Drawing Blood (35 page)

At mid-evening they excused themselves from the Murphy’s company. That was when they realized Janet’s parents had taken Caroline so they could have a night alone. Abigail felt terrible that they had imposed, then she remembered it had been Janet’s idea.

David drove them home, since the wine had hit her harder than his two beers had hit him. Archie dozed in the back seat, and their drive was quiet. David held her hand on his thigh.

“That was … that was nice,” she said out of nowhere. She caught David’s smile in the headlights of a vehicle passing the opposite direction. “I mean, it was strange. But I like them. I like visiting them.”

His grip tightened on her hand. “Me too. They made me feel so welcome when I came here.”

“We should always be friends with them.”

“All right. Done.”

She laughed and looked out the window. She felt happier than she had any right to be.

Chapter Fifty-Eight

Elliot

The phone rang, bringing him out of a dreamless and deep sleep. He rubbed his face, then sat up. The phone wasn’t giving up on its own. He picked up the extension in the hallway, keeping his voice low.

“Hello?”

There was only deep breathing on the other end. Then, a strained sob.

“Hello? Who is this?”

The sobbing worsened, and a voice cracked out something he couldn’t understand.

“I missed that. Who is this?”

The sob was heart-wrenching, the kind of sound that likely hurt the throat that issued it. Elliot listened for more, but the other person had fallen quiet again.

This wasn’t a crank call. He knew someone needed help. “Who is this? What … what do you want?”

“Elliot?”

He frowned. “David? Is that you?”

“Oh Jesus. God help me. What have I done?”

His stomach tightened. “David, calm down. What’s going on?”

“I had a dream again. I thought … I thought we were under attack again. Elliot … oh shit, Elliot.”

“Stay where you are, don’t do anything. I’m coming over.”

“No, don’t. You’ll … you’ll never forgive me.”

He was already hanging up, dashing back to the bedroom and pulling on his slacks where he’d slung them before he’d gone to bed. Janet was turning on her lamp. “What’s wrong?”

“I don’t know. David just called. He was crying, he had a nightmare, he couldn’t tell me what happened. He told me not to go over there.”

She sat up. “I’ll come too.”

“I don’t think you should, Janet.” He looked around for his shirt. It was on the foot of the bed, on top of the covers. They’d kind of let their clothes fall all over once David and Abigail had left.

“I’m coming,” she said. The
and that’s that
was implied. She found her underclothes and pulled a plain housedress on quicker than he had his buttons done up. They moved quickly through the house and to the car, not a word passing between them.

Elliot wasn’t letting himself think the worst. Hopefully David found a phone while he was still sleep-walking. They’d get there and he’d be embarrassed.

The Cleary house was dark save for an upstairs light. “Stay out here until I know everything’s okay,” Elliot told her before getting out of the car.  She just nodded. He thought he might be scaring her, just a little.

He crossed from the driveway to the front door, knocking. He waited but didn’t hear anyone moving around. “David!” He shouted, pounding on the door again. “David! I’m here!”

He finally saw something move behind the mottled glass in the centre of the door.  He stepped back, waiting. The door wasn’t opened.

He knocked again, quieter. At the very least Abigail should be answering.

One last knock went unanswered, so he kicked the door in. Hopefully it was an overreaction. Elliot moved through the dark kitchen in to the living room. He heard deep breathing, he stopped in the entryway.

“David?”

He groped for the floor lamp he knew sat next to the arm chair. The room was flooded with light, and Elliot thought he might be seeing things.

Cleary sat there, all right. He was wearing pajama bottoms, no shirt. Blood splattered his chest, and there was a huge spot of blood on the thighs of the pajamas.

Cleary looked to Elliot, and his eyes were blood-shot from crying. His mouth was open with silent sobbing, spittle in the corner of his mouth.

Like a sickening bolt of lightning, Elliot knew.

He turned, unable to move fast enough, sprinting for the stairs, his legs pumping to carry him to the second storey. His muscles felt like molasses; fluid, but too thick to move like he wanted.

