A Wolf In Wolf's Clothing (22 page)

This time when the large crystal ball filled with swirling blue smoke, it undulated and writhed until it began to take on a form. Slowly, through the mist, Trev began to make out a woman. Her hair was long and wavy—dark, maybe black. At first he thought perhaps it was the woman he kept seeing in his dreams, only some inner sense discounted that. She started to turn toward him, but just as he caught a glimpse of a sad smile, she turned and began walking away. He wanted to cry, “Wait! Please don’t go! Stay!” But he didn’t. He could only watch as she slowly vanished into the orb.

He blinked thrice before he saw a card had been ejected. Trepidation flooded through his mind and heart as he reached for it. The Wheel of Fortune, in the reversed position. And the fortune read:

The Wheel goes round and round.

He’d borrowed the divination book from Colford, and was learning the meaning of the Major Arcana. Thus he knew this meant unexpected bad luck, difficulties and delays.

Suddenly, he felt in a panic to talk to Des and Jago. His legs were too weak to hold him, so he went to the living room and sat on the sofa.

The phone rang and rang at B.A.’s home on Falgannon. Giving up in frustration, Trev tried the number for the pub, thinking surely someone would be there. Not the case. “Damn, and double damn! I really needed to hear your voice, Des, to know everything is all right on that bloody island!” he muttered.

He glanced at his wristwatch. While they might have
plans for Halloween, maybe he could catch Jago before his brother went out. The call went through, but once more it rang endlessly.

Just as he was ready to hang up, the phone was answered. “Oo-it’s Wash-o-rama. You pay it, we spray it. What can I do you for?” came the nasally voice on the other end.

For an instant Trev thought he’d misdialed, but then he caught the playfulness in the man’s tone. “Is Jago there? This is his brother Trevelyn calling.”

“Ah,
Trevelyn
…yes, the hired help is here, and yes, you may speak to him. However, remember this is a business, and we frown upon personal calls, just so you—” The chatter was cut off as the phone was either dropped or snatched away; then in the background came more teasing, “Trevelyn? Bet he wears
shorts,
too. Hey, hey!”

Trev chuckled as it sounded like water was being sprayed. This was the touch of normalcy he was so desperately seeking. The pressure building in his chest began to ease.

“Just for that, I’m going to go find your cat, kidnap him and hold him for ransom.”

“Well, while you’re torturing him, see if he’ll reveal his name.” Laughing, Jago finally took the phone. “Hello, brother dearest. I’m rather busy at the moment, so make it short, please.”

“Yeah, they’re getting ready to put you in a padded cell. I leave you alone for a few weeks and you get into trouble. Oo-it’s Wash-o-rama? Kidnapping and torturing your cat?
What
cat? Even more pressing, what the bloody hell is an Oo-it?”

Jago explained, “Oo-it is the nickname for a quirky but strangely endearing character who works at The Windmill here. Whole place is full of them.”

“Similar to Falgannon Isle. When I talk to Des, he sounds like he’s hip-deep in oddballs. He’s also getting a hint of
a Scottish burr—and you, brother dear, are acquiring a Kentucky twang,” Trev pointed out, loving the peace their banter was bringing to him.

“While you are growing veddy Brit. Consider yourself lucky you didn’t go to Falgannon or here and escaped the local color. Your finicky temperament couldn’t handle it.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t say I avoided eccentric people. There’s a small band of Gypsies camped on the Colford property. I’d think people living in wagons in this day and age ranks right up there with your out-of-the-ordinary.” Trev exhaled in relief that everything seemed all right with his sibling. “How are things going?”

“I detect a note of concern,” Jago remarked.

“I wish this was all done,” Trev admitted. “The pretense of being Trevelyn Sinclair wearies me. I’ve been buying Montgomerie Enterprise stock left and right all week, yet keeping it slow enough not to draw attention. We’re gaining inroads. Still, I’d prefer the takeover to be a fait accompli. I dislike not being in contact with Des or you. I ring and ring and can’t reach either of you. I keep having dreams of the sisters getting together and comparing notes—then all hell breaks loose.”

“Between us, I’d prefer we just drop the plans, tell them the truth now, before your dream becomes a reality—a nightmare.”

