Breakdown (30 page)

“Down, Jack!” Steve. I was pissed off with him, more worried that something was going to happen, only the memory hid in fog banks over why. Hands around my face encouraged me to lay still, but Steve’s voice came from back over by the door, sounding just as pissed, as worried. “Show the bastard you can stay down, that you can back off. It’s all he needs to see.”

I mumbled something, asking for my old man, I think, only I called him my old lady. And like fuck did I want real men and her touching my skin, shit, not—

“Fucking warned you—”

I blinked at Steve’s shout.

“Why the hell did you need to see it? You happy? It make you the big man for seeing him fall, Gray? It’s twisted what he does, how he does it. He just can’t trust because his head is so fucking torn apart. Cutter’s there pushing for it, and you, you bastard, you’re doing exactly the same—”

“S’okay,” I mumbled, blindly fumbling up to grab at Steve’s shirt and tug him closer, only he didn’t smell like Steve, and the blood touching his lip where I’d hit him... I’d never hit Steve. “Carole... home. So...” fucking sorry. “Go home, Ste... go home, please...”

“S’okay, bud.” That was Steve, but it wasn’t his hand that brushed my cheek, almost forcing my eyes closed with each stroke. “I know how this shit takes everything out of you. Just sleep... Get some fucking sleep, bud.”

Blue eyes levelled on mine, close enough to catch the scent of cologne on his neck. I turned into it, just a gentle rub of nose on his throat, not wanting to play anymore, not having the fight, just needing to hide... seemed such a good place to fucking hide. And for a moment, he seemed to shift, allowing me in...

“Enough, kid.” Another stroke at my cheek. “Cutter’s my business now. Learn to let it go, for your own sake.”

I couldn’t count the amount of times I’d seen the inside of a hospital, both as a day and in-patient. Only the room I woke in now was different to most others, offering a private room, and all the mod cons the sick and infirm could need. I stayed down in the softness of the covers, facing the wall until someone pushed the door open and came on in.

Nothing was said as someone took a chair. The sound of a second pair of feet stopped at the foot of the bed and picked up the medical notes, and the flicking through paperwork drifted over.

“You awake, son?”

Giving a frown, I glanced back over my shoulder, then instantly eased up onto my ass seeing my old man. He still looked just as tired, just as battered and bruised, but he was here. He was here—and worry, worry had replaced the cold anger and fear that had been in his eyes.

I went to rush something out, ask if he was okay, but he flicked a nervous glance to the end of the bed. Some of the anger set in his eyes again as they caught Gray now standing over by the window and looking out. Gray was dressed in the typical suit, dark blue this time. Every time he shifted, I’d get a glance of a pair of sunglasses in his inside pocket, and just lower, at his side, the occasional glimpse of a sidearm. Even in the hospital he wore it, but then again, he was on duty. My old man was back looking at me. “We’ve... Gray, me, and your mother, we’ve had a talk.”

I pulled my legs up, wincing at the pull on my ribs as the tight bandage wrapped around them made itself known.

“He—”

“Dad,” I said quietly, maybe a little quickly. “I’m sorry. I need you to know that. Please...” I fumbled with my fingers. “Please just know I’m sor—”

Pulled into a hug, a kiss graced my head, and I stayed there, closing my eyes against my old man and his familiar scent. “It’s okay, kid. I’m here. I’ve always been here, you ass. You... you just don’t see me sometimes.”

I gripped onto his neck. “I’m going down for this shit, aren’t I?” Part of me wanted to crawl into him farther. “I need to go down for this shit.”

The bed depressed close to my feet and Gray pulled the cover off one of them, making me jerk away from my old man until a hand on my ankle stopped me.

“Hey,” my old man snarled, just as quickly, going to rip Gray’s hold off. But Gray shook his head and tapped at what held my attention, keeping me quiet.

The ankle bracelet was black, with a flat, round device hidden behind a cover resting in the middle. Or it would have been middle, but it looked like I’d shifted ass during the night and the flat, round centre had twisted around to sit just above my ankle bone. I’d put it down to a hospital bracelet, and now received a slap in the face over just how stupid I’d been.

