Falling In (23 page)

Chapter 31

Hanging

Unprotected and exposed

Adrenaline coursed through Lucian's veins at the twin snap of the doors on the town car slamming out the cold. “Clint, this is Parker Hughes. Hughes, this is Clint. Mr. Hughes is going to be your copilot. Talk.”

The car kicked into drive, as did his heart.

Parker leaned forward. “Take Wisely two blocks and keep going. Don't turn left until you hit the tracks.”

Clint drove for several minutes as Parker navigated through a winding labyrinth of neglected roads surrounded by dilapidated buildings, until they parked in front of a condemned old mill. Boards concealed the windows that weren't shot through, and graffiti was scribbled over everything that was reachable from the ground.

“She's here? You're sure of it?”

Parker pointed to a banged-up, rusted garage door at one of the raised bays. “See that door there? She slides under it. It's dark and there's worse things than glass to cut yourself on if you aren't careful. She'll be in the last room at the last corridor on the other end. Ready?”

Parker leaned forward and Lucian pushed him back with his palm. “Wait.”

Parker sat back and scowled.

“Clint, call Dugan and tell him to meet me here. Take Mr. Hughes back to St. Christopher's. He's no longer necessary.”

“We had a deal!”

“And I gave you my word. Be at Patras tomorrow at six a.m. Someone will meet you there to orient you with your new position. I'm giving it to you, Hughes, but mess up, show up late, do anything that's unacceptable and, like any other employee of mine, you lose it. Keeping the job's on you.”

“And what about the other half of my deal?”

“You have until she agrees to marry me. Wait too long . . .” Lucian shrugged. “But Hughes, if she doesn't want to go to you, I won't make her.”

Lucian noticed the front the other man had been putting up so far shifted. No matter what, the cards were always stacked in his favor when it came to something he wanted. He made sure of it.

He gripped the handle of the door and Parker quickly asked, “What if she isn't there?”

“Then both of us are fucked.”

Lucian climbed out and slammed the door. Clint drove off. One fortifying breath and his legs were moving. He hoisted himself onto the cement bib outside the door. Like Hughes had said, it was propped open enough for a person to slide under. Sighing, his knees dropped to the cold ground, he gathered the tails of his coat to his body and slid under the opening.

The acrid stink of urine and waste practically choked him. His eyes adjusted to the dim light and he headed in the direction Parker had pointed. People lurked in shadows, and small fires burned here and there. No one seemed to pay him any mind, their focus purely on keeping warm.

There was a dense area that was set up like a compound of sorts. He pushed through the putrid odor of human waste, and the smell dispersed as the individuals thinned out. When he reached the last corridor, the silence seemed impenetrable. It was as if he'd left the last of the living and traveled somewhere altogether worse, some circle of Dante's, he was sure. Except it was so fucking cold.

The reverberation of his steps echoed down the quiet corridor, and the sound of a muffled cough trickled from the very end. His steps grew faster and soon he was running. He slowed as he approached the last door. Needing a steadying breath before he faced whatever he was walking into.

Turning the corner, Lucian found what looked like a dead body sprawled on a collapsed stack of cardboard boxes. Emaciated fingers protruded like sticks from fingerless gloves, and breath was sucked audibly from the rank cell, followed by a rattling cough. Not Evelyn.

As his eyes shut he heard a slight clatter and jerked around. There in the corner, back to the wall, curled in a little ball was his Evelyn. Taking two long steps to reach her, he fell to his knees and pulled her to him. She jerked, startled and weakly struggled.

“Shh, shh, Evelyn, baby, it's me. I'm here.”

Her body shook violently. Her skin was chilled right through her clothing. Her eyes were surrounded with purple shadows and her chin quivered as her teeth chattered.

“L-L-Lucian?”

“Yes. Come on. I'm getting you out of here.”

Relief was a living thing, infusing him with energy and the strength to do whatever needed to remove her from this vile place.

