Addicted To Him (Man Season) (6 page)

“Nothing too fancy.
How about one of
your famous omelets?”

“Will do!
I’ll bring it up on a tray, like
Digby
.”

“If he doesn’t watch out, you might
be stealing his job.”

“Ha! I don’t think he needs to worry
about that! I do wonder what’s taking them so long.”

“Traffic, probably. It is a Friday
night in LA.”

“Yeah.
Well, hold on. I’ll be back soon!”

Their eyes met for a moment, clung to
each other. She had a split second feeling of dread, almost didn’t go out the
door. Then she cast it off as foolish jitters and hurried down the stairs.

Thankfully she had been paying
attention when
Digby
made her breakfast so it was
easy finding dishes and skillets and such. She glanced out the windows, noticed
a dark menacing storm building over the sea. Lightning sliced the skies,
sending chills up her spine. She used to fear storms as a child, always ran to
her dad, crying. He’d pick her up and cradle her in his strong arms, and tell
her nothing could harm her as long as he was around.

“I wish you were here now, Daddy,”
she whispered to the sky. “I could use a bit of cradling.”

She thought she heard a car pull up
outside but when she looked the driveway was still bare. Where were her mother
and
Digby
?

Tegan
whipped up two omelets; sliced some
sourdough bread she found in the pantry and arranged everything on two plates
that she set on a silver tray. Then she added a small pitcher of milk and some
cups. She paused, nodding, slipped out the glass-paneled door to snip a couple
of flowers from the windblown garden.

The storm was bounding towards the
shore, sounding like a herd of vengeful buffalo stampeding across the horizon.
Tegan
thought she heard voices rising above the din.
Something was going on upstairs. Fleet’s oval window was open, the drapes
dancing wildly in the breeze.

She left the tray on the kitchen
table, crept like a thief up the staircase and tip toed to Fleet’s door. It was
slightly ajar; inside she could see Fleet standing by the open window. Maybe
he’d opened it on purpose, hoping she would hear their voices and realize that
he was in trouble. Three other men were in the room. Two looked like agents
from
The Matrix
in their black suits and sunglasses. The third was a
tall, gaunt man with unflinching black eyes and an air of entitlement about
him.

“I told you, Fleet, you’re too ill to
remain here. The best thing we can do is to take you to my retreat. Escort him,
men, would you please!”

“The hell they will!” Fleet shouted.
“I know you two! You work in security at the studio! Moonlighting are you,
guys?”

They didn’t answer.

“I’m not going with you, Ned. It’s
your fault I’m hooked on those drugs! I was thinking of having you
investigated, to see if I’m your only victim!”

“I don’t have victims, son. I only
give people the drugs to help them.”

“You’re delusional if you believe
that! And I am not leaving this house until
Digby
gets back!”

“The old fool is actually out on a
date with Miss St. Clair’s mother! I have to say, the charms of the two ladies
escape me, but then I’m not sleeping with them, am I? I wish you wouldn’t make
this into an awkward situation, but apparently you are determined to do so.
There are only two options now, Fleet. You either come with us to my private
rehab center, or we have your little Miss Flower Girl arrested for …
prostitution, maybe? That’s as good a charge as any.”

“You have no evidence. The cops
aren’t as dumb as you think.”

“We can make evidence, Fleet. Anybody
can, if they think things through.”

“Bastard!”

“Now, now, no name-calling, son.”

“I am not your son!”

He lunged at Ned Grant, began
pummeling him with terse, angry fists. The security men stepped in, grabbed both
his arms, and dragged him, kicking, to the bed.

“First, name-calling, then brutality
… you are very ungrateful. And I was going to save you from addiction. But
never mind. It suits my plans better to have you die of an overdose! Jock, hand
me the pills.”

“If you kill me, you won’t get one
penny of my dough! It’s tied up in legal loopholes that you can never break
through!”

“If that’s true I’ll have to come up
with some different options.”

One of the men had released Fleet’s
arm, and removed a prescription bottle from his pocket with a gloved hand. Ned
Grant shook his head; he replaced the bottle.

Fleet used the distraction to sock
the other man in the throat, causing him to let him go and fall to the floor,
gasping for air.

Tegan
had been trying to plan an escape
throughout the conversation but she was only one person, without a weapon. What
could she do to set Fleet free? She was going to call the police but her cell
phone was in the bedroom. And she’d noticed there seemed to be no landlines in
the house at all.

The storm hit like a bomb;
ear-numbing rain beat upon the roof, made hearing impossible. Then the lights
went out.
Tegan
stumbled blindly in the hallway.

“Get him!” she heard Grant yell.
There were scuffling noises, groans and smacks and curses.

“Fleet!” she screamed, unable to
stand the confusion a second longer. She felt a presence behind her, turned
just as lightning struck outside – Ned Grant stood before her with a fireplace
poker in his hand. It came down, struck her sharply. She lost consciousness.

When
Tegan
woke the smell of burning wood inflamed her nostrils. She opened her eyes,
realized she was engulfed in flames. She found her way into the bedroom,
searched every inch for signs of Fleet but he wasn’t there. The lights came
back on, reaffirming that he was gone. There was blood on the bed sheets.

“Oh my God, if they killed him …” The
thought was unimaginable. She swept it from her mind.

