City of the Lost (41 page)

She rattles it off matter-of-factly. Diana can call that cold, but it’s how some of us process and deliver data best.

The leg and arm were both shallow cuts. They hadn’t required stitches and shouldn’t scar, but hell, it’s not like I’d notice a few more anyway.

The chest wound isn’t as shallow, but Dalton pulled Jacob off before the blade penetrated far. It scraped my rib, which kept it from nicking my lung. I’m not going to bounce off to work in the morning, but I’ll be fine. In the meantime, the fact that I am relatively unconcerned about my injuries suggests I got a nice dose of opiates while I was unconscious. Beth confirms that.

“I also did a transfusion,” Beth says. “I have blood in the clinic, but since you’re a universal recipient and someone was very eager to make amends for getting separated in the woods, I did a direct transfusion.”

It takes a moment for me to realize whom she meant. Yep, they are good drugs. I glance at Dalton, and realize the slightly dazed look on his face is more than guilt and exhaustion.

“You didn’t need to do that,” I say.

He says nothing.

“You should go home,” I say. “Rest.”

“Casey’s right,” Beth says. “I’ll call Will to help you home.”

“I’m fine.”

“Eric…” I say, and I start to insist, but I fade, slumping back onto the pillow. Beth tucks me in with, “Get some sleep. I’ll send Eric home.”

I wake to find Dalton still in the chair. Beth’s gone and he’s alert enough now that when I open my eyes, he’s at my bedside.

“Didn’t obey the doctor’s orders, I see.”

“I understand if you don’t want me here—”

“No,” I say. “I do. But you look ready to drop.”

“I’m staying.”

“Okay.” I shift so he can sit on the bed. After some prodding, he does.

I say, “No one else knows about Jacob, do they?”

He shakes his head.

“Was it a long time ago?” I ask. “The separation?”

He nods and then blurts, “If I had any idea he’d
ever
—”

“You have a brother in the forest, Eric. One of the hostiles is your
brother
.”

“He’s not a—” He swallows the rest.

“Did it happen when you were kids?” I ask.

He nods.

“I’m going to guess he was either taken from the town or he wandered off, got lost out there, and was taken in by settlers.”

He pauses so long I don’t think I’m going to get an answer. Then he says, “Something like that.”

“And he blames you. Maybe you were with him when he got lost or he just blames you for not coming after him.”

“Something like—” He runs his hands through his hair, head dropping as he lets out a noise between a growl and a groan. “Jacob’s
not
a hostile. He’s never been— What you saw out there— I don’t know what’s happening, but
that
is not my brother.”

“Okay.”

He waits for me to argue. When I don’t, he shifts on the bed and faces me. “It happened when we were kids, like you said. By the time I saw him again, we were teenagers, and I tried to bring him to Rockton, but he wasn’t interested, and maybe I should have dragged his ass in here and—”

He stops, breathing so fast he can’t continue. He grips the bedspread, closes his eyes, and then continues, a little calmer. “The point is that he’s always been welcome here, but he’s not interested, and I respect that. As for what he blames me for … Yeah, I was a kid, and I made a mistake, and I thought I was doing the right thing, and…” He shakes it off. “Doesn’t matter. He does blame me for the separation. But it’s not like what you saw out there.
He’s
not like that. Even the smell…”

“He might not have access to hot showers, but he usually takes better care of himself.”

“
Much
better. Sure, we argue sometimes. About him being out there and me being here. But it’s
arguing
—not swearing revenge and threatening to kill—”

That fast breathing again. Anxiety and panic, and though I’ve never seen him like this, I recognize the signs. This is territory he avoids, like I avoid the subject of my past. It’s the trigger that flips the switch from the hard-ass sheriff to the boy who lost his younger brother to the forest and hasn’t ever gotten over it.

“We argue,” he says. “That’s it, and not even much of that.”

“You have contact with him. Like you said before.”

He nods. “Plenty of contact. Social and otherwise. He trades meat and furs for things he can’t get easily, like clothing and weapons. Maybe it’s not exactly a normal relationship for brothers, but … fuck if I know what is.” He makes a face, frustration mingled with embarrassment. He’s right, of course. Anything he knows about sibling relationships comes from books. There’s none of that in Rockton. Another reminder of how different his life is, and how very aware he is of that difference.