The lights he’d noticed outside were from David and Abigail’s bedroom. The nightstand threw light on to the floor of the hallway. He could hear Archie calling out for something, but he had to see the bedroom first …

He stopped in the door, not believing, wishing with everything he had that he was dreaming. He pressed his eyes closed, opened them again. Nothing had changed.

The bed was a mess of rumpled sheets and thick, red puddles. Abigail was in the middle of the carnage, her skin pale against all that crimson. She was naked, but covered with her own blood, pumping from the hole in the middle of her chest. Then she coughed.

Christ, she’s alive. He raced forward, diving next to her on his knees, putting his hand behind her neck. “Abigail? Abigail. It’s Elliot. What should I do? Tell me what to do.”

Her eyes rolled, then focused on him. She even smiled, just a little. “He was dreaming. I should have let him be, I should have known better. I only tried to wake him up when he got the gun.”

“Shhh,” he told her, looking around to see if there was a phone in the room. There wasn’t. “I’m calling an ambulance.”

She made a sound as he set her head back down and ran for the stairwell. He made the call for help in the kitchen, barely registering that David still hadn’t moved from the sofa.

Elliot grabbed the towels from the bathroom and brought them back to the bed, pressing them to the wound. Jesus, so much blood. He had no idea how she was still alive.

He held the towels in place with one hand, then pushed her hair off her face with the other. “I called for the ambulance, so just hold tight. Abigail?”

He thought he’d lost her, but her eyes focused on him again. She swallowed and coughed again. She wasn’t even in pain, he could see that. She was beyond it.

She’s going to die.

He’d seen it before. Young men that just felt chilled creeping death and not a lick of pain. She had the same look. Under his hands her skin was very cold, and the blood under his knees was still warm.

“Don’t be mad at him,” she whispered. “He couldn’t help it. He … he needs help, Elliot. And he loves you … he loves you like a brother. Don’t turn away from him for this. It’ll kill him.”

Elliot made a horrible sound that echoed around the room, and he covered his face with one hand. She was already saying goodbye.

He felt something flutter against his hand, and he dropped it to see her reaching out. He took her fingers in his palm, squeezing. She couldn’t return it.

He kissed her knuckles, holding her hand to his lips while he sobbed. “Abigail … please. Just be strong. Stay with me, honey. Stay with me.”

She gave a dry laugh. “I wondered when you’d hold my hand again. I always thought about that. How even though we did a lot more than hold hands … that was the one thing we did that gave me such a tingle.”

He shook his head. “Don’t say goodbye. Help is coming.”

“Elliot, I’m not going to make it. I’m a nurse, remember?”

“Abigail …”

“After you and David left, the memory of you kept me going. I think … I think I fell in love with my memories. In my mind you were perfect. I used to daydream that we were a family. Isn’t that … isn’t that pathetic?”

“Don’t … don’t talk like this.”

“Don’t deny me my confessions.” She took her hand from his and pressed her palm to his cheek gently. “You’re a good man, Elliot. I never meant to make any trouble for you and Janet, I swear it.” Now she started crying, too.

“You didn’t. You didn’t make anything more difficult, I promise.”

“Archie,” she whispered. “Don’t give him to someone else, please. Please take him, you and Janet. I know it’s a lot to ask but … they’ll take him away. You’re his father, you have a claim to him.”

Elliot had to look away from her pleading eyes. He raised the towels. They were soaked. He wasn’t even sure if she was bleeding anymore.

“Elliot,” she pleaded again, and he put the towels back. He met her eyes again.

“I promise. We’ll take him, Abigail. But help is coming.”

She just shook her head and raised her hand to touch his temple. Her fingers worked in to his hair, and he closed his eyes. He remembered the night they’d made love for hours, tasting and touching every part of each other’s bodies. He remembered her hands in his hair, her nails scraping at his scalp, like Janet always did. He sobbed once again, lowering his head to the towels on her chest. She put her hand on the back of his neck, playing with his hair. He wept like a child, loud and without shame.