Then she remembered seeing a phone in
the panic room. She made her way carefully down the stairs and then to the
spiral staircase to the indoor pool, and below, to Fleet’s secret room. The
house was being slowly eaten by the fire. She couldn’t be certain that Ned
Grant and his goons had set it – it might have been the lightning. But no
matter how it happened; Fleet’s home was being consumed, and destroyed.
Tegan
had to phone someone and get out of there fast,
before it took her with it!

“Mom, hello?
Please, are you there?”

“Yes, baby! I’m here. What’s wrong?
Is he worse?”

“He’s not here! They took him. And the
house is on fire! Where are you?”

“I don’t understand what you’re
saying. I’m sorry it’s taking us so long. I’ve been trying to find a doctor who
would write me a prescription for the drug that will help Fleet ease out of the
addiction but no one will do it! He’s going to have to see one of them first.”

“But he can’t! They’ve taken him! And
the house is burning! I’ve got to get out! Are you coming for me?”

“We’re right down the road! Oh, God,
I see the flames!
Digby
, hurry! We’ll be there soon,
Tegan
! Run outside!”

She didn’t wait for goodbyes, but
burst out of the room like a world class sprinter, taking the stairs to the
garage and flinging her body out the side door. Sirens were competing with the
storm for noise levels; fire trucks and ambulances arriving in pairs.

Tegan
stood in the rain, watching as they
began to try to save the old house – she knew it was a futile effort.

“Anyone left inside?” a firefighter
asked her.

“No, I couldn’t find him. If he was
there I’d know it. But he isn’t. They took him.”

He looked at her like she was crazy,
wrapped her in an extra fireman’s jacket and led her to shelter.

When Callie and
Digby
drove up
Tegan
ran to her mother’s arms and bawled
like a child.

“He’s gone! I couldn’t help him!”

“You mean he’s dead?”

“No,
Digby
,
they took him!
Ned Grant and his goons!”

“But where?”

“Grant said something about a
retreat. Do you know where that is?”

“No, but I will bloody well find
out!”

She nodded at his determination then
began to swoon.

“
Tegan
,
your head!
It’s bleeding! What happened?”

“Ned Grant hit me. I guess he thought
he could kill me with one bump. But I’ve got a hard head, right, Mom? You
always told me that!”

“Yes, I did, darling.
Tegan
!”

Tegan
had fallen to the wet ground.
Digby
picked her up; carried her to the Rolls Royce. It
struck her that his arms were strong enough to be cradled in – might even be as
strong as her dad’s - then she fainted.

Morning brought unwelcome sunshine
and a sick, empty feeling to the pit of
Tegan’s
stomach. She was lying in a fresh-scented hospital bed, wearing a blue-print
gown, her hair smoothed away from her face by a big bandage encircling her
head; there was an IV stuck in her wrist. The sky outside the open curtains was
brilliantly blue and unclouded.

“Fleet?
How will I find you now?”

Her tears came sporadically, probably
because she didn’t have much liquid left in her. Still they were miserable,
stinging tears,
redding
her eyes and nose and tasting
of salt and smoke.

“Ah, there’s our girl!” a friendly
voice exclaimed.
Digby
and Callie entered the room
with a huge bouquet of flowers.

“Mom,
Digby
!
Did you find him?”

“We’re still looking, darling. The
thing is …”

“What? Has he been hurt?”

“No, but he released a statement to
the press, saying he was going to a rehab, and was handing over his company to
Ned Grant!”

“Impossible! Grant is making him say
that! Unless he killed him and is pretending he’s still alive!”

“No, it’s all over the news.”

Callie turned the TV on and found a
24 hour news station. A glamorous female reporter with a
snarky
attitude was talking in front of a picture of Fleet. Then a video of Fleet
appeared.

“It couldn’t be! Turn it up, Mom.”

She did. Fleet was sitting at a desk,
dressed in a suit, looking tired but beautiful; there was a fierce, hard gleam
in his eyes as he read a prepared statement.

“I have made the choice to enter
rehab, in a place I will not disclose. My uncle, Doctor Ned Grant, will take
over my duties at Westcott Limited, for an extended period. I …” he hesitated,
coughing, sipped some water and continued: “I want to thank everyone who has
been concerned about me, especially after my house burned down last night. A
bolt of lightning set it ablaze and the old house couldn’t survive the flames.
I’m glad no one was injured or killed in the fire …” he paused again then
added, “I also want to thank one special person for the rose petals, and the
chump change. You know who you are.”

“What was that last bit, I wonder?”
Digby
said as he set the bouquet in a vase.

“It was for me! He’s telling me something!”

“What on Earth does it mean?” Callie
asked.

“I can tell you about one part of
it!” another voice declared. Kenny Randall flew into the room like a whirlwind,
carrying another bouquet of flowers. “I found rose petals all over my shop
floor! Know anything about that,
Tegan
?”

“Well, yes, but I don’t think I
should go into details now. He mentioned the rose petals so I’d know he was
thinking of me. But how did he know I survived the fire?”

“It was on the news, too. That’s how I
knew to come here. Fill me in, girl! What has been going on?”

“Later, Kenny.”

“
Tegan
,
what about the chump change? What does that mean?”