The only one we’d spoken to was the outside guard, who’d begrudgingly allowed us to enter.
“Alexandria, slow down.”
I didn’t listen to Bryce as my shoes slid over the tiles and I made the final turn.
“Ma’am?” A large man in scrubs said, scrambling to his feet from a chair near the window as I burst through the door.
“I’m Miss Collins, and you are?”
“Mack, Mack Warren, Mrs. Fitzgerald’s night nurse.”
The room was dim, illuminated by only the display of multiple monitors. Hurriedly, I stepped toward her bed and turned on the nearby lamp.
I gasped.
The lamp did little to help my vision. If anything, the scene before me blurred, as if a mist had settled over us, softening the reality. I reached for my heart as it painfully clenched and my stomach dropped to my feet. The woman on the bed was a shell of the mother I knew, even less than the one I’d left this afternoon. The vital lady in my memory was always dressed impeccably and the perfect belle. That lady was nowhere to be found.
The patient lying before me wearing a hospital gown that clung to her perspiration-drenched skin revealing her too-thin frame was a stranger. This person’s brown hair was dull, matted, and damp against her scalp and her complexion a pale shade of gray.
I choked out my words as I reached for her hand. “Momma, I’m here. It’s Alexandria.” The coolness of her touch sent a chill through me as if I were holding an ice cube instead of her extremity. “It’s going to be all right. You’re going to get better.”
Bryce came up behind me, his radiating warmth a contrast to my mother; though he wasn’t touching me, his breath skirted my neck. “I-I’m sorry…”
I turned on him, lashing out on the only one I could. “Sorry? You’re sorry? Look at her. I should have been here, not having some stupid family dinner. You knew about her seizures and didn’t say a word. I don’t want to hear that you’re sorry.”
He lifted his hands in surrender, but his eyes held both fight and a warning. His yielding was a show for Mack, but I’d take advantage of my temporary upper hand.
“Alex, I’m not the enemy here. When did I have the opportunity to tell you? You left the manor. I couldn’t reach you. I tried.”
Standing tall, I held back the tears as I turned again to my mother. Her skin beneath mine was clammy and moist. The longer I stood, the more my nose prickled and the rank air settled around us. I turned to Mack. “You’re her nurse. Why haven’t you cleaned her?”
“I-I didn’t know if she would have another seizure.”
My head swiveled from side to side. “What difference does that make? She needs a bath. If she has another seizure, then do it again.”
Though his shoulders straightened, he didn’t speak.
“You heard her,” Bryce said.
I grimaced at his support, hating it almost as much as his opposition. “Forget it,” I said. “Get me a basin with warm, soapy water and another with fresh warm water. I’ll also need washcloths and towels.” I turned to Bryce. “You’ll need to step out.”
“I can’t leave you alone.”
“Of course you can. I’ve been here for five days, most of it alone. Besides, Mack will be here. Go, give my mother some privacy.” Dismissing him, I continued my orders to Mack. “I’ll wash her. You change her bed and get me one of her nightgowns. Mrs. Montague Fitzgerald shouldn’t be wearing a hospital gown. I can guarantee we’re paying for better care than she’s received.”
His jaw clenched. “Miss, our clients may have money, but they’re all the same: addicts. Her name isn’t—”
Bryce began to speak, but I lifted my hand. “Mr. Warren, stop now or get a new job tomorrow.” It may have been years since I’d been a pretentious snob, but old inbred habits were hard to forget.
“Did you misunderstand the lady?” Bryce asked when the nurse remained still.
Mack’s gaze narrowed, but just as quickly, he began gathering supplies, moving to and from the private bath with the basins.
“Bryce, go into the hallway. I’ll call you back as soon as we’re done.”
“Alexandria, you don’t have to do this. That’s what these people are here for.”
“You’re wrong. I do and I am.” I turned back to Mack. “I want to wash her hair too. How do we do that in the bed?”
I pulled down her sheets.
“Oh my God! What the hell happened to her arms? They’re a mass of scratches, and why are there bruises around her wrists?”
