Hard Silence (25 page)

Chapter Twenty-Two

Abby kept her eyes closed and wiggled her toes up Toby’s body until she found his ears. His tail thumped her other leg.

“You let me sleep late,” she scolded. Wait, was that scratchy voice hers? And the noise. Was Evan watching a movie?

Dr. Simon to the ICU. Paging Dr. Simon.

Keeping her eyes closed, Abby stretched out her arm and felt air instead of the other side of her large mattress, and she was at an angle. Antiseptic smells burned her nose. Hospital. She was in the hospital.

Her lungs tightened, and the beeping in her ears sped. Last thing...what was the last thing she remembered?

Explosion. Pushing Evan out the window. Wallis. The hatchet. She opened her eyes and stared at the ceiling tiles.

“Abby? Honey?”

She turned to the soft, sweet voice and froze as she met a familiar gray gaze. Oh God. Wallis wasn’t dead. She’d made it up. Hoped for it so hard she’d created a reality.

Pain sliced through her as she tried to escape. Toby’s head weighted her feet, keeping her prisoner. Maybe
she
was dead too. Maybe she and her monster mother were going to be forced to spend eternity linked—

“Please don’t be scared,” Wallis said. No. It wasn’t her. Abby struggled to catch her breath. Wallis’s eyes had never been that kind. It was a Wallis clone—a defective one. “I know it’s scary. I’m your aunt Susannah. Suzy. Ned just went down the hall.”

She was still talking when Ned walked in the door. His smile split his face. “Abigail.”

Papa. The man she’d spent five minutes with before she’d broken out of jail. He came to her side and took her hand. “I’m sorry Suzy scared you.”

Rex Simon barreled through the door, only to relax when she met his gaze. “Welcome back, Abby. Let me check you over, and then you have a crowd waiting on you.”

Her chest was bruised from her collarbone to her diaphragm, and her ribs were wrapped. “What happened?”

“They had to do CPR until they could get you here, and they broke a few of your ribs in the process. We’ve reset them. Good news is we fixed those crooked ones. You shouldn’t hurt anymore.” He smiled grimly. “In the long run anyway.” He finished his exam. “I’m going to keep you for a few more days and make sure you don’t pull your stitches loose. No arguing. Who do you want to see first?”

Jeff
. “Evan.”

“Cue the red tornado,” Rex said as he opened the door. Evan galloped in and scaled the bed frame to get to her.

Ned stepped forward to stop him, and Abby waved him off. The little boy could break every bone she had. “Hi, sweetheart. Are you okay?”

“Yep. I’ve been staying with Cassie.”

Not with Jeff. Abby called on years of hiding to keep her smile in place. “Really?” She stroked his bandage, remembering his bloody wound. “How’s your arm?”

“I have stitches. Jeff helped me get them.”

Breathe, Abby.
“Good for him. I think I have stitches, too.”

“You do.” Evan hugged her gently. “I’m glad you’re okay, Mom. I knew you’d save us.”

Tears burned her eyes, and she brushed them away as he sat up.

“Is it okay if I call you that?” he asked quietly, his stare uncertain. “You feel like my mom.”

“And you feel like my little boy,” she warbled. “I like it.”

“Okay, good. Mr. Mathis was about to take me and Toby to the park. Can I go?”

“Of course. Remember—”

“My manners,” he said before he kissed her cheek. “I love you, Mom.”

“I love you too, Ev. Would you ask Cassie to come see me?”

Evan galloped out, Toby on his heels. Ned and Suzy—her father and her aunt—each squeezed her hand before they left, too. Her heart broke all over again when Cassie came into the room, but her resemblance to Jeff was only part of it. “I am so sorry.”

“Me, too,” she said as she swept in for a hug. “He’s a—”

“None of that.” She didn’t want to talk about him.

“I’ll have a great story to tell my kids,” Cassie teased. “Evan and I can’t wait to have you home. And we can talk all you want then. Right now, Maggie’s pacing the hall.”

Cass left and Abby sagged against the pillow, fighting pain and exhaustion. She’d been awake for ten minutes, for pity’s sake. She couldn’t go to sleep now. Though she considered faking it to keep from facing Maggie.

She watched her oldest living friend walk through the door and across the room. Solemn-faced and quiet, Maggie sat on the edge of the bed. Abby fidgeted with her blanket, unsure of where to start.