Her hand stilled on his neck, resting lightly.

“Elliot? Oh my God, Elliot?” Janet was in the doorway.

He sat up to look at her, and the hand slid off his neck, flopping down to the mattress. He looked down to Abigail in horror. Her hazel eyes were staring at the ceiling but she wasn’t seeing it.

“Elliot … is she ..?”

He looked back at Janet over his shoulder. “She’s gone. Christ, she’s dead.”

Janet left the doorway, and he could hear her shrieking as she ran down the stairs. He guessed she was going to be sick. He let her go, turning back to Abigail. He pulled the sheet up all the way, covering her. Elliot felt that coldness creep up his spine, the one that was detaching him from what was happening. Shutting him down so he could deal with what he had to do, letting him cope with the emotional stuff after the fact.

He left Abigail in the bedroom, descended the staircase, and then crossed the room to where David was still curled up on the sofa. His legs were tucked up he’d wrapped his arms around them. There was a Colt .38 on the coffee table. He hadn’t even noticed it when he came in.

Jesus, he’d let Janet walk in to the house with Cleary down here, armed and fucked up.

“David? David, are you okay?”

Cleary was still sobbing on to his arms, but he raised his head. “Is … is she okay?”

Elliot shook his head. “No. She’s gone.”

His eyes widened in panic. “No, she’ll be fine. Just call the ambulance …”

Elliot sat next to Cleary. Janet left the bathroom and went up the stairs. He watched her go to Archie’s room. He heard her talking to the child, but couldn’t make out what she was saying. He turned back to Cleary to find him desperately watching Elliot’s face for some sign of doubt he could cling to.

He obviously saw nothing there and he gave a God-awful holler, diving for the gun. Elliot stopped him, throwing himself in the way and kicking the gun to the floor on the far side of the room. The fight was out of David as fast as it had hit him. He was crying again, clinging to Elliot’s shirt.

“I know,” Elliot murmured. “I know. It’s okay, David. I know.”

Chapter Fifty-Nine

David

The doors slid open loudly; metal clanging and making him cringe. He wanted the silence of his room suddenly. He didn’t want to be out in the yard. The light and noises and the feeling of the wind was almost too much. The damn meds they had him on made dealing with everyday life impossible. The world was too stimulating to him.

He moved out in to the commons, eyes blinking against sunshine. Not man-made light, but actual sunshine. The warmth was suddenly too much, too comforting.

Someone said his name. He blinked at the people gathered around the tables in the yard, dressed nicely and not criminally insane. Elliot Murphy’s red hair was easy to find and he waved as well. David smiled, waving back. He crossed towards his friend, head down. He watched his feet walk through the grass until they met Murphy’s shined-up wingtips.

Murphy hugged him, and after a moment David hugged his friend back. He didn’t know why Murphy kept visiting him. God knows he didn’t deserve it.

They claimed one of the picnic tables, and Murphy pulled an envelope out of his inside jacket pocket. He handed it to David before sitting down. “This is a birthday card from Archie.”

He opened the envelope, pulled out a folded piece of paper. When he opened it, he smiled and felt the urge to start sobbing. It was a drawing of a birthday cake with candles. “Happy Birthday” was written in a childish scrawl across the top.

“He’s writing already?”

“Yeah, he’s a quick learner. We would read him bedtime stories but he kept insisting that we tell him what the words were, how we knew what letters made what sounds. He’s the only kid in his kindergarten class that reads.”

David shook his head. “That’s amazing. He’s so smart.”

“I think Janet should have been a school teacher. She missed her calling.”

He folded the paper carefully, placing it back in the envelope. “How is Janet? And Caroline?”

“Janet’s doing well. Caroline’s walking, so that’s a full-time adventure. She’s absolutely fearless, it scares the shit out of me. Even Archie keeps an eye on her.”

David smiled. Basically he felt like he was on another planet, trying to understand the language of a normal man’s life. He’d only spoken that language for a very short while. It had been wonderful. Now it hurt to hear it.

“How are you, David? Really?”