The body in the corner began to hack violently. Evelyn scrambled out of his arms and crawled to the heap of flesh and bones hidden under layers of dirty fabric. She quickly uncapped a bottle of cloudy water and pressed it to the person's blue lips as she cradled the head in her lap. The person, a woman, gasped and choked, but eventually settled back into a restless sleep, mumbling and chanting nonsense.

“Evelyn, come on. Let's leave this place.”

“How did you get here, Lucian?” He saw that his presence cost her a chunk of pride. She didn't want him to see her like this. He didn't care.

He went to her and took her hand, urging her to stand. “It doesn't matter. I'm here and we're leaving.”

She snatched her hand back. “No. You shouldn't have come. I can't leave Pearl.”

Pearl. He gazed down at the heap of rotting flesh. She was infected with some disease and clearly dying. He warred with choices, Darwinism versus compassion. He tried to understand the fierce loyalty Evelyn felt for this person.

“Who is she, Evelyn? She's sick and I'm not sure moving her is wise.”

Her silver eyes, so incredibly weary, looked up at him. A sheen of tears built and trickled past her matted lashes. “She's my mother.”

Her words cut through him with realization and sympathy. The woman was at death's door and Evelyn wouldn't leave her. The pain he felt for her, with her, in that moment was crippling. Lucian's mind went back to his mother's funeral, the agony of loss, the relentless force insisting he remain stoic and strong in the face of fear, the emptiness, the irrelevance of it all, the immeasurable consuming grief, the nothingness that had stolen all the color from his world for so long. He couldn't ask her to walk away.

Swallowing the lump in his throat, he stood and surveyed the room. Mold corroded the walls. Water trickled down the plaster, leaving a puddle in the corner. There was a flipped-over box with an oxidized candle, a spoon, a strap, and a syringe. Heroin.

His eyes landed on Evelyn's bag and he scooped it up and handed it to her. “Here.”

“What're you doing?” Her breath formed a cloud of vapor between them in the frigid room.

Kneeling, he scooped up her mother, her body shockingly light, and stood. “We're getting out of here.”

Her jaw shook and her eyes watered. “Lucian, w-why?”

He shifted the practically weightless body in his arms. “You ask me that entirely too often, Evelyn. Because I love you. Is that answer enough for you?”

Her face crumbled with emotion and she lowered her chin then raised it, breathing in a rough sob. “Yes.”

Chapter 32

Odds

An advantage given by the stronger player to a weaker player

Evelyn sat in the overstuffed chair facing the window, looking small and lost. Her pallid eyes were without expression. Her hair, still wet from the shower, was combed back, making those tired eyes seem huge, the soft skin appearing bruised around the silver pools. Lucian handed her a cup of coffee, and she stared at him for a moment as if she'd forgotten his presence and couldn't quite make sense of it. Her exhaustion was so evident. It showed in her motor skills as well as her reflexes, both verbal and physical. He fit her small hands around the warm, steaming mug, and she turned back to the window.

Several long, silent moments later, the guest room door quietly opened. Vivian stepped out and pulled the door shut, at the same time managing to leave it slightly open. Her face was somber. She discreetly sent him a bleak gaze before she approached Evelyn.

With perfect bedside manner, she gently touched Evelyn's shoulder, drawing her out of her contemplative trance. “Evelyn?”

She looked up at Vivian, desperate hope softening her features. “Is she going to die?”

Vivian's expression softened and for the first time ever, he saw his sharp vixen friend appear more of a nurturing woman than he ever imagined her capable of. “No, sweetheart, she's not going to die. Not today.”

Evelyn's relief was evident. Her body crumpled as she sobbed a breath and folded her face into her hands. Vivian wrapped her in her arms and he wanted that honor, but wasn't sure his touch would be welcome.

Lucian watched from the shadows of the room as Evelyn cried, and felt absolute impotence with his inability to fix this for her, or perhaps it was his fear that she wouldn't want his help that had him paralyzed.