“Knowing what it would do to Des? It’d not just ruin him financially, but…well, also what it would do to
him.
This isn’t about money. You know that,” Trevelyn said. But there was less conviction to his words than three weeks earlier.

“There should be another way. The takeover will happen.” Jago sounded half angry, half desperate. “Des has the wheels in motion and there’s no stopping them. Only, we can come clean first. Lay all our cards on the table. Do the deal straight on.”

“Des wants it this way. We owe him—”

Jago exhaled, obviously struggling for control. It was so unlike St. Jago. “Don’t start. Just don’t bloody start. I’ve heard the song and dance, chapter and verse, until I am ready to puke, Trev. This is
not
the way. It can’t be the way—”

Trev’s phone signaled he had another call. “My other line is ringing, Jago. Let me take it. It’s Mershan International’s number, so it will be Julian. Hold—”

“That’s my phone saying the battery is low.” Jago clearly jumped at the excuse to break off the conversation. “I need to recharge it. I’m out for the night, so call me tomorrow. Not early. Remember the time difference.”

“No! Wait—”

The line went dead. Frowning, Trev punched the button to take the call from Julian. “What’s up?”

“Sorry, Trev, no way to break this to you easily. Your mother has taken a turn for the worse. I’m preparing arrangements for you three as we speak. I’ll fetch Des from Falgannon. I just tried to call Jago, but his line was busy—”

“Yeah, we were speaking. His phone battery is down. You won’t reach him, and he said he’d be out for the rest of the night, unavailable until tomorrow. Damn!”

“Don’t worry. I’ll book his flights and have a limo driver go pick him up and get him to the airport. I could pick you up before I go for Desmond, but figured you wouldn’t want me landing on Colford’s rolling lawn with that big Sikorsky with the M on the side. I’ve sent a driver for you. He should be there shortly. I don’t want you driving. You have a lead foot on the best of occasions, and this is not the best of occasions.”

“I’ll be waiting in Ireland.” Trev snapped the phone shut.

Raven was just walking into the kitchen, carrying dirty plates and glasses. She saw him rushing to the stairs and
followed. He grabbed his duffel from the bottom of her closet and rushed around, gathering things. He wasn’t sure what. It didn’t matter. He had to move or scream.

“Trev, what’s wrong? Why are you packing?”

He stood by the closet, considering what to take. Screw it. Julian could buy whatever was needed in Ireland. He closed his eyes and tried to figure out what he was going to tell Raven. “I really don’t have time. A driver is on the way to fetch me to the airport. My mother is…not well.”

“I can come with you, if you like,” she offered, sympathy filling her eyes.

“No!” He flinched when it sounded so harsh. “I’m sorry. I’m at sixes and sevens. I need to get traveling to meet up with my brothers. You…you…should be here for Brishen’s grand opening. He will need your support.”

“You don’t need me?” she asked.

He paused, knowing he was handling this all wrong. Grabbing her, he pulled her to him. “You have no idea how much I need you. Only, everything is a mess. Let me get settled and see what the situation is, and then I’ll call you.” He kissed the top of her head, squeezing her tightly. “I
will
call, Raven. I promise.”

A knock on the door frame called attention to the fact that they were not alone. “I don’t meant to play sister interruptus, but there’s a big black limo in the driveway and a man asking for Trev.”

Trevelyn gave Raven a pained smile. “Sorry, gotta go.”

Raven trailed along with him to the waiting car. The chauffer was there, in a black uniform, right down to the bloody jodhpurs. “The mysterious Julian Starkadder strikes again, eh?” she tried to tease.

“I’ll call, Raven.” Trev nodded and then started to climb inside. Spinning around, he wanted to tell her what was in his heart, but Raven let out a sob and went running back inside. Shaking, he started to go after her.

The driver stopped him. “We have to hurry, Mr. Mershan. You won’t make the flight if you don’t leave now.”

Trev dropped into the plush seat, closed the door and watched the cottage until it was out of sight. The last thing he saw was Pyewacket in the front window, silently asking where was he going.

“I’m going to Hell, Pye. I’m going to Hell.”

