by Amy Miles
“Excuse me, Sir.”
Bruce quickly turned, his hand reaching behind his back. Alexander could sense the anger and panic rioting inside Bruce.
He took a cautious step forward. “I believe this dog might belong to you. I found him running lose in my mom’s garden. I thought it’d be safer for him to get out of there before she saw her vegetables all tore up.” Alexander tried to seem nonchalant, but he felt the pulse in his neck thump against his skin, belying his tension.
“How’d you know it was our dog?” Bruce said, his words slurring. His eyebrows arched and he looked puzzled at Patronus. Had he been gone so much he didn’t even know Gabby had a dog?
“My sister’s captain of the cheerleading squad. She mentioned a girl that lived over this way had a new dog. Since I’d never seen him around before, I figured this was probably the one she was talking about.”
“How’d you know where I live?” Bruce shuffled forward, swaying as he walked. Was he injured? Alexander scanned his face but only saw a few small cuts that appeared to be a day or two old. Nothing to indicate a head injury.
“My sister. She mentioned you guys lived in the house on the other side of the woods.” He laughed nervously then cleared his throat. “My sister talks a lot.”
A loud thump startled them both. He knew it came from the back of the house, but he forced himself not to look in that direction. As if on cue, Patronus started barking toward the woods on the other side.
“Let me have the dog,” Bruce said. “You best go.” The man’s breath smelled rancid and his eyes jetted in all directions. He was drunk. Not just drunk, bone-sloshed, barely-able-to-stand drunk.
Was this an isolated incident or commonplace?
Oh God, did he cause this, too? Did this man start drinking after his wife’s death? Had Gabby seen him like this?
Yes. She’d told him about the picture she’d drawn, of Bruce drunk and wounded.
Choking down the acid taste of regret, Alexander stepped away. All he wanted to do was escape and check on Gabby. “I’d better clean up the mess before my mom sees it.”
“Do you know if Gabby’s home?” Bruce asked.
Alexander thought he should be cautious with his answer, but would Bruce even notice Gabby was missing in his current state?
“I don’t know, but I believe she’s at cheerleading camp today, so probably not. I think it’s an all-day thing.”
They heard another noise, this time louder, and Patronus started barking again.
“Go home,” Bruce ordered. He grabbed Patronus by the collar and started shuffling toward the front door.
Alexander took off in the opposite direction, relieved to be away from Bruce. When he reached the edge of the woods, he looked back and saw Gabby’s father pull a gun from the waistband of his pants.
Something wasn’t right. Alexander had sensed terror from the man when they heard the noise earlier. Was it the alcohol affecting him or something else?
Alexander walked away, unable to shake the feeling that something more haunted this man. Yes, he’d lost his wife, but something else plagued Bruce.
****
“How is she?” Alexander stirred the sugar cube into his coffee then passed the cream to Grace.
“Alive.”
A mixture of relief and guilt haunted him. “I love her.”
“I know.” Grace set the cream down then covered his hand with hers. “I also know many of the things she said caused you great pain. But you have to understand that she has no control over her hatred right now.”
“It doesn’t matter. She’s right. I murdered her mother. If I hadn’t—”
“Alex, you need to have hope. There is a chance she’ll make it, but she may never be the same. If she doesn’t recover, you can’t let it destroy you. She wouldn’t want that,” Grace said, her words soft and loving.
“She doesn’t care what happens to me. Even if she does live, she won’t want anything to do with me.” He fisted his hands to keep from screaming to the heavens in frustration and agony at the thought of her hatred.
“You don’t know that.”
“How could she?”
“Gabby has suffered a great loss. She didn’t just lose her mother in that accident, she lost her father, too. He blames himself and can’t even look at Gabby.”
“How do you know that?” Alexander had sensed terror and grief in the man, but not guilt.
“Remember, before my fall I was a soul searcher, with the ability to see and calm souls. I know her father is a troubled man and he needs our help.” Grace patted his hand then kissed the top of his head. “Just have faith, Son.”
