your position, you should brush up . . .”

  “Frank,” Dean stopped him before he went on any further. “Pay attention. Ellen came to the clinic Monday morning to refill her stock. I wrote down she took a hundred pills. To date, meaning, up to this very moment, she has given out forty pills. Are you following me?”

  “Yeah, it’s a word problem. Go on.”

  “Good.” Dean nodded passively. “All right. If Ellen gave forty pills out of a hundred, how many should be left?” He asked, then waited. And waited. “Frank? Forget it. Sixty. She should have sixty pills in that bottle. Are you still following me?”