Concealed Affliction (7 page)

The sour expression on her face tells me she hates her job but likes the paycheck. This is most likely why she’s the on call psychiatrist for the hospital. Not one person in their right mind would pay this woman to pick at their brain. She’s a bitch, I could tell from the moment I woke up yesterday.

She doesn’t have a high ranking practice of her own somewhere. She’s paid by the province to be on call for fucked up people such as myself that end up in the hospital for medical reasons and who end up needing their heads checked before they can be sent home.

I’m no doctor, but I think it’s fair to say that someone in my position is allowed all the fucking crazy they want after being held in a basement by a psychopath.

“Alright look Jayne, if you let me do my job you can get out of here quicker. Your doctors informed me that you’ll be held for at least ten more days. Thereafter you’ll get a home nurse to change your sutures. However, that cannot happen until you speak with me. We need to verify where you’re at mentally so that the police can determine what happened at the residence of the home you were kept in.”

In my opinion, Andrew’s shrine of me speaks for itself—pictures of me at lunch with friends, at home raking the yard and at the park with my beautiful little girl. The blood, the knife, and the frayed rope left hanging from the beam tell the rest of the story. Self-explanatory really, aside from the two dead male bodies on the floor.

Only one deserved it.

“Jayne, I know what you’ve been through-”

I cut the cold bitch off, I’ve had enough. I’m not certifiably insane, I’m fucking miserable. There’s a big difference!  Why the hell would I want to talk about it? And who in their right mind would want to hear about it?

“You know?”I ask in my low raspy voice, slightly shaking my head. I can’t fully move anything because my body hurts too badly. “No, Anderson, you don’t know. And until you do, until you’ve hung in a basement for three fucking days, don’t you dare try to tell me ‘you know’. I’ll speak with the police, I will not speak with you. Now get the fuck out of my room.”

Apparently my outburst hasn’t shocked her, because the bitch presses on.

“Jayne, if I believe you’re mentally unstable or mentally traumatized, I will invoke my right to keep you here under observation. The police have questions regarding the deaths that took place where you were held, and I need to determine if you’re mentally stable to answer those questions.”

“I’m breathing, I’m alive and I can see daylight. That’s as stable as you’re going to get right now, Anderson.”

She huffs out a long breath and begins flipping through some papers in her binder.

“Very well, Ms. O’Connor.”

She jots down some notes on a piece of paper before tucking the binder under her arm and looking at me. If her job was to truly assess me, if she was really concerned about my well-being, she wouldn’t give in so easy. This woman is like a pill dispenser. A doctor who would rather prescribe you a medication than diagnose what the true problem is.

She signed off on my paperwork, therefore she’ll get her paycheck to fund the next round of Botox injections and her weekly dry cleaning bill.

“I’m finished here unless the detectives need to speak with me. I’ll send them in on my way out.”

I don’t respond, and I don’t watch her leave. I lie here and stare out the window, appreciating the silence, although it’s short lived.

“Ms. O’Connor, we’d like to ask you a few questions regarding the incident that took place in Bakersville two days ago.”

If I never heard his voice again, it would be too soon.

Detective Braumer.

The last time I heard it was after my mother, father and little girl were taken from me. I now know that Andrew, my attacker, and the man who kept me captive was responsible for their deaths. If one good thing can come of speaking to the detectives, sharing this information might be it.

“Andrew was responsible for the death of my family.”

I finally turn my head to gauge the reaction of Detective Braumer, as well as his kind partner Detective Miller, who jumps in to ask questions.

“Did Mr. Roberts say that Ms. O’Connor?”

Braumer cuts him off.

“We’re not here regarding the death of your family Ms. O’Connor, we’re here because there are two dead men in a basement, and one alive and breathing woman lying in a hospital bed. We need answers and an explanation of what happened two days ago.”

This sack of shit excuse for a detective has no empathy at all. Not that I expected it, but I at least would like him to acknowledge what I just said.

“My memory is fuzzy, the doctor said this is to be expected.”

I’m lying, but I’m also exhausted. My speech is slower, most likely from the automatic morphine drip connected to my arm. My surgeon told me that I have one hundred and sixty two stitches in my back, three broken ribs, a fractured jaw and cheekbone, a broken wrist, dislocated shoulder and a fractured collar bone. Four units of blood were administered on arrival and I’ve slept for thirty-eight hours of the past forty-eight that I’ve been here.

“Ms. O’Connor, a forensic team has been through the basement, and we’re looking for answers to put this case to rest. We need to talk about your purpose in that basement, as well as how Andrew Roberts ended up in the morgue.”

I’m not coherent enough to come up with a proper story that I can remember, not that I care much about my fate at this moment so long as I can see daylight. I discreetly press the nurse call button on my bed and answer Detective Braumer.