Her upset slowly faded and Evelyn wiped at her eyes, once again establishing the invisible walls that kept her apart from others and protected her from them all. “I'm sorry,” she said to Vivian. “I was certain she wouldn't make it another day.”

“Your mother's sick, Evelyn,” Vivian stated empathetically. “Hepatitis is something that needs to be monitored and treated. Her immunities are very low right now, fighting off infection. Her bronchial passages aren't at their best and she's running a fever, but her biggest issue is the withdrawal symptoms she's suffering.”

Evelyn's body tensed as if she wanted to stand, but she lowered her weight back into the chair. “She's addicted to heroin. I . . . I can get it for her.”

“Absolutely not,” Lucian said fiercely. Evelyn was never going into those dark corners of the city again. She seemed startled by his comment as if it reminded her of his presence in the room once again. She was all he thought about for weeks, yet she kept forgetting his presence with every passing minute.

She's tired.
His self-reassurance rang hollow and was cold comfort.

In a much calmer manner, Vivian said, “No, Evelyn. Drugs aren't what she needs. She needs to dry out.”

“But she won't. If I don't get it for her she'll sell herself for her next high.”

Vivian purposefully glanced around the penthouse. “No one's here for her to do that with now, and she's too weak to go back to where she came from. I know it won't be easy for you to hold her against her will, but you actually have all the power right now to get her through this. If you have the energy, that is?”

“We can't stay here.”

Vivian glanced at him, then speculatively back at Evelyn. “I don't think moving her would be wise.”

“You're staying,” he said, putting the issue to rest. “Pearl can stay until she's well enough to move. At that point I'll pay to have her placed in a rehab facility with the best doctors who specialize in this sort of thing, and she'll get well.”

“She won't go,” Evelyn said in the most defeated voice he had ever heard her use. He didn't like seeing her so hopeless.

“Her other choice is to return to the streets and freeze to death. Surely once she finds her bearings she'll realize the danger of that. There's a blizzard coming in the next couple of days.”

She bit her lip nervously. “You don't know what you're inviting into your home, Lucian. You've never seen someone go through withdrawal before, watching them tear at their skin because
everything
is agony. She'll soil your home and be so far out of her head she won't care about shitting on your sheets or vomiting on your carpet. What do you plan to do when she comes clawing at you like a feral animal because she resents all of your help and would rather die than live with it? She doesn't want a sober life. She'd choose death first. I know it.”

“Do you think I'd blame you for her actions when she's sick? I don't care if it's a thankless, uphill, unending battle. I'm not letting you do this alone.”

Several agonizing seconds ticked by like fortnights. The scratch of Vivian scribbling something down on a pad of paper was the only sound as he stared challengingly into Evelyn's tired eyes. He turned when Vivian touched his sleeve. She handed him a script.

“This is the name of a clinic outside of the city. Tell them I sent you and I'm sure you'll have no problem getting her in. It's pricy, but I doubt that will be an issue. She won't be ready to move for at least three days. Maybe seven. She's going to have to want to be clean or even the best facility, doctors, sponsors, and all the support in the world won't help her. There are teas she can take. I'll have a messenger send some over. She probably won't eat for a few days. When she does, start light, dry toast, soft eggs. Nothing too heavy. You have my number if you need anything.”

There wasn't much time to talk after Vivian left. It seemed the moment the door closed, a tornado of misery unleashed within the walls of the condo. Evelyn went right into action, her weak body obviously struggling to endure far past the point of her own exhaustion in order to be there for her mother.

Pearl carried on for hours without allowing Evelyn a moment's respite. She screamed and feebly fought Evelyn back. It occurred to him the woman did not recognize her daughter. She often cried and called for Scout, rejecting Evelyn's touch, calling her vile names, and accusing her of killing her baby.

She was out of her head, and he worried that perhaps she suffered from more than destroyed brain cells and hard living. This couldn't be just from drugs. There had to be some level of dementia happening here.