“It was her,” he explained. “She’d been doing good and the restraints were off, and then all at once she started screaming. She was hallucinating, yelling about vines and insects, saying it itched. I cleaned some of the blood away after I got her restrained again.”
I gently caressed blue and red marks on her dainty wrist. “She’s what, one hundred and ten pounds? What the hell are you restraining her with?”
“That isn’t it. She fought it, pulling and thrashing, before the seizures started. Once they did, her whole body fought. That’s why they’re bruised.”
Each explanation tore at my heart. I lifted each wrist. It wasn’t anything like the faint lines from Nox’s bindings. My mother’s wrists were irritated and inflamed. “Help me move her.”
My mother was but a feather in Mack’s arms as he rolled and lifted her, aiding me in cleaning her as well as changing the bed’s clothes.
By the time we were done, she was clean, fully clothed in a pink nightgown with her clean yet damp hair combed over her shoulders. If it weren’t for the catheter, I would have insisted on undergarments as well.
Compromises.
I found myself making them at each turn.
The bags of fluid hanging near the head of her bed had multiplied since I’d left earlier in the day. “What medicines have been added?”
“Anticonvulsants. They had to up the dose from what they first put her on, but the seizures finally stopped.”
“I want to speak to Dr. Miller.”
“It’s, like, midnight. He’s off call.”
“How much do we pay for my mother’s care?” I didn’t let him answer. “I’m confident it includes a constant connection to her team.”
“I-I don’t know…”
“Call him. Get him in here or at least on the phone.” I stared up at this man. “Now.”
“I’m not supposed to leave her.”
“Then use your cell phone, or leave her in my care, which is obviously better than what she’s had, and go call him.” I walked to the closed door. “Bryce?”
He nodded from where he’d been, leaning against the far wall, and walked toward me.
“Mack was just about to get ahold of Dr. Miller for me. Can you assure him we won’t leave Momma’s side?”
Bryce looked down at his watch. “Alexandria, it’s nearly midnight. What can the doctor possibly do now that he can’t do in the morning? Besides, we have pictures—”
Maybe it was my expression, I don’t know. All I know is after our eyes met, Bryce turned toward Mack.
“Do it now.”
“Yes, sir,” Mack said, heading for the door.
“I fucking hate this patriarchal society,” I mumbled as Mack left. “Savannah needs a lesson in equality.”
Bryce shrugged. “I don’t know. You seemed to be holding your own.” He walked closer to Momma. “Look at her. She looks better already.”
I pulled a chair closer to the bed and lifted her hand. Pushing back the soft silk sleeves of her nightgown, I showed Bryce one of her wrists. “Look at this.”
His brow furrowed. “What the hell?”
“This isn’t right. Please help me help her. Please. How would you feel if it were your mother in this bed?”
“I’d hate it. I’d do anything I could to help her.”
“Then please don’t make this harder for me, for her.”
His chest expanded and contracted with deep breaths. “What? What do you think I can do?�
��
“You said it earlier. I’m not in charge; you are.”
“I don’t think you’re talking sex?”
“No, I’m not. I’m saying Alton listens to you. I need a phone. I need this place to be able to reach me. I need you, him, and your mom to reach me. Jane…”
As I said her name, Mack reentered the room. “Dr. Miller said you can call him.” He handed me a slip of paper with his number. “You just said something.”
Taking the paper, I asked, “What?”
“Jane. That was a name your mother was calling out.”
“She was talking?”
“Yeah, like I said. She was saying stupid stuff about vines and bugs, but she also kept calling for Jane. Is that your sister?”
“No, but if my mother wants Jane, she’ll have Jane.”
Mack shrugged. “I can’t leave this room until my replacement comes in the morning. You can stay, but she’s pretty drugged. I don’t think she’ll be fighting any more vines or bugs.”
I lifted my hand toward Bryce, palm up. When his eyes opened in question, I replied, “Give me your phone. I’m calling Dr. Miller.”