****
Alexander went to Gabby’s house the next day to try to cover-up her absence. One day turned into many. It wasn’t that hard to come up with excuses, considering her father barely returned home, and even when he did, he never seemed too concerned about Gabby’s whereabouts. Sending texts a few times a day from her cell phone was all Alexander really had to do.
Alexander finished making dinner and was leaving a plate of food on the kitchen table when he heard Bruce’s car coming down the drive. He quickly went upstairs to Gabby’s room and watched from the doorway.
Bruce sat alone at the kitchen table, eating the dinner Alexander had just left for him. When he’d finished, he didn’t bother checking on Gabby or even calling out to her. Instead, he went to the freezer, pulled out a bottle of alcohol and headed to his room.
Alexander’s heart sank as he watched and imagined what Gabby had to live with every night. How many people had let Gabby down, including himself? He didn’t know how, but he would spend the rest of his days on this planet trying to make her life better.
Closing the bedroom door, he wandered around her room, looking at her things. It seemed like an invasion of privacy but he wanted to know more about her. He sat in the old rocker in one corner of the room, holding a picture of her family, obviously taken a few years prior.
The family looked like they were straight out of a television show. Each of them was smiling from ear to ear, Gabby’s silver braces reflecting the flash. He placed the picture down where he’d found it and sat on her bed. Leaning back, he clutched her pillow to his chest and breathed in the light scent of spring flowers. He yearned deep within his soul to hold her, but would she ever forgive him?
Hours passed while he lay on her bed, daydreaming about her everyday life. A pale blue shirt hung over the back of her desk chair and he imagined her pulling it over her shoulders, then slipping on the flip-flops left on the floor in the corner.
Making his way to her desk, he tossed the pillow back on her bed and picked up some of her drawings. He ran his finger across the strokes of color, envisioning her sweeping her hand up and down the paper. The muscles in his cheek tightened as he remembered the way she would chew on her bottom lip while she looked over her finished work.
Another picture caught his attention. It depicted a man’s body laying face down next to what appeared to be shards of glass. Blood oozed from cuts on his wrists and hands.
As he placed the drawing back down on the desk, he heard movement downstairs. Waiting by the door, he listened. Then the sound of glass shattering ruptured the quiet darkness.
He eased the door open and tried to maneuver down the stairs without making a sound. But each step squeaked and groaned.
A loud thump sounded from Bruce’s room. Alexander stood outside the door, straining to hear what was going on inside. He sensed stress and remorse from inside the room, but danger didn’t seem imminent.
He pressed his ear to the door. Bruce’s heart still beat but his breathing was shallow. Another loud crash gave cause for concern and Alexander couldn’t help but push the door open.
Bruce’s body lay face down, next to shards of broken glass on the floor. Blood oozed from cuts on his wrists and hands.
His blood ran cold. It was an exact replica of the picture he’d seen in Gabby’s room.
A chill ruffled hi
s wings inside his body, as if thousands of bugs ran around inside his ribs. Gabby was right. She could draw the future. He wanted to yell at Heaven, curse them for playing such a sick game. Hadn’t Gabby and Bruce been tortured enough?
Patronus pranced into the room and started licking Bruce’s face. He didn’t respond. The sight was heart wrenching. How many nights had Gabby put him back in bed after a drunken stupor?
A few minutes passed as Alexander tried to figure out a course of action. If Bruce woke, he’d demand to know why Alexander was in the house, not to mention where Gabby was, and that would be disastrous. Then again, he didn’t look like he would remember anything come morning.
Patronus’ wide brown eyes stared at him with conviction. He didn’t have a choice, he had to help the man.
Alexander tried to shoo Patronus from the room but he couldn’t get him to leave Bruce’s side. Blood flowed from a cut on his right hand, needing stitches or healing.
Alexander slowly spread his wings while he watched Patronus. The dog didn’t seem to care. With a sigh, he bent and focused on the cut. Strength drained from his body while the skin closed one centimeter at a time.