Trev walked down the long corridor of the hospital. People came and went from the various rooms: nurses, doctors, orderlies, friends, family and even clergy. Patients were wheeled by on gurneys, going for various treatments or tests. Despite the endless flow of people, they were oddly faceless to him. He was aware of his actions, yet he moved through this shifting throng almost entirely detached from them and the endless misery—too steeped in his own, he supposed.

He approached the nurses’ island, seeing several there. One was hurriedly filing charts into a rack, another was on the phone, while two more watched monitors and ignored him. The nurse speaking on the telephone held up her index finger to silence his question. He stood waiting until she got off.

Guilt was eating at him. He should have come here before, but Des had insisted she was doing better. His brother was also adamant that they finish this business with the Montgomeries, so he could present their mother with justice all so many years. Only, Trev wondered if they, once again, had left it too late. Des had been too late to confront Sean Montgomerie. Perhaps it’d be too late for his brother to lay vindication before Katlyn Mershan’s feet, give her what she had asked for a hundred times—a
thousand
times: to make the Montgomeries pay for what her family suffered.

Trev closed his eyes against that thought. He worried about his brother’s soul. Des needed this closure. If it was denied him…well, Heaven help Desmond.

The nurse finally rang off and offered him a professional smile. “May I help you?”

“Katlyn Mershan’s room? I’m her son, Trevelyn.” He managed to get the words out, though it sounded like someone else spoke.

She nodded. “The doctor is in with her presently. If you’ll be having a seat?”

“I would like to speak with him when he’s through.” It wasn’t a request, and that was carried in Trev’s voice.

The thirty-something redhead picked up a chart and made a note. “Yes, I’ll tell him. Is your father coming soon? She keeps asking for him.”

It took everything to keep from breaking into hysterical laughter. Or crying. “My father’s dead. Has been for a number of years.”

“Oh, that’s a pity. She keeps insisting he will come soon. Poor thing.”

Trev gave a brief nod. “Yes, a pity.”

He took a seat on the small sofa off to the side. Poorly designed, it was about as comfortable as sitting on a fencepost. In a place where people did a lot of sitting and waiting, he would have thought they would try to make people as comfortable as possible. He waited, not sure how long, for time seemed to crawl, but finally the doctor came out of the room. Trev rose and stepped to meet him. Dr. Grimaldi. He read the name on the metal placard on the pocket of the white coat. The idiotic thought strayed through his mind that it was a strange name for an Irishman.

“The nurse said you’re Katlyn’s son.” The small, darkhaired doctor held out his hand.

“One of them. I’m Trevelyn. My two brothers, Desmond and Jago, are on their way. They have to travel farther,” Trev explained.

The man looked grim. “Let’s hope they don’t take too long. No patient has an expiration date stamped on the
heel of their foot, but your mother is on borrowed time. The last forty-eight hours have seen a marked decline in her condition, with other complications as well.”

“What sort of complications?”

“At first we feared it might be Alzheimer’s, but that’s been ruled out.”

“Alzheimer’s?” Trev echoed. “Why would you think that?”

The doctor looked exhausted, bone-weary. Trevelyn imagined working with cancer patients was not an easy road to travel. “She’s having trouble recognizing where she is, what year this is. She even thinks the nurses are her servants. She keeps asking when her husband is coming home. It’s my understanding your father’s dead.”

“Yes, he committed suicide nearly thirty-five years ago.” And left his family to deal with the aftermath. Trev absently wondered if Michael Mershan had ever considered what he was condemning his wife and sons to face when he pulled that trigger. Fighting the emotional wave crashing over him, Trev closed his eyes against the pain.

“We’re not sure. It could be the cancer hitting the brain, but she has become increasingly detached from reality. It possibly could be something else. I suppose in her weakened state, her mind is slipping into memories when she was happy with your father. Well, at this stage the problem is moot. The best we can do now is to keep her comfortable. I’m giving her morphine every four hours—”

“Morphine?” Trevelyn echoed.

“She’s in considerable pain and nothing else can help. As I said, we’re trying to keep her at ease. A word of caution about expectations—some patients seek their release from this world, some fight it. How long your mother lasts will depend on which path she chooses. So, it could be a day or two…” The doctor patted Trev’s arm in sympathy. “Or it could be longer.”