He began to hesitate, but it was short-lived. “Here,” he said, handing me the phone from his pocket. “I’m listening to the conversation.”
“Suit yourself. I’ll put him on speaker and we can all listen.”
The conversation was less new information and more confirmation.
Earlier in the day they’d lessened her medication, trying to lure her out of her drug-induced sleep. Dr. Miller said it isn’t good to keep her that way. They’d hoped that she’d been unconscious long enough to have missed the severe delirium tremens—the DTs. But as she began to come out of the medicine, she became delirious, hallucinating and shaking. Before they could restrain her again, she attacked herself, scratching at her own skin. It took multiple orderlies, but they stopped her before she tore her face, once again restraining her hands.
That was when the seizures began. According to the tests, she had two severe ones. They used to be categorized as grand mal but now they’re called tonic-clonic. It’s the type of seizure that’s characterized by loss of consciousness and violent muscle contractions. Dr. Miller explained that usually those types of seizures are caused by abnormal electrical activity throughout the brain, but in Momma’s case they’re believed to be a byproduct of the alcohol and opioid withdrawal.
By the time we left the hospital, I was too exhausted and upset to object to Bryce’s hand on the small of my back or the way he helped me into the car. Though he’d driven, we had our customary security team of two individuals following close behind.
Once we were moving, Bryce reached over and touched my knee. It registered as wrong, yet I couldn’t protest. Not because I was unable, but because my mind was with my mother, not on another violation of my space. My problem seemed rather trivial in comparison.
“Don’t yell at me,” Bryce said, “but I am sorry about your mom. I’ve always liked her. She’s been like my second mother my entire life.”
I nodded as I watched the darkened scenes pass by the windows. “Thank you. Thank you for letting me call Dr. Miller.”
“Friends and fiancés,” Bryce said, his smile visible by the dashboard light. “I’ll talk to Alton. I’m sure if he concedes, your phone will be closely monitored. So don’t screw it up, but I’ll do my best to get you a phone.”
I reached down to where his hand still rested on the hem of my dress and put mine on top of his. The huge diamond glittered from the artificial lights. Red and green numbers made the dashboard look like some kind of control pit. His car was equipped with everything, yet I saw nothing. I was even too tired to consider the obvious overcompensation. “Thank you.”
A TUNNEL OF blue light shone from the headlights, illuminating the long driveway. The large oak trees bowed and the Spanish moss twisted. By the howl of the wind, it was more than a breeze. An autumn storm was brewing. With November nearly here, cold and warm fronts were battling for domination.
As Bryce stopped the car before the front steps of Montague Manor, he squeezed my hand. “I could come in with you.”
“I-I don’t know… if Alton would approve.”
Apparently it was the right answer, at least one Bryce willingly accepted.
“Then let me walk you to the door.”
“It isn’t necessary. It’s late. I’ll see you tomorrow.” I didn’t linger long enough for a goodnight kiss; instead, I pushed the door open. When I did, the wind grabbed ahold, pulling the door from my grip and whipping my hair about my face. “Oh! It feels like a storm.”
Stepping from the car, I steadied myself as I pushed the door closed. If Bryce had said anything else, I hadn’t heard, not over the howling winds. Even in the darkness, lost leaves and pine needles swirled on the driveway, small cyclones preparing for a bigger event.
That was what I was doing, dancing to the music Alton and Bryce selected, biding my time for the big event. What would that event be, Saturday night or maybe my wedding?
The building storm no longer registered as I slipped inside and closed the large doors to the manor. I knew all too well that this place was a fortress, impenetrable to outside forces. Through the dimmed foyer and up the stairs, I made my way to my room. I longed for the phone from the shed and even considered going out to find it, but my body ached from the exhaustion and my heart hurt from the sight of my mother. Sleep was what I needed.
Turning the key, I pushed open my bedroom door as flashes of lightning shone from the unblocked windows. I rushed to close the drapes to keep the storm outside. I had enough turmoil within: Mother Nature could keep her mayhem outside.
