Authors: Jack L. Pyke
Gray’s gaze never left mine.
“They were determined,” I said coldly. “They would have taken him at any available opportunity, so don’t think pushing him away caused this.” I wiped hair from his eyes. “Jack, that night we were at his, he mentioned something about a Martin.”
Gray stiffened.
“He mentioned about sleeping with women; he was talking about himself, wasn’t he?”
“No. Martin’s a world a-fucking-way from Jack.” That was said through gritted teeth.
“But Jack said he’d walk, then wake in someone else’s bed, mostly women, mostly nurses.” I frowned as Gray narrowed his eyes. “The woman that Greg mentioned, she was a—”
“Yeah,” said Gray, his look cold. “I heard.”
“Do you think she—”
He nodded, just once, and I let him go before glancing back down the hall to see Greg had been watching us. “My mother and family,” I said back to Gray. “You’re going to question them too?”
Gray’s gaze searched mine. “Yes.”
“Can I talk to them first? Please?”
He shook his head. “I can’t allow that, Jan. You—”
I pulled away a little more, seeing what was going on in his eyes. “Not just my family, but me? You—you think I could have worked with my own family to do this?” I took more than a few paces back now. “I’d do this to both of us? You—” I snarled, intent on hitting the bastard, but Greg was there, pulling me back.
“Easy, son, Gray’s just leaving. Aren’t you?” said Greg. “He’s got a job to do, right?”
My look stayed on Gray’s—refused to move from Gray’s. “And Jack” I mumbled quietly. “Will you treat him like a suspect too? Or is that just reserved for me?” I wanted to cry out as a tear escaped down my cheek. “
And you—who the hell’s going to fucking question you, Gray? You know him too, you—
”
Gray came in close, not in the slightest bothered by Greg, who went to stop him with a hand to his chest. “I need to get this done, nothing more, kid, okay?” The gentleness surprised me; he looked angry enough to cull someone else and not care who it was but then he whispered quietly. “You’re new on the scene. So is your family. I’ll always be frank and honest with where you stand around Jack, especially now, but you, you have my word the only people who need to be worried are the people who hurt him. Who hurt you.”
After a moment, I eased back, giving a nod seeing that honesty on display. A last look at me, and Gray moved off.
“Jack.” I said quietly, and Gray looked over his shoulder. “He’s my priority. Everything else? That’s yours.” Quiet. “Okay? You focus.”
Grief, anger, relief... it was all there, then not there in the same moment. He gave a small nod, then was gone.
After a moment, I gave Greg a glance, then eased back up the corridor and into Jack’s room. Elena offered a sad smile at me as I went to the opposite side and pulled up a big chair. I slumped down, close enough to rest my arm next to Jack, and closed my eyes.
“Have you called your parents at all, son?”
I found Greg crouched in front of me.
“Do they know about any of this? About you?”
No. No they, my mother, didn’t.
“Jan. You need to go back to your room,” said Brennan as he came back in. He’d been watching Gray closely and now stood at the foot of Jack’s bed, looking down. “I’ve made sure your room isn’t far from Jack’s,” he said over to me, “but I’m going to more than insist that you go, rest and wait for your results.”
“I need a shower, sleep, then to stay here. Nothing more,” I said, almost losing my temper, and Brennan gave a deep sigh. “You can shower now,” he said quietly.
His gaze not leaving mine, Greg eased up to his feet.
Just how much had they fucking checked whilst I’d been asleep? What gave them the right to goddamn touch me while I was asleep?
“From what the doctors have said,” said Brennan, looking between me and Greg, “Jack’s going to be kept out of it for a few days because of the heavy infection he has. Use those days to rest. When Jack wakes, we’ll see what damage has been done.”
Greg seemed to shrink where he stood. “What are you going to do?”
Brennan looked down at Jack. “We have the finest psychiatric facility, and someone who Jack knows. Depending on the extent of the psychological reconditioning, he’ll try and help.”
Jack
Whispering.