“It is what it is,” he says. “And it’s
not
like what you saw today. At all.”

“When’s the last time you talked to him?”

“Two days before you got here. He seemed fine. After we found Powys, I went out to speak to him, see if he knew anything, but he wasn’t around. You heard Brent. That worried me, but then you spotted him when we went caving, so … I figured he was fine.”

“He seemed okay the last time you talked with him?”

“Fuck, yeah.”

“Taking care of himself?”

“Of course.”

“How old is he?”

“Three years younger than me. Why?”

I tell him what I’m thinking. Schizophrenia. Early adulthood onset, the sudden paranoia, the lack of interest in personal grooming. Dalton’s well read enough to know what it is.

“I don’t know if it can come on that fast,” I say. “But it might have been a more gradual deterioration than it seems. I mean, he kept himself clean enough, but…”

“Yeah, living out there, the standards are different.”

“And the fact that he
chooses
to live out there…”

“No,” he says abruptly. “It may seem crazy to you, but it’s a choice, and not a sign—” A sharp shake of his head, and he loses a little of his usual confidence, faltering as he says, “If I had any idea … I would have warned you…” He gets to his feet. “I’ll take care of this. You’re safe here, and you should get some sleep.”

“I don’t want—”

“Sleep,” he says, and lowers himself into the chair. “I’m not going anywhere. We can talk later.”

I stir from sleep, but not for long enough even to roll over and see if it’s light out. I hear Dalton arguing with someone and think
situation normal
.

Then I remember it’s far from normal as the last day floods back. Mick’s death and the arson and the fact my best friend may have done both and she betrayed me and now she has to leave, but then there was the forest and that kiss and then Jacob and a glimpse of another Eric Dalton, a side of him that I need to understand if I ever want to get closer to him, and that kiss, and dear God, am I actually even thinking about that, in light of everything that happened?

It’s not as if a kiss somehow cancels out the horror and the pain, but it’s easier to focus on, and I keep thinking of a poem I memorized in school, and I don’t even remember why, but it wasn’t an assignment. I think it just spoke to me, somehow.

Jenny kissed me when we met,

Jumping from the chair she sat in;

Time, you thief, who love to get

Sweets into your list, put that in!

Say I’m weary, say I’m sad,

Say that health and wealth have missed me,

Say I’m growing old, but add,

Jenny kissed me.

And I don’t know why I’m thinking about that damned poem, except that I’m half asleep and still high from the morphine, and I’m listening to Dalton arguing with someone, and I’m glad he’s feeling more himself, but I’m sad, too, because more himself means the rest has passed, and yet that’s good, isn’t it? Forget the kiss. It’s silly. Inconsequential. I have important things to occupy my mind and no time for that.

Say I’m weary, say I’m sad,

Say that my best friend has betrayed me,

Say that I’ve been stabbed, but add,

Eric kissed me.

Seriously? Screw this. No matter how much pain I’m in, I’m not taking any more drugs. Good night.

I’m done with this shit.
That’s the thought filling my brain when I wake again. I went to sleep thinking about Dalton and that kiss, and I wake thinking about the exact same thing, but in a very different way.

He kissed me. It was 100 percent him, even as he was saying he didn’t want it, and when I did the right thing and put a halt to it, how did he react? Stalked off in a snit after repeatedly lecturing me about being alone in the forest. He
left
me alone in the forest.

I’m pissed, and I’m going to let myself be pissed.

So when I wake and notice someone in the chair, I almost close my eyes again. Then I see it’s Anders.

I rise and look around.

“Do you want me to get Eric?” he says.

“No,” I say, perhaps a bit too vehemently, and his brows shoot up, and I hurry on with, “It’s fine. He needs a break.”

“Sure as hell didn’t want it, though. The only reason he left was to tell the council they can go fuck themselves.”

My brows lift.

Anders moves to sit on the bed. “They want him to take Diana tomorrow.”

“I heard him arguing with someone downstairs. Was that the same thing?”