After several minutes, he fell back on the floor, too exhausted to heal any more. His chest burned, as if he’d just finished a marathon in frigid temperatures. Yet, he had to focus on getting Bruce into bed and cleaning up the mess. That much he could do in human form. He would heal the other wounds later.
“Well, Patronus. I guess I need to try to get him into bed and then bandage his arms.”
Patronus trotted out of the room.
“You’re no help.”
Alexander tucked his arms under Bruce’s shoulders, pulled him up, and slung his upper body onto the bed. Bruce didn’t even stir. Alexander lifted Bruce’s lower extremities onto the bed and then bent down to pick up the shards of glass.
Patronus entered the room, carrying a white box in his mouth.
“What is it, boy?” Alexander patted his head as he took the container. It was a first aid kit. A little bewildered but thankful, he removed bandages and wrapped the rest of Bruce’s shallow cuts.
Alexander spent the rest of the night sitting on the floor watching Bruce sleep, Patronus curled by his side. He had to figure out a way to help this man. But how?
Chapter Fourteen
“Where am I?” Gabby could barely speak. She raked her sandpaper tongue over her teeth and attempted to swallow, but there wasn’t enough moisture.
“You’re at our house.” Sammy wet a washcloth in a bowl of water beside her then blotted Gabby’s brow.
The cool cloth soothed her aching head. “What happened?”
“Rest, dear. We’ll fill you in later.” Grace approached the bed and sat beside her.
“Water—” Gabby rasped.
Grace signaled Sammy out of the room.
“Sammy will bring you some.” She laid a soothing hand on Gabby’s face. “Do you remember anything?”
“No, not really.”
“That’s probably a good thing right now, dear. I’m not sure how long you’ll be with us. It’s better you rest for now.”
“What do you mean?” Fear bubbled up inside her at Grace’s words.
“You were wounded, child. You’ve been very sick and need rest.” Grace stroked her hair out of her eyes.
“Wounded? What happened? How long have I been out?”
“It was an accident. You’ve been out for days.”
Gabby tried to sit up but couldn’t. Suspicion crept in. “What aren’t you telling me?” She looked down to find her body secured to the bed with large leather straps. “What’s going on? Why am I tied up?”
“I’m sorry about that. We had to keep you from hurting yourself.” Grace’s smooth tone provided Gabby no comfort.
Her anxiety grew. “Hurting myself? Did I have an episode?” Did Alex see her lose it? What must he think of her now? “Where’s Alex?”
“He’s at your house, caring for your father.”
“My father? Why does he need to care for my father? Is he hurt?” She pulled against the restraints, her fear rising as she strained to free herself. “No, if my father sees him, he’ll move us. He can’t know I went out with Alexander or we’ll be packed and gone by morning.”
“Don’t worry about that right now.” Grace continued to stroke her hair, petting her like one would a cat. “Everything is going to be okay. You just need to rest.”
Rest? How was she supposed to rest? Her father would tear them apart if he knew she and Alex were involved.
Wait. Something wasn’t right.
She forced her aching mind to focus, to recall the last thing she remembered before the accident. No. There was no accident. Forras had confronted them on the pier then…
“Alex…h-he…killed m-my mother.” Feeling a strange sensation along her arm, she looked down to see bubbles erupt on her skin. “W-what’s happening?”
“Calm down,” Grace said. “You must calm yourself. It’s the only way we can save you.” Grace stood up and placed a hand on her shoulder. Instantly, a sense of peace overcame her for a moment. She took in a calming breath and relaxed back into the bed.
“Save me from what?”
“Yourself, dear. Save you from yourself.”
Fear and anger welled up inside her once more, combating the sense of peace. Peace lost.
“I’m scared,” Gabby said, her voice trembling. “What’s happening? W-why am I…?” Her body started to shake and her eyes burned.
