A red tainted Silence (83 page)

I watched as Adam got up from the chair he’d been sitting in and reached for the phone. He dialed. Someone answered. “Hey, has Nicholas left yet? Oh, where did he --

Why?” He glanced at me. “Well, that’s interesting. Yes, thanks, Jenn. No, don’t worry, I won’t. I won’t. Hope you feel better.”

He set down the phone. His jaw clenched. Darkness pulled at me, exhaustion weighted down my eyelids, but I frowned, puzzled by the expression in my brother’s eyes. The anger.

The hate as he looked at me.

Why hate?

I closed my eyes, heard the door open as I drifted off to sleep. Heard Adam’s voice, another’s voice stroking my consciousness. I didn’t recognize the voice.

Sleep, soft warm darkness, taking me into her arms ... a muffled groan, something heavy falling to the ground.

Something soft cloaking me, covering my face, can’t move it, can’t see, can’t breathe, pushing down ... holding me down ... panic ... racing ... heart ... can’t breath ... can’t fight ...

Nicholas ...

* * * * *

“Nicholas,” Lee said to me, his eyes dark with fury. “Adam said he’d be there first thing this morning.”

“I know. Oh, God, I know. That’s what the nurse said last night, and I didn’t even think about it. Detective?” I pleaded, whirling to him. I felt sick. Sheer terror ratcheted through me, followed by dread. Too late, they’ll be too late Brandon’s dead Brandon’s dead Brandon’s dead ...

But the detective was already heading for the door. Which, just as he reached it, burst open. One of the cops who had been in the interview with Heather Garvey said something to the detective. He nodded briskly, as did the other cop, who took off.

Detective Anderson turned to me and glanced at Jon. “Heather Garvey just confirmed it once she knew her son was safe. She named Adam Ashwood. I’ve got cops en route now to the hospital. Jeff --”

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“I’m on it,” he said, motioning for me to follow, pulling out his cell. He dialed as we ran to the car. “Mutt, get in with Brandon, now -- What? Fuck! Call him! We’ve got a name.

Adam Ashwood. Yes. Hell yes. I’ll hold.”

“Jeff?” I said, my voice thick with the panic racing through me. He held up on one finger.

“Hospital security, yes.” He snapped his phone shut. “We’ve got to go. Now. Follow me.”

I did as he said. As I’ve said, there are times to obey Jeff. We ran out of the police station. Snow had fallen hard the whole time we were inside. It lay thick on the ground, covering the cars. With a snarl, Jeff swept the snow off. I started to help, frantic, my heart racing, pushing the snow aside, as did Lee and Jon. I couldn’t just stand there. My helplessness was killing me. I had to do something. It was something. Why hadn’t I just gone to the hospital? Why hadn’t I known?

Why didn’t I see the hate in Adam’s eyes ...

But I had. It’d always been there, always, from the time I first saw Brandon, the day my beautiful golden boy fainted when I walked back into his life. And later, when I came to rehearsal that first time ... no, every time. It was always there, darkening Adam’s eyes whenever he looked at me. But it was okay; I could handle it. He didn’t bother me, and it was directed at me, not at Brandon.

I shook, so cold. My scar screamed. I felt like throwing up. Terror held me in its grip, but I pushed it aside. This was no time to collapse in fear. I had to be strong.

Be strong, be strong, be strong ...

“Get in,” Jeff barked, and we did as he said. Seconds later, almost before I could get my seatbelt fastened, we were out of the parking lot and heading for the hospital.

“What did Mutt say?” I asked. “Is Adam there? He was supposed to be there. Jeff!” Jeff looked at me grimly. “He’s not at the hospital, Nicholas. He got sick, he called another one of our friends in, and Justin didn’t answer his phone just now.”

“Oh, my God,” I whispered, and stared out the windshield while the snow fell harder as if it knew I had to get to Brandon. I had to, fast -- and it didn’t give a fuck. Panic made me breathe too fast. I felt dizzy. Like I was going to faint. The cars moved too slow. They wouldn’t get out of the way. I wanted to scream, hang out the window and scream at them to move, move, you idiots, move!

By the time we neared the hospital, more than twenty minutes had passed and I was almost in tears. Lee and Jon were little better; no one had said anything as we all willed ourselves to the hospital, prayed that we were in time. Prayed that someone had already gotten there ahead of us and Brandon was okay, that Adam had been stopped, and Brandon was okay, wasn’t hurt, he’d be fine.