Trev nodded and then moved into the room to face the
terrible prospect of watching his mother die. Two steps inside saw him reel back in horror.
This has to be a mistake.
That couldn’t be his mother. The room was pleasant enough, though sparse. The woman in the hospital bed was resting quietly. But as he moved closer, he saw tubes were running through one side of her nose, which seemed to be connected to some sort of pump at the side of her bed.

At the bedside, he still pondered if this wasn’t the wrong room. This woman seemed so old. When he’d visited her, just before he returned to England for the charity gala, she had been happy, active. He could recall the day clearly, coming into the room to find her dancing to the Moody Blues song “The Story in Your Eyes.” She’d had the big teddy bear he’d brought her, and she and the bear were rocking to the beat. The scene had made him smile because through the years she’d so often been depressed, only late in life being diagnosed with bipolar disorder.

No, this poor woman couldn’t be his mother. Then her head turned, and she opened her green eyes and he knew he stared at Katlyn Mershan. The sounds of buzzing bees filled his head and his knees felt too rubbery to hold him up; the whole room seemed to tilt on its axis.

“Jago?” she asked, her throat sounding parched.

He shook his head, finding words hard to form. “No, Momma, I’m Trevelyn—Jago’s evil twin, remember?” He tried for a note of levity. It was that or be carried away by a sea of tears.

“So thirsty. They won’t give me…anything to drink.” She almost seemed to fade away.

He looked around for a carafe of ice water, but saw nothing. Anger exploded within him. “I’ll get you something to drink, Momma.”

He wanted to lash out at life, at how cruelly it had treated his gentle mother. She hadn’t been created to fight the world and try to forge a life for herself and three
small sons. By God, she’d tried her best, working long hours at low-paying jobs. Now she couldn’t even be blessed with a peaceful death?

He was half Irish, and at times like this it showed. Marching out to the nurses’ station, he tried to keep hold of the reins of his black temper. It was damn hard. He really craved to put his fist through something, anything. The woman was again on the phone, and she gave him the one finger hold-until-I-finish signal. He leaned over, jerked the phone away and slammed it into its cradle.

“My mother is thirsty. There’s no water in her room. Nothing. I will not stand by while she suffers. I want some fruit juices, a bucket of ice and a carafe of ice water in there,
now.
Am I clear?”

She was startled by his aggressive tone, but she only offered him a sad eye. “We’re not deliberately ignoring her, Mr. Mershan. She can’t have fluids because of being hooked up to that pump. I can bring her some ice chips. You can feed those to her slowly.”

“I would appreciate it,” he snapped. Getting hold of his temper, he added, “Thank you.”

He stalked back into his mother’s room. Finding a chair in the corner, he pulled it to her bedside and sat. “They are bringing some ice chips. That will help with the being thirsty.” He reached out and took her hand, careful of the IV cord taped to her arm.

“Thank you.” Her fingers trembled in his hand. “Is Michael coming?”

Trev’s heart felt as if it would burst. He nodded, tears falling. “Yes, Momma, he’s coming.”

Trev stood staring out the window of the hotel room Julian had rented for them. Two big beds. Two brothers could sleep while one was at the hospital; that way Katlyn was never alone. Of course, most of the time two brothers ended up at the hospital instead of just one. Being there
was hard, but it was better than waiting at the hotel. The endless waiting.

The days seemed to blur into one long nightmare. Trev recalled looking up and seeing Desmond and Jago coming down the hallway, with Julian directly behind. Never had anything felt as good as hugging his brothers. Was that a week ago? Two? Closer to three?

“Bloody hell, I have no idea anymore.” Trev took the towel from around his neck, left from drying off after his shower, and wiped his face of tears. “Odd, a person cries until he thinks there are no more tears. Yet there are. There always are.” He spoke to his ghostly reflection in the window.

He wanted Raven, wanted to hold her warm body against his. He wanted to cry in her embrace. Wanted to lose himself in the mindless sex that could exorcise all this despair threatening to engulf him. But he’d promised himself he would be strong, for as bad as it was hitting him, he knew it was destroying Desmond. His brother needed his support and strength now, not weakness. Only, he didn’t know how much more of this never-ending misery he could take.