“Electronic tagging?” That came from my old man as, gripping my ribs, I tried to reach down and touch, finger around the bracelet as heat hit my cheeks and itching niggled at the back of my head.

“You... you need a court order for this.” I flicked a look up to see Gray was back by the window.

“Usually,” he said quietly, looking back, and I couldn’t hold his gaze for long. “Cutter has been arrested. How long he stays in my care depends on you and what you’re prepared to tell me. The tag stays on whilst we discuss that and ensure Cutter is detained for as long as possible,” said Gray. “You’re also under curfew. Between nine pm and seven am of a morning, you will be at your father’s house. Learn to be home early and stay away from the drink. You break curfew, I’ll have your ass dragged back in here and you won’t see daylight without looking through bars again. This is not to say that you won’t end up with a sentence at the end of this. How you act between now and then will. You do not go by Mase, you do not go near his father. You report to my office every day and your only priority is being here for questioning, trial proceedings, and psychiatric evaluation.”

“Psychiatric evaluation...?”

Gray looked over. “Psychiatric evaluation. We have the best attached to this facility. They’ll be with you through the court appearances and for as long as they deem necessary in order to classify just which disorders are presenting.”

“A trial?” I stiffened, flicking a look at my old man. “My famil—”

“You learn to trust and let the people who know what they’re doing handle this from now on. As of now, you’re under witness protection. Mine,” said Gray, flatly. “That goes for your family and Steve’s. You’ll be relocated and surveillance will be outside of your house throughout the trial proceedings.”

“And after?”

Gray shifted and looked at his beeper as it went off. “Take care of the now. That’s your only priority.”

“Why?” I shrugged. “Why this? Why offer...” I looked at the tag. “This?”

Putting his beeper back in his jacket pocket, Gray headed for the door. “Your heart’s in the right place. You just need to get your head and fists there too, and with the right people around you. You need a clear thought process and control in order to testify; Cutter’s defence will try to rip you apart because of your disorders.” Gray looked back at my old man. “You need stability, Jack. Also someone around 24/7 who knows your triggers and signs. You’ll get all the professional assistance you need.”

“Disorders? What fucking disorders?”

Gray found me. “I’m not a psychiatrist. You’ll be assessed and diagnosed formally before the trial begins.”

“But no trust?” I mumbled quietly.

“How can it be given if you don’t understand the meaning yourself, Jack?”

“And after the trial? Will... what about the tag?” That came off my old man and Gray glanced back at him. “His case will be reviewed at the end of trial. Not before.”

“Will he go to prison?”

“With this fucking tag,” I mumbled, “I won’t get past Tesco’s trolley boundary point without a dead leg,” I mumbled, prodding at the bracelet and scowling. “Or bludgeoned to death with a trolley wheel.”

There was a smile off Gray, just a small one, then—“Break curfew,” he said quietly, “you just get me.”

Broken rib bones cried a protest of their own, making me double a touch. They seemed to want to run and hide, scurry under the bed, sheet pulled down and torchlight switched off. A grip came at my arm from my old man, his look a little startled.

“You get a kick out of scaring the hell out of kids?” he snarled at Gray.

“You scared, Jack?”

I didn’t answer, and Gray nodded, that smile flickering across those lips.

“Then there’s hope for you yet, kid.”

Jack. Age 30

Sat there next to me in the bathroom, Craig was smiling. “Gray tagged you?” He snorted a laugh. “He beat your ass, grabbed you by the foot, and tagged and bagged you?” Another chuckle. “Yeah, sounds like him. How long for?”

I looked at him. “Six months the first one, two the next, the remainder of the year for the third.”

Craig scratched his head. “Three? Being collared like that didn’t go down too well, then?”

I frowned, looked away. “Guess not.”

“How’d you get out of them? They’re usually tamper proof. Especially with Gray on the end of the call button.”

“Melted the first with soldering gun; fuck knows where the sense went with trying to saw through the second.”

“Your ODD.”

“It had shifted into Adult Conduct Disorder by then, but, yeah, more or less a slight kickback against authority and tags.”