That he wouldn’t be dead.

494

Carolyn Gray

Jeff’s phone rang just as we pulled into the hospital parking lot -- a parking lot filled with police cars, their whirling blue and red lights lighting up the snow.

“Why are they just sitting there?” I cried out.

“I’ll find out.” He parked the car as he flipped open his phone. I undid my seatbelt, my hand on the door handle, but he shot a hand out, grabbing me.

“I’ve got to get to Brandon!”

“No,” Jeff barked at me. I fell back against the seat and stared at him. Hating him. Tried to pull away from his grip, but his damn massive paw held me fast.

“Easy, Nicholas,” Lee said in my ear.

“Jeff here,” he said into his phone. Then he closed his eyes. Lee held on to me from where he sat behind me. Jeff released me, snapped his phone shut, and looked at me. “All right. We need to get you up there, now.” When I opened my mouth to beg him to tell me what had happened, he just shook his head. “Now.”

* * * * *

Please, Brandon, please, please fight. Fight! Don’t die, please don’t die ...

I sat in the waiting room, staring at a spot on the industrial carpet beneath my feet.

Only sheer determination kept me from falling onto the floor in fear, in grief. I was cold; the room was cold; my heart was frozen. They’d taken Brandon into surgery, to try and stop the bleeding, to mend the stab wounds caused by Adam’s knife.

He’d gone into shock, they’d told me. I knew that wasn’t good. Wasn’t good at all.

Adam was in surgery, too. Adam had hit Justin over the head, but he’d shaken himself out of his stupor just in time to realize what was happening. Realize that the man hurting Brandon was one he’d been told was okay to stay with Brandon because he was his brother and brothers should be trusted. Why wouldn’t they, of all people, be ones a guy could count on?

Right?

Oh, God, Brandon, what did you think when you looked up and realized Adam was the one?

Adam had had a knife, was pulling his hand back up again to take one more stab at his brother’s chest. To kill him. Justin had pulled out his gun and yelled at Adam to stop. He didn’t. Justin fired. But still, Adam hadn’t gone down. He’d gotten to his feet, somehow, bleeding, and stumbled from the hospital room. Justin went after him, into the stairwell, where he shot Adam again.

That time, he didn’t get up.

Later, they would tell us that Adam had first tried to suffocate Brandon, but for some reason it either hadn’t worked or, my psychiatrist told me, it wasn’t dramatic enough.

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Brandon wasn’t suffering. Adam wanted him to be in pain, to see him writhe in agony -- so he made sure that happened by taking his pocketknife and trying to kill his brother with that.

What had prompted the final attack? The telephone call, Brandon asking Adam to call and find out where I was, why I wasn’t there yet -- and Jenn telling Adam about the woman I had remembered, and that I was at the police station, and they were bringing the woman in.

Adam had to have known Heather would talk. That she would tell them his name, a name she should never have known had my captor not felt compelled to brag to his girlfriend about his new “job.” I could just imagine Adam’s thoughts -- it was over, his long reign of terror ended at last. Had he thought “might as well go out with a bang?” Or had the temptation of having a helpless Brandon at his mercy one last time just been too much to ignore?

Now we sat in the waiting room as, yet again, Brandon fought a battle for his life.

Adam was in surgery, too.

* * * * *

“How much longer, Lee?” I asked.

He sat next to me. I leaned against him, desperately wishing that his presence comforted me like it had the night before, but there wasn’t anything that could. Brandon’s parents had made it to the hospital at last, only to learn both of their younger sons were in surgery, and that one had put the other there. That Adam had tried his best to kill Brandon -

- and might ultimately have succeeded.

We just didn’t know yet.

Jon had been the one to tell them everything. I left when he did that, walked the hallways, Jeff following behind me, watching over me. I couldn’t be there to witness them finally learn the terrible truth.

That it’d been Adam who had tormented Brandon all these years.

That the men raping Brandon in the video were doing it because of his own brother.

That it was Adam, who had so faithfully stood by Brandon’s side during those terrible weeks while I was kidnapped -- a kidnapping he had fucking planned! -- no doubt gloating to himself over the misery he put both of us through.

That it had been Adam who had sent Brandon into his downward spiral.