She tried to reach up and grab Grace. She wanted to hit her, shake her, scratch her, kill her. But why? Why did she want to kill her? What had Grace done to make her feel so full of hate?
“Here’s some water.” Sammy leaned down to hold the glass for Gabby. She took a drink, only to spit it back out at Sammy. Gabby tried to bite her but Grace pulled Sammy away.
“Where is he?”
“Who, child?” Grace dunked a washcloth into a ceramic bowl, with little flowers along the edges, on the nightstand.
“Alex. I want Alex.”
“I can get him.” Sammy headed for the door but Grace held up her hand to stop her.
“You can see him soon.” Grace smiled at her.
Why was she smiling? Was she in on it? Did she help murder her mother?
“You! You helped him, didn’t you? It’s your fault my mother’s dead. You killed her. Murderer! You’re all murderers!” Gabby screamed, her voice deep and full of hate. She could hear the power she now possessed. She tried to break free from the straps. It’d be so easy to kill them all. Make them pay. They should all pay.
****
Alexander searched the house. Every cabinet he opened, every bed he looked under, he found another bottle. After he threw all the obvious paraphernalia away, he searched less conspicuous places. Looking inside the cookie jar revealed a sample size bottle of whiskey under some cookies. The bottle of water tucked in the back of the freezer was filled with vodka. And the bottle of coke hidden behind some crackers in the pantry was spiked.
The pattern seemed to reveal he was a hard liquor man. Whiskey was definitely his drink of choice, but anything would do. Alexander even found a bottle of peach schnapps in the back of his sock drawer.
Did Gabby know how bad his addiction was?
He entered Bruce’s room and covered his nose from the stench of vomit and urine. He’d propped Bruce up on two pillows to sleep, worried the man would choke on his own vomit lying down. His eyelids fluttered, only to close again.
In a strange way, Alexander welcomed the task of caring for the inebriated man. Cleaning the room and keeping an eye on Bruce gave him something to focus on, instead of on Gabby suffering and hating him at home. The connection he had from the first day he met her had changed. It was muted and dark, instead of happy and longing. The worst part was he couldn’t hold her hand, caress her face, or kiss her forehead without her wanting to claw his eyes out. Not that he blamed her.
He bent down
and picked up the clothes Bruce wore the night before and put them in the washing machine, where, of course, he found another bottle of liquor hidden behind the detergent.
A loud thump startled him and he ran back to check on Bruce. He was sprawled across the floor, face down again.
“Come on, man. Let’s get you back in bed.” Alexander tried to lift him but Bruce shoved him and cursed.
“What the hell are you doin’ in my house? Where’s my daughter?” Bruce spit, wagging his finger at him.
This was it. He had to tread cautiously. “Sir, you’re in no condition to be around your daughter.”
“You son of a—”
“Sir,” Alex cut him off, doing his best to remain calm and focused, “let me help you back to bed.”
“Get your hands off me. Where’s my daughter?”
“She’s safe.”
“Safe? Are you sayin’ she isn’t safe around me?” He spat on the floor at the idea. “I’m the only one she’s safe with.”
“I’m sorry, sir, but for now I’m not telling you where she is, not until you calm down and sober up.” How could the man in front of him be Gabby’s father? He wasn’t there to judge, but there was no way he was going to let Gabby move back into the house with him like this. If she survived. Still, his patience was being tested.
“Sober up? I’m not drunk. Who do you think you are, comin’ in my home and insultin’ me?”
“I meant no insult. It’s just that—”
“It’s just what?”
Alexander glared down at the drooling, shaking man. If he weren’t Gabby’s father Alexander would have just lifted him up and thrown him across the bed. Maybe scare the demon alcohol out of the man if he spread his wings and ranted about his sin. Yeah, that would sober Bruce up quick. It would also blow any chance of Alexander ever seeing Gabby again. Assuming she’d ever agree to see him after what happened.
How did things get so screwed up?
“Listen,” Alexander said, taking a calming breath, “you can sit there all day in your own vomit or let me help you up.”