Looking below, I sighed at the now-empty driveway. Thankfully, Bryce had left.
It was after midnight. Only three more days until Saturday.
My mantra…
I could keep him at bay for three more days, I was confident. However, if things didn’t go as Nox planned, that timetable went from three days to seven weeks. Seven weeks until our wedding. Could I keep Bryce from sex for seven weeks?
With the second window covered, I turned and faced my dark room.
Sometimes clues went unnoticed. Signs were present, but things like storms and drapes demanded attention. Was it a sound or a feeling? I didn’t know.
What I knew with increased certainty was that the small hairs on my arms weren’t standing at attention because of the electrical storm outside my window. As a sense of dread loomed stronger than before, I realized that I hadn’t locked my door. Somehow I’d been more concerned with the storm.
What was I sensing?
In my heart I knew that it wasn’t only my nerves on high alert. Somehow I knew that I wasn’t alone. Someone was in my room.
Why hadn’t I turned on the light?
Blood rushed through my ears, muting the autumn storm. Breathing… had that been what I’d heard?
Survival. The continual flashes from around the draperies gave me snapshots of sight. The growing thunder rolled as I searched for a weapon. The key. The skeleton key was still in my hand. My mind swirled with the possible uses. Stab him in the eye, the neck… where were the most vulnerable points?
“Alex?” The voice came from the direction of my bed.
“Oh fuck. Chelsea.” I reached for a lamp and twisted the switch. Sitting on my bed with her knees pulled up to her chest was my best friend. “What the hell are you doing?”
“They gave me a room down the hallway, but I-I guess… I wanted to talk to you.”
Indignation grew disproportionately to her presence. My fist found my hip. “Or were you checking to see if I came home alone? What? Are we doing a three-way now?”
Her soft hazel eyes grew wide, swirling with shock, hurt, and disbelief. The emotions were all present, each one fighting for its chance to shine.
“I-I thought tonight at dinner was…” Her forehead fell to her knees, muting her words. “God, Alex. We can’t get past this, ca
n we?”
Lifting her tear-stained face, she pulled her knees closer. The action brought my attention away from her as a whole to her as my friend. The pajamas she wore were really a pair of shorts and the top was sleeveless. It wasn’t different from what she’d worn for four years, but she was different. I flipped on another light.
“Oh my God,” I said, my hand moving to my mouth, unable to keep the disgust from my voice.
Her eyes opened wide, meeting mine, as I went toward her.
Only a few feet away, I remembered my fear that the room was bugged. “Come with me.”
Briefly, she hesitated before crawling from near my headboard to standing by the bed and following me into the bathroom. As soon as I shut the door with us both inside, I flipped the switch and the room filled with light, much more light than in the bedroom.
Her complexion was gaunt with her makeup gone. Without asking, I reached for her chin and pulled it toward me. “Oh Chels.” I lifted the tips of my fingers to her left cheek, barely touching the remnants of green. It wasn’t an obvious flinch, but she did. I let go and took a step back. Surrounding her upper arm was a dark purple handprint, complete with individual finger marks. It was what I’d seen in the bedroom, what had prompted me to bring her in here.
Tears filled my eyes as she slowly lifted her top. We’d been roommates for years. It wasn’t as if we paraded around our apartment naked, but the occasional changing of clothes occurred in one another’s presence, enough that we shouldn’t be shocked by the other’s nudity.
Yet as the hem of the tank top rose, my stomach dropped and my body forgot how to move. I couldn’t speak or reach out. I couldn’t do anything but stare at the multiple bruises, strategically placed where they’d be covered by her clothes.
Though my mouth dried, I managed to speak. “Why? What the hell?”
Pulling her shirt back down, Chelsea collapsed onto the edge of the garden tub. Down, down, and further down she went until her head was bowed, held only by her arms resting upon her knees.
“I-I can’t… any… more.” Her voice was uncharacteristically soft, muted by her position. She looked up, tears coating her cheeks. “I tried… for you, but… I’ve never been more afraid.”
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