The Silent Sounds of Chaos (24 page)

Finn heard the order, but couldn’t process it. Once he would have been terrified by Charlie’s tone, all business with no room for negotiation, a deadly reminder of everything the man was capable of. Now he didn’t care what followed the man’s demands.

“You did this,” Finn accused, one hand gently brushing the soft yellow of Snow’s hair. In some part of his mind he knew it was irrational—Joe and DU were their own brand of psycho, their boss never being one for kidnapping and torture—but it helped to blame someone other than himself.

Behind him, Charlie cleared his throat. “Yes, I suppose in some way I did.”

The admission did little to comfort the young man kneeling in the closet. Nor did the tug on his shoulder suggesting he move from his cramped spot.

“Get off me!” Finn shouted as Charlie attempted to haul him out of the closet. Charlie sighed, the sound both annoyed and saddened, but it went ignored. The young man at his feet remained focused on his rocking, on the quiet mumbling beneath his breath speaking of his failure, his inability to protect the only girl he ever loved.

In his devastation, he didn’t hear Charlie mutter, “This is for your own good.” In senses overtaken by the emptiness Snow’s absence left behind, he didn’t feel the bite of pain as a needle slid into his neck. When he slumped over, the drug working its way through his system, Finn could only find happiness in the hope that, maybe, he was finally going home with Snow.

He dreamt of cramped closets and cold winter nights.

Flashes of childhood nightmares burst against the backs of his closed eyes—his mother slapping him for no reason at all, his stomach growling after three days of no food, hulking figures creeping into his room in the middle of the night reminding him it was time to pay his mother’s debt … mornings after when she pretended not to notice the bruises and tears.

We don’t ask for help
, she’d always told him. Don’t ask for help. Don’t be a child. Don’t cry or show weakness or let people see you in need.

We are better than that.
Better than what, he’d always wondered. Better than the kids at school who always had lunches? Better than the rich people who didn’t have to lie and cheat to get their money?

You got that, you little shit?
He got it, all right. Never ask for help. Be better than everyone else. And watch as your best friend dies because of it.

Snow asked for help
, he told himself in sleep. And he let her down.

When Finn finally opened his eyes, they were wet with unshed tears. Echoes of Snow’s screams for help sounded in his ears, out of tune with the birds chirping outside the window across from his bed. Finn blinked against the harsh sun, instantly annoyed that he was once again waking up with no idea how he got there. He’d always thought himself to be smarter, tougher, than that.

Searching the room with a quick turn of his aching head, he realized quickly he was home in his apartment. The feel of his bed was familiar, though not welcome. He shouldn’t be this comfortable.

Finn’s brow furrowed as he continued his roaming gaze—the fish tank he usually forgot to clean, clothes strewn across the floor—until finally landing on Charlie sitting in a chair in the corner. His boss was awake and staring right at him with those ice-blue eyes that could cut through even the strongest of men. Except now, they looked tired, even as his rigid stance suggested dominance, his face having aged considerably in the past week. It was unnerving to see the usually suave businessman looking so out of sorts.

Movement at the door caught Finn’s attention. He looked over to see Chix standing against the wall, hands clasped in front of him, position ready to leap into action. For what, Finn wasn’t sure. Images of Charlie holding a gun, murder set in his expression, Chix at his side with his own weapon at the ready, returned to Finn’s mind. The trailer. Joe trying to kill him. DU bleeding out in a motel room.

“What…” Finn’s voice came out rough and garbled. He touched a hand to his throat, wincing at the tender flesh. If his boss noticed, he didn’t provide any indication of sympathy or concern. “What happened to Joe? To … DU?”

“They’re gone,” Charlie said simply. Finn turned his head slightly, seeing the meaning behind the statement in his eyes. He knew what “gone” meant. When Charlie wanted someone gone, he said the word and the person disappeared as though they never existed at all. If he said Joe and DU were gone, then it meant more than their deaths. All traces of their existence were wiped out. Finn didn’t care to wonder what resources Charlie had at his disposal for such a feat. It was enough to know they were gone.

“What about … what about Annette?”

“Given a proper burial.” Now there was regret replacing stone-cold killer. “But also gone.”

Swallowing back bitter bile in his throat, Finn dreaded his next question. “…Where is Snow?” When Charlie merely stared down at him, he tried again. “Don’t … don’t tell me she’s gone.” Again he received no response. His blood began to boil, the wordless reply fueling his body. Just as he made to move off the bed, Charlie motioned with one hand to the bouncer, who Finn realized wasn’t protecting from anyone getting in, but, rather, from him getting out.

The bedroom door opened slowly. A man and woman in white lab coats entered, holding what looked like an old-fashioned doctor’s bag. Finn knew what was coming and raged against it. He lifted his tired and aching body from the bed but Chix was there, one beefy hand pressed against his chest. Charlie rose as well, too calm as he approached.

“Don’t fucking tell me she’s gone!” Finn shouted at him, desperately trying to remove Chix’s hand and failing miserably. “Don’t you tell me she’s fucking
gone
, Charlie!”

“I won’t tell you she’s gone,” Charlie replied smoothly, sounding like he was talking to a child.

“Then tell me where she is!” His demand echoed through the room, down the hall, matched by the doctor’s curt order to the nurse just inside the room. “What did you do with her? What did you do to me? And what the hell are you doing here?”