The whispering had stopped, but wind flittered through a blind, tapping it against the windowpane. The room was warm enough to only need a light sheet pulled up to the shoulders, but it still seemed fucked-up and cold. An empty comfy-looking chair slept close to the bed, angled slightly so it looked like the bed and chair were in some silent conspiracy. I’d seen it a few times over the past few days, had known someone sat there, tossing and turning, eating, talking—whispering—but it was easier just to ease the stinging in my eyes, keep them shut, and give in to the heat and headache that had clouded life. It had taken every ounce of self-control not to curl up as I’d felt someone pull a catheter free of my prick this morning, although from how they kept stopping and starting, occasionally stroking my fucking thigh, I didn’t play dead as well as I thought. Now life was clearer, all headache, heat, and the need to fall back to sleep eased away into the quiet of the room. The need to piss was there, and it came with this burning in my groin. But it seemed safer, softer to stay down for a while. Movement before had caused whispers to stir in the silence, and social.... I didn’t do fucking social and—
Don’t...
...fear me.
I shifted, easing up onto my side. All dizziness had gone, but aches and twinges worked with my body, forcing me to go ape and tentatively ease back on my knuckles and sit back against a raised portion of the bed. The movement seemed to make things a little worse and I let my heart slow only to find my hand hurt. Rubbing at the IV line jutting out of a vein, I followed the tube as it dropped off the bed, nearly touching the chair, to run back up into whatever shit was being pumped into me. Looking any further beyond that hurt my neck, so I eased back, rubbing at my forehead.
“How are you feeling, Jack?”
Jerking slightly, I didn’t expect anyone to be sitting to my left. But a man with a book resting in his lap sat there blinking at me. Late fifties, yet his full head of hair kept its colour, all sandy-blond and young looking. His smile was easy, creating more of an aged look his hair seemed unwilling to share. Lines creased at his eyes, the corners of his mouth, shifting the mole that weighed down his lips a touch. He looked comfortable in jeans and jumper, the sleeves drawn up to show tanned and very hairy arms.
“Do you remember me?”
Something came through, but it seemed to shift a whole crap bucket of other memories.
“Philip Halliday,” he said, even offered over his hand. “We’ve met each other a few times through the Master Circle’s psychology unit.”
Don’t....
I stared at his hand.
...fear me.
I shook it quickly, leaving Halliday frowning, then picking the book off his lap. He held it up. “James Herbert’s
Moon
,” he said with a wry smile. “It’s a weakness, one I usually keep for the privacy of home. My son tried to get me into Steampunk, but I can’t quite understand that genre. Is it non-fiction that you still prefer?”
I stayed with him, his goddamn fucked-up book, then let the hospital room take my gaze.
“We’re in a hospital room at Regent Manor,” said Philip as certain smells kicked in. “The facilities here are second-to-none. But then it’s the MC.” He sounded like he was smiling, and I looked back at him. “Do you remember being here about six months back? Taking a hit to the head that left you mildly concussed?”
I pulled the needle in my hand out, causing a little blood to spill, and pushed the covers back. “Out. I remember needing to be out,” I mumbled as the door came open and someone pushed through.
“Mr. Harrison—” Whoever it was, they didn’t sound impressed. “—it’s best you keep that catheter in place until the doctor gives the all clear to remove it.”
I winced as I eased my legs off the bed and glanced up to see a nurse head over.
“I insist—”
“It’s okay,” said Philip, now on his feet as I got to mine and steadied myself, a hand blindly searching for the bed so I could stop the world and all its screams from screwing with my balance. “Can you give us some time alone, please?” he added, now more a whisper and I gritted my teeth.
“He needs to stay in bed,” she whispered back. “He nee—”
“If he needs space, give him it.” More whispering. “Just—”
“
Shut the fuck up
.” I managed to lift my head and look at the nurse. Whispers. I hated fucking whispers. All of my fucking life, even in my fucking dreams, whispering. “What shit have you given me?”
“I beg your pardon?” said the nurse, giving that drop of her chin to look over her glasses.
“What meds?”
“Just some antibiotics, some fluid—”
“Get the forms I need to sign myself out.” I started looking around for some clothes. I had some pyjamas on at the moment, but I needed jeans, a shirt. “Anything I need can go on prescription.”
“I’m sorry,” said the nurse, glancing back at the door, then going over and closing it, “you’ve recently had an operation that requires certain aftercare before I can allow you to leave.”
“Yeah?” I glanced at her. “Get me the forms or the legal shit is on your fucking hands if I leave without signing them.”