“Nah, that was Beth. She can…” He made a face. “You know what she’s like with Eric. Trying to take care of him, mothering or whatever. She’d been pestering him to leave you alone and go rest, and he was already cranky about that. Then she tried telling him he shouldn’t fight the council. That set him off. I feel a little sorry for her, but…” He shrugs. “She means well, but he
really
doesn’t like her hovering and fretting over him, and she never takes the hint.”

“Hmm.” I shift in the bed, and I must wince, because Anders reaches for a bottle at my bedside.

“If that’s morphine, the answer is no,” I say. “I have work to do.”

“Which you can’t do if you’re sweating with pain.”

I wipe my forehead. It is indeed beaded with perspiration.

“Take a half dose,” he says. “Then water and food.”

“Speaking of hovering…”

“No, I’m
advising
. If you tell me to go to hell, I’ll shut up.”

“Okay, give me a half dose. What time is it?”

“Seven.”

I look at the window and see twilight, which doesn’t help. Before I can ask, Anders says, “It’s morning.”

“I’ll take the drugs and any food you can scrounge up. Then I’ve got a list of people I want to interview.”

“Um, you’re not going to be leaving that bed for a few days, Casey.”

“You can bring them to me.”

He smiles, says, “Yes, ma’am,” and pours my medicine.

I conduct two interviews before Dalton finds out. I hear his footsteps on the stairs, and I tense, waiting for the
What the hell are you doing?
Then he walks in, and I can tell by his expression the lecture is not forthcoming, and I almost wish it was. He has that kicked-dog look from after Jacob’s attack, when he’d been stumbling over himself to apologize.

He slips into the room and looks around, making sure we’re alone before saying, “I, uh, hear you’re conducting interviews from bed. Which is fine if you’re up to it, but before your next one, we should talk.”

“I’m busy, Eric, and I’d like you to go.”

He rubs his chin. “That’s a
fuck off
, isn’t it?”

“No, it’s a
please go away because I don’t really want you here
.”

“Okay.” He sits down.

“That’s not—” I begin.

“You’re angry, and you have every right to be. I will leave. Right after I tell you how sorry I am for what happened.”

“You already did. Many times.”

“I don’t mean the stabbing. Of course, I’m sorry about that. I couldn’t be
more
sorry. I mean what happened before that, which I didn’t apologize for yesterday, because after Jacob, all I could think about was what he did. But what I did was inexcusable.”

He waits a moment and then looks up at me.

“If you’re expecting an argument, you’re not going to get it,” I say.

Dalton nods. “Yeah, okay. Understood. I just want to say that’s not me, that I hope you know I’m not like that, and I don’t know what the hell came over me.”

“Yes, I know it wasn’t how you normally behave, but you still did it. You said to hell with what’s right, to hell with me, and did whatever you pleased.”

His gaze is on the bedspread now as he shakes his head. “Yeah, no excuse. So…” He lifts his head and runs a hand through his hair. “How do we get past this, Casey? Maybe that’s a stupid question. Maybe I should know the answer and not be asking you, but I don’t, so I am, because all I can think to say is that I’m so fucking sorry, and if I could undo it, I would. It will never happen again.”

“You’re right it won’t happen again. Because I’m never going in the forest alone with you ever again. Not after that.”

He nods, gaze lowered. “I know. But it won’t happen here, either. I won’t…” He clears his throat. “Whatever’s going on with us … I mean, for me … It just … won’t happen again. I promise.”

Silence, as I try to make sense of that.

“You
are
apologizing for taking off on me in the forest, right?” I say.

His head shoots up. “What?”

“For stomping off in a huff and leaving me alone out there.”

His eyes widen. “Hell, no. I didn’t— I walked away, sure, but not far. I figured you could still see me. I was just … I was getting some distance. Cooling off. Not because I was angry. Just … cooling down. When I turned around, you were gone, and I didn’t blame you, considering what I did.”

“
What
did you do?”

He looks at me, part confusion and part wariness, as if I’m asking such a silly question that it must be a trick. Then he shifts his weight, looking uncomfortable, and says, “Forcing myself … you know. The kiss and … pushing. I didn’t mean to, and I thought you were reciprocating, but clearly I misinterpreted, and when you told me to stop, I didn’t.”