Pearl's endurance outlasted even his own. He ordered several linens and soaps up and it seemed they'd fallen through a rabbit hole into a world of revolving ups and downs, Evelyn as poor desolate Alice, Pearl the Mad Hatter, and he the frightened rabbit. He consistently caught himself standing back, watching as Evelyn carried on, tapping into an empty well of energy and putting effort forth to ease her mother's mind and discomfort. There was no peace in the hours that followed.

Evelyn's affection for such a hateful, spiteful person amazed him. She simply accepted Pearl's behavior with stoic grace. Lucian knew he could never be as humble as she was in those horrid moments. He knew, even his mother whom he'd loved dearly, could not treat him as Pearl treated Evelyn and continue to be a part of his life. How Evelyn did not snap or retaliate left him speechless. He was completely inexperienced with such raw humanity.

Pearl shivered and glared as Evelyn bathed her with a damp cloth, cooling her sweltering, fevered skin as her temperature reached frightening heights. He feared many times they'd lose her, no matter what Vivian had said. Minutes felt like days, hours like years, and there was not an end in sight.

It wasn't until long after the sun had set and begun to rise that Pearl had finally exhausted herself. Evelyn was a shell of carbon and flesh, barely holding herself upright. In the corner sat a pile of wasted linens he knew would have to go directly to the incinerator.

Pearl fell back with a weak sigh that didn't fit her intrepid fight. He waited, skeptically, for her to rouse once more. Convinced her shattered mind substituted itself with an unstoppable will, when her breath leveled out, he remained. But she only slept. The forgotten clock told him twenty-six hours had passed since they arrived back at the condo. He had thought he'd rescued them from the depths of hell, yet now he was convinced he had brought the devil into his home.

Evelyn slipped into the chair like a wilted flower. Her vacant eyes still wouldn't leave Pearl's face. She seemed a delicate soul, barely held together by withered threads, yet the set of her shoulders told him she would rally again if her mother needed her. Her fortitude baffled him. He was exhausted, but she wouldn't give up her stoic vigil.

Quietly slipping from the room, he called the front desk to order food and several trash bags. He also ordered a maid's cart to be brought up, knowing Evelyn's pride would forbid another employee she saw as her peer to clean up after Pearl. He would tend to the mess, because there was no way he was allowing her to exert another ounce of energy.

The food came and he quietly placed it in the living room. Returning to the guest room, he found Evelyn slumped in her chair, holding her head up with one weak hand. She looked to be asleep, but he knew she wasn't. Her heavy eyes watched her sleeping mother's form through tiny slits.

“Evelyn,” he softly whispered. Her motions were slow and delayed. She turned to face him with great effort. “You need to eat. Why don't you go clean yourself up and I'll stay here with Pearl.”

She looked like she wanted to argue, but her verve had simply been too depleted to try. Weakly nodding, she stood on shaky legs. He helped her gain her equilibrium and waited as she staggered with the grace of a zombie into the bathroom.

As the door closed behind her, Lucian went to the hall and pulled the maid cart in. Careful not to disturb Pearl, he slipped on gloves and began bagging up the soiled linens, then sanitizing every surface. He heard the shower running and wondered how Evelyn was even still standing.

By the time the room was disinfected and put back to sorts, he called Dugan to come handle the disposal of items, knowing Evelyn wouldn't want people unnecessarily wondering at her private business. He held on to the maid cart, figuring they'd need it again, and simply tucked it out of the way.

She returned to the room, looking depleted and beaten. “You need to sleep, Evelyn. She's resting now and I promise to stay with her and wake you if she stirs. Take your rest while you can so that you have your strength when she wakes.”

She nodded and turned to go to the master bedroom. He waited until she was asleep, then went to clean himself up.

Once he washed up and changed into fresh clothes, he returned to Pearl's side and settled into the chair beside the bed. Lucian drifted in and out of a restless sleep. Pearl moved very little, but often moaned quiet, agonized whispers of nonsense.

He had lost all sense of time. His phone had continued to ring until he finally shut it off. People would have to go on without him for the next few days. His priorities were here, with Evelyn.