The man at his bedside tried to calm him, pressing a firm hand to his shoulder. “Relax. We are trying to help you.”

“Like hell you are! Where is Snow?”

The nurse rushed to the doctor’s side, handing him something from the leather bag in her hand. As Chix continued to restrain their patient, the doctor continued to prepare a sedative, seemingly oblivious to the struggle taking place mere inches from him. Seeing the needle sent Finn into another bout of rage, strength fueling his limbs as he shot up from the bed, only to be thrown back down by a muscled arm. Wild blue eyes traced that arm, his grief and exhaustion-drugged brain filtering through faces until it landed on Joe’s, a hallucination as much as a memory securing him to the mattress as the nurse approached cautiously.

“You son of a bitch,” Finn growled, coming to the only conclusion that made sense. “You knew about her all along, didn’t you? You got rid of her because I was getting too good. Her father had nothing to do with it, did he? You goddamn
liar
!”

“Relax,” Charlie said again, his tone firm but his eyes filled with gloom. “You’re speaking nonsense and you know it. This is for your own good.”

“The fuck it is.” Finn struggled, but felt the needle pierce his skin and was powerless against its effects. A painful warmth sliced through him and took the fight out of his body. He slumped against the mattress. “Where…” His voice was weak, punctuated by a sob. “Where is Snow?”

The old man swallowed hard, letting one hand drift through Finn’s hair. “Tommy, Snow is … Snow is dead.”

THE STEADY HUM of a corner fish tank filled the large bedroom. A wide window along the far wall let in thin streams of morning sunlight through the clouds, lighting up the grayish-blue walls and carpeted floors. And there, in the center of the room, lay a boy not much older than twenty, his grandfather sleeping soundly next to him.

The door opened and closed with a small click, stirring the man with deep worry lines etched around ice-blue eyes. He peered across the room at the middle-aged woman who had entered, her expression gentle and friendly. Standing, he ran his hands down his dress shirt, smoothing out the wrinkles before straightening to assume his usual air of grandeur.

“Dr. Jenn,” he greeted coolly, though she could hear the underlying tone of concern. “Please, excuse my state. Thank you for coming.”

The doctor nodded, her fiery-red hair framing her face in soft curls. She accepted his proffered hand, then sat in the chair he placed next to the bed, her soft yellow dress swishing around her ankles. “Of course, Charles. You know how much I care for him.”

“Yes, well, I don’t know how much you can do for him this time. Circumstances have changed.”

Another nod, her lips pursed thoughtfully as she looked around the familiar room, then down at Finn. “How long as he been out?”

The man known to most around town as Charles Stone resumed his seat. “A little over two days. He’s been sedated twice. Each time he comes out of it, he panics and flies into a rage. We have been sedating him at home. I’m sure you understand why we cannot bring him to a hospital.”

The warning was clear, and unnecessary. She did know, and respected those reasons as much as she feared the repercussions of going against them. Instead of replying, Dr. Jenn took a moment to look over the sleeping patient, eyes narrowing thoughtfully when she saw the figurine on the bedside table.

Picking it up, she ran her fingers over the tiny wooden child wearing a painted cape like a superhero, memories taking her back to a time when she marveled over a little boy’s ability to create such trinkets. “What’s this?”

“One of his figures he left on my front porch.” Charles reached into his pocket and pulled out a second figurine, a girl crafted of thin wingnuts and copper wire with yellow-twine hair. Though he didn’t give it to the doctor, he did allow her to observe it before securing it away again. “This one was in his pocket when they found him.”

“He still makes them? After so many years? So many of our sessions?”

“He never stopped.”

The confirmation had Dr. Jenn’s eyes lifting from figure to father. “Charles, what happened?”

“You are a respectable doctor, Jennifer, intelligent and knowing. Certainly you saw this coming.”

She suspected the reply was a delay rather than an accusation. So, she asked again, “Saw what coming, Charles?”

“His eventual break.”

“You know these things can’t be predicted, Charles. Especially in his situation.” Dr. Jenn folded her hands together. “Now, tell me what happened.”

“I thought he was getting better,” Charles replied, scrubbing a hand down his face, the tough-man façade fading for only a moment in the presence of an old family friend who he knew could be trusted. “He went out, had fun like a normal teenage boy. Even got himself a girl, a pretty one too. He brought her around a few times, though never to his apartment out back. Only to the main house, the room he had growing up. I didn’t know he was still talking to Snow until a week ago, when he said a friend was in trouble and he had to help her. At first I thought…”

His voice faded, prompting the doctor to reach across the bed and touch his hand. “What happened a week ago?”

A deep breath preceded the quiet reply. “My wife … his grandmother, passed away from a heart attack. I’m surprised you hadn’t heard.”

“I did hear, when I got back in town two days ago,” she confessed, eyes downcast. “And I am so sorry for your loss. She was such a lovely woman.”

Not wanting to get lost in his own grief, Charles continued. “Her death … it broke what was left of the Tommy we used to know. You know how he was before. Alert, intelligent, not quite sane but still able to live in the world. After I called him with news of my wife’s death, it was as though Tommy lost what little grasp he had on the world. It happened so fast, a flip of some kind of mental switch. He no longer recognized me as his grandfather and boss. I was … Well, to be honest, I don’t know who he saw me as.”

“How do you know he didn’t recognize you?”