That it had been Adam -- and none of us realized it -- who had known his brother so well, his weaknesses so intimately, that it’d been easy for him to exploit them, creating and sustaining the ultimate hell.

No. I couldn’t be there to witness them learning that.

496

Carolyn Gray

Lee had finally come and found us and told us to come back to the waiting room. And when I had, Margaret had met me at the door, taken me in her arms, and held me for a long moment, saying nothing -- what could she say?

I couldn’t say anything, either. I had no words, no comfort to give. I was too scared, too angry. Too sick. So I’d held on to her, hugged her, grieved.

And now I blinked, watching them across from me as they held hands, the mother of the man I loved and who had always loved me, too, and the father -- who looked up at me from time to time, his expression not angry, hard, full of hate and blame like I would’ve expected, but full of bewilderment. And, perhaps, shame.

How did a mother bear learning one son tried to kill another -- and that that son had planned, for years, the torment he’d put his brother through? I looked at Jon. How did a brother handle his helplessness? How did he handle the self-blame?

I didn’t know. I wondered, too.

Jon stood apart, so alone, so lost, but I didn’t have the strength in me to comfort him beyond hugging him and telling him I loved him. He’d nodded at that, then isolated himself again. “To think,” he told me, looking at me with haunted eyes. I understood. We would talk, later, once we knew the outcome of the day.

Amanda had stayed with Jenn -- she didn’t feel well already, and learning Brandon had been hurt because of this only made her feel worse. She blamed herself, she told me later, believing she’d failed Brandon.

“No,” I told her. “You never failed him. You were the only one who didn’t.” Which was true. So true.

All along, it’d been Adam. That thought kept hitting me over and over again, pounding relentlessly at me. It seemed so obvious to me now -- who else could it have been? His hate for me, had it caused this? Led to this? I’d never understood why Adam had despised me so ...

and despised Brandon, as well. Sweet, beautiful, kind Brandon, who only wanted to have a good life, help his family the best he could. He’d never asked for the dizzying fame, the millions we made -- yet he’d reached the heights Adam had always aspired to and never achieved. Never could.

The angry, vindictive side of me took comfort in that. Yet had Adam found success, would none of this have ever happened?

I just didn’t know anymore. I was sick, tired, worried, scared to death. Now that I had Brandon’s love back, was I just going to lose it again ... and this time, forever?

How would I bear it? I didn’t think I could.

Icy calm stole over me, but it quickly dispersed as Brandon’s voice filled my mind.

Promise me, Nicholas. If anything happens to me, go on. Make me proud. I am proud of you, but there’s so much more you can do.

I’d promised. I’d fucking promised him!

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When Lee answered my question, I’d almost forgotten I’d spoken out loud. “Been two hours. It can’t be much longer.”

“I’m scared,” I whispered.

“Me, too, Nicholas. Me, too.”

* * * * *

The inevitable finally happened -- the waiting room door opened. A weary-looking surgeon walked in, his gaze searching the faces turned toward him. I saw blood on his scrubs.

Brandon’s? He glanced my way; my heart stopped. I stood. Then his gaze settled on the parents as he took a seat across from them, his practiced compassion turned on full so we could all see.

“I have bad news.”

No.

NO!

“I’m sorry,” he finally said.

I think I screamed, and then my knees buckled. I felt an explosion of pain in my head, and my world turned black.

* * * * *

Rippling pain, darkness and strange smells. Strange sounds ...

“... heart rate dropped ... holding steady now ... another hundred cc’s ... let’s get another blanket on him ...”

“Can you hear me, Mr. Ashwood?”

Warmth, reassurance. Touch of gentle hands ... “Can you hear me? Try to nod, try to ...” Can’t. Hurts.

“... go get his family now ... his partner’s Nicholas Kilmain ... yes! I feel so sorry for him ... said he freaked out ... didn’t realize it wasn’t him; it was the brother ... stitches in his forehead. He’ll be okay, now.” A laugh. “Yeah, of course I have all their CDs. I loved them.

Still do.”

Nicholas ... hurt. He’s hurt? Where is he? Where’s ... Throat hurts ... “Nicholas?” Sounded bad, what happened?

“There you are, Mr. Ashwood. Can you open your eyes?” It hurts -- bright lights, too bright -- “That better? Now try.” Smiling face, dark hair, blue eyes -- not Nick’s.