Craig offered another chuckle. “Oh, I bet Gray was really impressed.”

Gray.

I shifted, maybe looking for my mobile phone, then remembering I didn’t have it on me. Craig eased to his feet as I scrambled to mine, then tried to get out of the bathroom.

“Jack?”

“Gray,” I said back to him. “I need to talk to Gray.”

Craig gave a hard sigh, but I ignored it. “Please. I need to call him.”

Craig didn’t look too happy about it, but he eased off. “Okay, use the nurse’s station, Jack.”

That was all I needed.

Heading out of my room, I made it over to the nurse’s station. The door was already open and I was in there, picking up the phone. Taking a seat wasn’t an option now, life itched, and it took a moment to realise I was digging into my side.

“Master Brennan’s office,” said a woman on the other end of the phone.

“Michelle.” That had me lifting my head and digging my hand into my pocket.

“Hello, Jack.”

“Can you put me through to Gray please?” I’d got no idea where he would be or what he would be doing, but—

Ringing kicked in.

Then more ringing.

Then more fucking ringing.

Giving a sigh, I rested my head against the wall and closed my eyes, just waiting.

Eventually the phone was picked up and—“Gray?”

A random nonentity kicked in with a message, and I gave a hard sigh. After a few seconds, a long beep came over and I waited for it to stop.

“I know you well enough by now, old Mukka. I know you’re listening.” I screwed my eyes shut, digging my forehead harder into the wall. “You’re always watching and listening from somewhere.” How had I lost sight of that? “Can’t do the technology crap, you know that. But I need to know... Martin.” It hurt, and I had no idea why. “What the fuck happened between you two, huh? After the tag was removed, we woke in the same bed, and you left for two months without saying a word.”

I waited to see if he’d pick up. I waited a long time.

“I can taste you on his lips, and I don’t know why. I need... I need to know why.” Anger crept in. “Did he fucking touch you? Did he fucking find a way to get to you too?”

“Jack.” That came from Craig, just softly, and I nodded, not looking at him.

“Okay, Mukka. Steve... he knew when to back away and find help, he knew when to back away because he was doing more damage by being around me.” I growled, feeling Gray slip further and further away from me. “I’m hurting you, doing you more damage. If you pick up, tell me that you need me to call, I’ll call every day for the rest of my life. If you don’t pick up, I’ll know you need me to leave you alone. And I’ll leave you alone.”

Quiet.

“Gray, pick up. Please,” I whispered. “I can’t let go of you, Mukka.”

After a moment the line went dead.

I nodded as Craig came over and took the phone.

“Jack, do you know you’re scratching at your hip? Would you like to go casual with your photo?”

I shook my head, shaking loose a runaway tear. The need was there to get hold of Gray, if it was only in a photo, see his look, feel his hold, get close, but that deeper burn bit hard, that knowledge that if the photo was held out and offered over, I’d still back away, I’d still try and run, from Gray, from everything that mattered.

“Head-fucked,” I mumbled, closing my eyes. Same answer. Same head-fuck, one big fucking head-fuck that wasn’t going to go away. That shouldn’t be allowed to go away.

Shit was easing on the medication side because for the twenty-eighth morning in a row, I woke up, twisting away from the door, trying to hide the heat between my thighs. Christ, if Joe poked his head around the door now, he’d run away screaming a tent peg had impaled me to the bed from the waist down. That or come over and look to see if his teeth had taken on a little pole dancing. I wasn’t that desperate, and, come to think about it, I’d never actually seen Joe’s goddamn teeth since I’d been here anyway. Craig had held his hands up eventually and explained that was precisely the point; there were no teeth, it was just part of Joe’s condition. Joe confused how he’d taken care of his wife for a few years just before his own illness had taken a firm hold, and finding her “missing dentures” had been part of his routine. But that had only come out after a few months
and
when I’d caught Craig and the staff sniggering as I’d hunted around on near hands and knees for a few days looking for them. Bastards. After he’d managed to stop choking laughter, Craig had snorted that community spirit was good for the soul and, yeah—“You missed a spot under the bed there, Jack.”