David shrugged. “The food here is terrible. I’m almost as skinny as I was in Europe.”

Elliot nodded, understanding that he intentionally misinterpreted the question. He didn’t push it. He was so bloody understanding that way.

David decided to “share.” That’s what they were told to do in group therapy. “I think about her every waking minute. I can’t sleep … she’s there every time I close my eyes. She’s not haunting me but … it’s more like I’m using her to punish myself.”

Elliot leaned forward, elbows on the table. “She told me to tell you that it wasn’t your fault.”

He made a dismissive sound.

“She didn’t want you to feel bad. And she didn’t want me to hold you responsible.”

David pressed his eyes closed, and he could still see the muzzle flash. The sound of the shot woke him up. Abigail falling back to the bed, her eyes wide, looking down at the blood that immediately started running down her bare skin in rivers.

When he opened his eyes he had to unclench his fists. Take a deep breath. Relax.

“David?”

He looked up in to the eyes of the guy he’d trust in any situation, always would until the day he died. Murphy’s face was its usual open book, his brows pulled together in concern.

You should have just let me kill myself.

“Tell me what it is, please.”

He took a deep breath. “Did you love her?”

It wasn’t the question he’d expected, obviously. He was stumped for a minute. “Abigail?” He looked down at his hands. “Maybe. I think I did … but not like I love Janet.”

David nodded, running a hand down his face.

“Tell me, David. What’s going on?”

“I’m sorry,” he said for about the millionth time. “I’m sorry … for what I did.”

“You don’t have to apologize to me.”

“I know.” He sighed. “I don’t know why you keep coming here to see me.”

Murphy shrugged. “If you want me to stop I will.”

David wished he believed that. The bastard would still show up every Saturday afternoon, giving him a reason to keep drawing one miserable breath after another. Murphy was the only thing keeping him living, as pathetic as it was. It wasn’t bad enough the guy had saved his life once already, gone above and beyond to do it, actually. Now he was doing it again; driving four hours all the way down here to sit and talk like David wasn’t still in his pajamas at noon.

“It’s not a good day,” David finally just said.

“Nightmares?”

“Nah. I was having a great dream. She wasn’t dead. We were happy. We were in France, dancing in her living room. I just didn’t want to wake up.”

Murphy reached across the table and put his hand over David’s. “Just keep waking up. Everyone here says you’re making progress.”

“With the drugs. It’s all this shit they’ve got me on … when I first wake up it’s like everything’s perfect, and then I remember and it all comes crashing down harder.”

“Giving up is unacceptable.”

David looked up, surprised. He hadn’t heard Murphy use that tone in about five years.  Something about it made him sit up straighter.

“One foot in front of the other, every day. In a couple more years you’re out of here, and then it will get really hard. If you can’t take this, you don’t have a hope in hell.”

David just nodded, stunned in to silence.

“You hear me, Cleary? We all want you to get out of here.” His tone softened. “Your problem is you think you’re alone. You’re not. There’s me, Janet, Archie, Tom and Emily. We all want you out of here. So keep going, and no more thoughts of giving up for any reason.”

He swallowed. “Yes, sir.”

Then Murphy smiled. “Cut out the ‘sir’ stuff, Cleary. I hate that shit.”

David had to laugh and wipe his eyes.
The miserable son of a bitch actually made me cry and laugh.
He was nodding, though.

“Abby would hate to hear me talk like this.”

“Yeah, she would. She’d kick your ass for it.”

They hugged again before he left, and then David sat back down, playing with the envelope in front of him. He took the paper out again, laughing at all the colours spread out. Every picture Murphy brought that Archie had coloured for him used up the entire paper. And seeing the words that the kid had actually written himself …

David was still surprised that Archie remembered him, if he actually did. Maybe Janet coached him through the motions. David didn’t want to know. He folded it up again, put it back in the envelope and put it in his pocket. It was dinnertime, so he took up Abbie’s father’s  cane, got to his feet, and went back to the mess hall to eat.

One foot in front of the other, just like Murphy said.