“How are you doing with the whole
this is your life
thing?”

“My aunt Suzy scares me,” Abby admitted.

“She’s nice. You’ll like her. Your dad is quiet, like you. He’s been spending a lot of time with Faye, and he likes to read. He loved that awful
Edgar Sawtelle
book.” Her teasing faded as her lips trembled. “Abby...”

“I couldn’t let her hurt you,” Abby sobbed as she clasped her friend’s fingers. “I’m sorry.”

Maggie squeezed back, her grip almost painful. “You have nothing to be sorry for. Now.” She wiped her eyes with her free hand. “Graham needs to talk to you. Are you up for it?”

Abby nodded, and Maggie handed her a tissue as she kissed her cheek. “I’ll tell him not to take too long.”

“Bossy woman,” Gray teased from the doorway. He stopped Maggie on the way out and held her in a loose embrace as he whispered in her ear.

The sweet picture made Abby ache in places that had nothing to do with stitches and broken ribs. She looked away until the breeze from the door cooled her sheets and a chair grated across the floor.

Gray’s smile was thin. “Hey, Ab.”

Abby held up her index finger. “Send me a bill.”

His smile widened as he nodded.

She extended a second finger and tried to keep her emotions in check. “Thank you.”

He nodded again, this time scratching his nose and clearing his throat. “Your house is gone.”

“My servers are off-site. The rest of it is just stuff. What about my animals?”

“They’re fine, and your darkroom is in one piece. I’ve started the insurance claim. And I’ve talked to Deb and Hank. They’re good with you staying on the hill. They were planning to stay gone longer anyway.”

“Uh-huh,” she drawled.

“They were, I swear. And I negotiated a reasonable rent. Which you can more than afford because Tracy Hoover’s check came yesterday. Your notoriety has put you in high demand. She’s eager to talk to you about a permanent collection.”

“Notoriety?” she squeaked.

“You single-handedly brought down a prolific serial killer who was related to you. The networks are pestering the hell out of me.”

“How long have I been out?”

“Two days,” he said, winking. “I’m very efficient. Anyway, I’ve told the reporters no comment. Celia and I have had a long talk about Evan, and she’s interceded with CPS. He can stay with you on the condition that both of you get counseling. Agreed?”

“Of course.” She’d been cooped up in her own head for so long, it might be exhilarating to talk to someone else. Since Jeff—”I’m glad I gave you my power of attorney.”

“Next time warn a guy,” he scolded before he drew a deep breath. “Abby—”

She looked out the window, eager to delay the inevitable. The colors outside were so bright. Blue sky, green grass, all the flowers bobbing lazily along. It seemed perfectly right and terribly wrong at the same time. “Can you contact the Dempseys and see if they’ll talk to me? And I need to arrange a funeral for Buck.”

“I’ll take care of it.” The chair squeaked as he shifted. “Abby—”

“He’s gone, isn’t he?” She looked back at him. “It’s what everyone
isn’t
saying.”

He nodded once, quick and sharp.

“It’s understandable.” She patted his hand. “I’m fine.” When her statement sounded more like a whimper, she cleared her throat and blinked to banish the tears. “Really.”

* * *

Jeff walked through the door of his apartment and dropped his bag in the entryway. He was home. After two days of driving himself to exhaustion, after months of being surrounded by other people’s stuff, he’d expected it to feel better.

It would. It was like driving once you were used to public transportation—everything felt unfamiliar until instinct kicked in. He’d get back into his routine, and everything would click into place. He’d get back to his life.

He crossed the living room and opened the drapes. The sun glinted off the windows across the street. Beyond the skyscrapers, his little sliver of Lake Michigan glittered. The change in color disoriented him. He was used to trees, to green.

That wasn’t your life.

Laundry. He always did laundry after a trip. He dumped the bag into the washing machine and stared at the clothes he’d bought because everything he’d been wearing when he’d left had smelled like smoke, dirt, blood and Abby’s gardenia perfume. He’d left those clothes somewhere in Montana, where he’d stopped because he had to sleep. And then he’d bought pills because he couldn’t sleep alone.

Not your life.