“I told you it’s a little blurry after I lost half my body weight in blood. I also just told you he admitted to killing my family. How about you look into that while I rest. Then, we’ll talk more when my memory comes back.”

Miller speaks up, he has a lot more compassion for people, and it’s not just the good cop-bad cop routine.

“Get some rest Ms. O’Connor, we’ll come back later.”

Braumer apparently doesn’t like being told what to do, and he tells him so.

“I’m not finished yet Miller! We need answers, and I’m here to get them.”

My kind old nurse with perfect timing comes bustling into the room.

“Alright, everyone get out. I need to change Ms. O’Connor’s sutures, and then she needs more rest. She’s not going to get it with you pickin’ at her. Now go.”

Miller gives me a kind nod, while Braumer eyeballs me. If looks could kill, I’d be a dead woman. This man still hates me, and if I cared what people thought about me I’d look into it to figure out why. However, since I still give no fucks about that, I eyeball the miserable fuck right back before thanking my nurse.

“Thank you, Reta.”

She lifts the paper cup of water to my mouth, giving me a sip before tucking me in much like a grandmother would. She’s a bigger woman in her late sixties I’d guess, and clearly takes no shit from people.

I respect her immensely.

Reta folds the blankets gently around my body as I lie on my side. It’s too painful to lay on my back. She adjusts something on my IV machine before leaning down close, for some reason it doesn’t bother me for her to be near. Perhaps it’s the age, or the eyes.

Maybe both.

She stares at me kindly for a moment, not at all making me cringe. Her worn old eyes study me closely before she speaks.

“I don’t know what happened exactly dear, but I can take a good guess after seeing you, and the man who took you. I was in the operating room when they brought you in, never seen anything like it in my forty years as a nurse. After we fixed you up, I went down to the morgue. I had to see him for myself.”

Kind Reta puts her hand on mine and gives it a gentle squeeze before she continues in a determined way only a woman of her age could get away with at such a time.

“You fought well, dear. That’s why you’re up here, and he’s down there. Don’t ever think it should’ve been different, and don’t you dare ever feel bad about that.”

She gives me a firm nod before patting my hand and leaving the room.

She didn’t change my sutures—it wasn’t time to.

* * *

I take a deep breath before I open my eyes.

Water.

That’s what I smell, along with the sand and the few evergreen trees outside my window. It’s crisp and clean, and exactly what I missed while I was in Indy. I lie here staring at the ceiling, listening to the birds, absorbing it all.

A calm settles over me, much like when I’m in the bath. I feared coming back would revive memories of my last time here with Ryder when he saw my scars for the first time. To my surprise, I felt nothing but the calm. The kind that relaxes your muscles and eases the tension in your neck.

I glance at the clock on the nightstand and see it’s eight in the morning. We got in just before ten last night and I went straight to bed. Despite the dream about my time in the hospital, I feel quite rested.

I throw off the covers and stretch out my body that’s a little stiff from the long drive yesterday. I take in the gold walls I painted myself, and my black furniture that definitely needs dusting before I make my way to the bathroom to start my morning routine.

Coffee on my back porch. That’s all I want right now.

* * *

The weather is beautiful. The sun is shining and Norma hasn’t left the water since we came outside this morning.

It’s the little things in life, and this is one of them. I’m on coffee number three and haven’t had the urge to do anything other than sit here. I’m thankful I packed up most of the contents of my fridge before leaving Indy. Therefore I don’t need to leave the house today for things like milk or coffee. I can just sit and enjoy the view from my lounge. Breathing in the fresh air, exhaling the anxiety.

My phone ringing from the kitchen forces me to remove my ass from the lounge and head inside. Only two people have my number, Ryder and Brock. I look at the call display to see it’s Ryder calling. In too good of a mood to be a bitch, I answer with a mild smile on my face.

“Morning, handsome.”

“Morning, beautiful. I’ll take a guess you’re still drinking coffee and haven’t left the porch yet.”

Apparently my routine is predictable.

“Your guess would be correct.”

His whiskey chuckle rumbles through the line.

“I don’t have much time, just wanted to make sure you got settled in alright.”

“All good here Ryder, and thank you for bringing my bags of clothes in.”

I hear voices in the background, but not close enough to make out what they are saying. Ryder begins speaking to someone but obviously covers the mic on the phone because his voice is muffled.

“Got to work. Glad you made it home babe, I’ll talk to you soon.”

Short, sweet and straight to the point. Normally this is a quality I like in people, being as I’m still not one to sit around and shoot the shit, but in this case it displeases me.

“Alright, bye Ryder.”

That’s all I manage, hearing the dial tone immediately after. I know something is up and I’m determined to find out what it is when he gets back. Until then, I’m going to drink the rest of my coffee which will soon be switched to wine. Regardless of Ryder’s aloof behavior, I’m happy to be back, and I’m damn well going to celebrate.