He glanced at the phone and then started to turn away. It reminded him of Julian counting how many times he’d wanted to call Raven that first day and hadn’t. He’d hurt her by not calling. Only a fool made the same mistake twice.

Picking it up, he punched the numbers. Only then did he recall how late it was—nearly four in the morning. By God, he missed her. He wanted her here. For various reasons, that was impossible. Desmond was like a bear with a thorn in his paw, more determined than ever to go through with the merger and destruction. Trev feared Raven’s presence would just give his angry, wounded brother a place to vent all his pain. Trev wouldn’t risk subjecting Raven to that.

“Hello?” came the sleepy voice on the other end.

“A call to Lil’ Red Riding Hood from the Big Bad Wolf. Will you accept the charges?” He tried to tease, hoping the tears clogging his throat wouldn’t be heard.

She sighed, and then yawned. “Hmm. That depends.”

“Upon what?”

“Upon if he promises to come home soon.”

Home.
The word echoed in the hollow of his heart. It struck Trevelyn he’d never really had a home. They had traveled, moved so many times over the years, often never finishing a full year in the same school. Then, later, Jago and he went to college—paid for by Des—and after graduation he’d lived in a string of apartments wherever Mershan International sent him. He’d never had a chance to set down roots, to plan on celebrating New Year’s at the start of the year and Christmas at the end in the same place. He suddenly wanted that. Wanted it very much. Wanted it with Raven.

“A few more days.” Then he changed the subject because he simply didn’t know. His life was one endless hell. Worse, he felt bad for thinking such a thought, because for the hell to end would mean his mother would have to die. “How are the beasties?”

“They miss you. Like I do. Pyewacket sits in the window watching the driveway. Poor Chester goes through the house letting out a mournful howl. He sleeps on your shirt, like your scent gives him comfort. I thought about wrestling it away to see if cuddling up with it would work for me, only he’s quite insistent it’s his. Bit me the last time I tried to swipe it! Atticus just gives me dirty looks.”

Trev tried to think of something to say, but small talk was nearly too much for him. “I miss the guys, too. I’m exhausted. I better go get some rest. I just wanted to hear your voice, wanted you to know I was thinking of you.”

“Hurry home, Trevelyn.”

“Home sounds like paradise. Night, night, pretty lady.”

He no sooner rang off than the phone sounded. He
looked at the damn thing like it was a snake, coiling and hissing. An automaton, he picked it up and punched the button. “Trev.”

Julian’s voice came over the phone. “You better get back here. Fast.”

Trevelyn likely broke several traffic laws getting to the hospital. He pulled up at one entrance and jumped out. No Parking signs were all along the circular drive, but he didn’t care. He hurried down the long colonnade, the automatic doors opening as he neared.

An orderly greeted him as he came in. “Hey, you can’t park there!” he called. Trev flashed him a look that could kill, tossed him the key to the rental but didn’t slow.

A family with three nearly grown children was at the elevator doors, arguing over who got to go in first to ICU to see Gran. He tried to push by them, but the one lady wouldn’t move, despite him saying “Excuse me” twice. She glared at him with a
wait-your-turn
flashing in her eyes. Exasperated, he picked up the woman by the waist and set her aside. She fussed and tried to slap his arms. He didn’t care.

“Oh, how rude!” She glared at her husband. “Well, aren’t you going to do anything, Innis?”

Trev stepped in and pushed the button to the fifth floor. “My mother is dying. You think I’m going to stand on politeness?”

The doors closed on her flummoxed expression, but he didn’t give a tinker’s damn.

The nurses had gotten used to the Mershan brothers coming and going over the past weeks. All heads turned as they saw Trev running down the long corridor. None admonished him. Only pitying stares met his.

He rushed into the door of his mother’s room. Julian was standing just inside, and Jago, their backs blocking his view. Mindless with panic, Trev tried to push past, but Julian caught him.

“Steady, friend,” the man whispered.

Desmond was sitting in the chair at their mother’s bedside; his murmured responses to Katlyn’s soft words didn’t carry. His larger hands cradled her smaller one, which was so pale and frail. Almost skeletal. The fingers twitched three times…and then no more.