“Do you need these?” Philip came over and laid some clothes on the bed. I hadn’t gotten a clue when he’d moved or taken the clothes out of the cupboard.
“Thanks,” I said as jeans played dog-pile with a clean T-shirt, zip-neck jumper. Tossing the shirt aside, I tugged the jumper on only to see the nurse disappear when Philip gave the nod. More aches came into focus; my abs, back, thighs, groin, ass, now all no longer a dull ache, more forcing me to bite back a cry as I gave up trying to take my pyjama bottoms off, just slipped my jeans on over them, barely noticing how loose they both were.
But as the socks came off the bed, I went still seeing what lay isolated on the covers.
“Jack,” said Philip quietly. “Can you pick that photo up, let it drop casually?”
Covers were all wrinkled on the bed, and there, just caught in the ruffled crease that ran the whole length, sat a photo. It was strange, but the sun had been bright that day, forcing Gray to wear his sunglasses. The black of his suit matched the black of the Merc, and stones... I’d counted over a hundred or so stones surrounding one tyre, the same with the ones closest to Gray, and why....
“Come on.” Vince pulled the covers back. “Get in bed before you catch your death...”
“Jack?” whispered Halliday.
“Hmmmm?”
The door eased open and part of me registered the nurse coming back over to the bed. She was holding a bag of medication, some forms, and how she moved and thinned her lips said she wasn’t happy. A hand against my elbow made me flinch, and I looked back to find Philip shoulder-to-shoulder with me. He picked the photo up, flipped it over his fingers like a magician playing with a coin, and tucked it in his pocket before looking at his watch.
“Do you know how long you’ve just stood staring at that photo?” Halliday’s voice was clear, but his facial features were blurred at the edges. “It’s taken the nurse thirty minutes to go and get the information you’ve asked for,” he said quietly.
I looked back at the bed, now photo free.
“Do you remember the term Dissociative Identity Disorder? It was something that was attached to your Conduct Disorder as a teen? Rare for that age. This particular one is known as an absence, a dream-like state to the onlooker.” Philip said quietly. “You’ve had different variants in the past, is that right? Sometimes seems like people are time-lapsed around you, moving fast one moment, slow the next. Or you black out completely. Do you remember? Leaves those who experience it disorientated as people flitter in and out of focus. And usually after a great trauma, you wake up in strange places with women calling you Martin?”
I was back with him, watching as he searched my eyes.
“Do you remember your minor blackout a few months ago?” He gave another soft smile. “You were in a hotel room from what Gray said back then. You couldn’t find the lid to the toothpaste. You didn’t have your photo on you and you were trying to use it to go casual, but you couldn’t put the toothpaste back together and drop it on the surface; the hotel bathroom in Essex ended up in need of refurbishment, from what I hear.”
Remembering the socks were in my hand, I eased one on, ignoring the need to get back on the bed, just go to sleep now. “Gray wasn’t there.”
“Sorry?”
I eased my other sock on, no longer just staring at the bruising circling my ankle. Straightening, I grabbed the trainers off the bed. “Steve....” I winced, for a moment gripping on to the bed. I’d dropped the shoes and bent too quickly, setting off every muscle in a heated row. “Steve and Sam knew... they were, were there.” I slipped a trainer on, and an image flashed into view, leaning against a door slipping trainers on, a long coat, no shirt, just suit trousers. It had been cold by the door, snow cold, and it had covered the grounds by a pool and road as I’d walked home.
I’d made it home that night, I’d been at home that night, but after that...
I straightened, fingers still digging into the mattress. “Gray wasn’t there.”
Philip offered a smile. “That’s good, Jack, that’s very good.” He sounded so calm and I looked at him. “Do you remember anything about the past two weeks?” he said, more stated directly. “Do you know why you’re here? Who—”
Vince stood over by the unit, taking off his watch and glancing over. Naked, side panels of muscle beaten into place, dwarfed mine. My cock should have gotten a kick out of the offering, but there was only a deep, rooted fear; that need to bolt, not just walk, and that was something I wasn’t used to.
“Come on.” Vince pulled back the covers. “Get in bed before you catch your death. You earned it after that blow job on Boxing Day.”