He turned back to the apartment. Now what. Clean? The place smelled like bleach, Pine-Sol and furniture polish. There was nothing for him to do except stand here and miss the smell of garden soil, horse and the lime and sugar body wash Abby had kept—

He should call his mother. He always called her when he got home.

“Call Mom.”

Calling home
, his phone chirped, happy to do him the favor
.

No. No. No.
He punched the stop button with every denial, cursing the flight of fancy that had prodded him to program
her
number with
that
name. He’d done it in the middle of the flight to Kentucky, when he’d stared out into the darkness and plotted their future.

Before she’d run away from him and died.

He dialed his mother the old-fashioned way.

“Hello?”

He stretched his face into a grimace. “Hi, Mama. I’m—” he forced the word up his throat “—home.”

“Oh, Jeff.”

Those two simple words hollowed him out, undermining everything he was trying to rebuild. He should have known Cass would call her. His breath stopped as he slammed his eyes closed. “I have to go.”

“Love—”

He’d apologize later for hanging up on her. Right now, he needed to unpack his gear...except that it was in Idaho. He’d run away and left classified material in a rental house.

Sucking up his courage, he dialed Cass.

“Hi.” His baby sister made that one word sound like a condemnation. It’s one of the things he loved about her—she never hid how she felt.

“I need you to box my stuff and—”

“Gray called the Boise field office, and an agent picked everything up to ship back to you. It should be waiting in your office.”

Why did it feel like he was breaking up with his sister? “Okay, thanks. How’s Evan today?”

“Right now he’s playing catch in the park with Nate Mathis.”

Jeff’s fingers twitched, aching to feel the leather glove and the seams in the ball. “Good. Would you tell him I’ll call tonight?”

“Sure.”

He should go, but he couldn’t bring himself to hang up the phone. And he couldn’t bring himself to ask what he wanted to know more than anything.

“She’s awake,” Cass volunteered.

Jeff dropped into a chair that was stiff from disuse, closed his eyes, and raised his face to the ceiling. “How is she?”

“Awake,” Cass repeated. “Why would you care any—”

“Cassidy Renee,” he barked, his hands shaking. He was like a junkie desperate for a fix. “Please. Has she—”

God, he was a vain SOB. Maybe Cass wouldn’t fill in the right blank.

“You are a self-centered bastard, you know that? You ran away, and all you want to know is if she’s crying her eyes out, begging to see you.”

“Yeah,” he grunted as he sagged in his chair and prayed for it. He’d go back on the next flight. He’d spend the rest of his life chasing her around and milking cows. If she wanted him there.

“She says she’s fine. Evan says he’s fine.
You’re
fine. I’m fine. Everybody’s fucking fine.” She hung up on him. It’s how every phone call had gone for the past two days—talk to Evan, fight with Cass.

As he sat in his cold, stiff chair, in his sterile apartment, the walls closed around him and the clouds cast dark shadows across the floor. No dogs clicking across the floor, no cowbells or contented chickens, no wind through the grass. No Evan asking a string of endless questions. No Abby humming along with her playlist.

Jeff pushed himself upright, tossed his head and welded his spine straight. He could call his sister back and apologize, but he’d done that the first night and she’d yelled at him for an hour. He really couldn’t go through that again. He could call the hospital...

He marched out the door and took the stairs, all twenty-six flights, rather than wait on the elevator. On the street, the crowds and noise of Chicago surrounded him, and he joined the throng for the two-block walk to Bailey’s.

The bar was packed. Wall-to-wall people yelled to be heard over the deafening sound system and tripped over each other in the semi-darkness. Jeff moved away from the door and stood on the edge of the crowd, looking for a path to the bar.

His favorite bartender saw him and waved wildly, beckoning him forward, but he couldn’t move. The crowd, the noise, the darkness—everything pressed on him, making him dread the path strewn with faceless revelers who stood too close and laughed too loud.

He waved at the woman behind the bar, turned around and left it behind in favor of relative fresh air and comparative quiet. The farther he walked, the less he could feel the music pounding through his feet, the more peaceful—and the more lost—he felt.

After two blocks, he turned onto a quiet street. Here the buildings were older and families left restaurants, waving goodbye to the proprietors. Jeff walked down a set of concrete steps and through an ornate wooden door.

The Japanese restaurant had been a lucky find one night after a hard day at work. And Jeff had kept it a secret from everyone. It was quiet, and spare, and everything was art.