Saltar's Point (23 page)

She braced her palms on the footrests of the chair and pressed upwards until the majority of her torso rested upon the seat. She reached up and gripped the handles behind the chair, using the rubber grips for a sure handhold, Abby pulled her body up with every fiber of her being, convinced that the muscles in her shoulders were going to tear free of their ligaments. Miraculously they held fast, until her hips had elevated above the seat of the chair. She twisted her body until her butt rested flat against the seat. She had done it. A moment of exhilaration passed and then she began to pull the rope upward, wrapping it end over end around her right elbow and between her thumb and index finger until she had coiled the rope into a perfect circular bundle.

When she was finished she began the agonizing trek back to her bedroom, stopping momentarily to relieve herself in the bathroom. When she was finished she climbed back into the chair and resumed her journey. Her palms burned beneath the rubber wheels and her muscles screamed in agony, but she rolled the chair hand over hand until she sat next to her bed. With one final effort she pushed herself into bed and pulled the covers up about her. Jack would be home soon, and when he was, he would be none the wiser.

TWENTY-FOUR

Ellie shuffled her feet along the tile floor. Her depression had reached an all time low. If it had not been for Aiden and Randall, she’d just as soon be dead. The love of her child and future husband kept her going. How had she let her life come to this? The thoughts kept spinning inside her head. She was drug free once, happy, alive, but now her world was shrouded in a veil of misery, covered by the darkness of her addiction looming just overhead.

Her body wretched constantly from the withdrawals, each passing moment seeming like an eternity. The first night hadn’t been so bad, at least not as bad as she had thought. The chemicals released from her system in a few violent shudders, and streamed from her pores in rivulets of sweat, soaking her sheets and chilling her to the bone, but she felt as though she could handle it. The second night however was as though she were thrown into the pits of hell itself. She vomited continually throughout the night. Her stomach muscles twisted themselves into knots, making her feel as though she were going to wretch her own guts out in a series of violent heaves. She screamed in agony and clutched her arms to her chest as she defecated upon herself, long sticky strands of mucus and bile that spewed from her anus, staining her nightgown and defiling her sheets. The nurses were phenomenal, going about their business as though nothing were out of the ordinary, but Ellie felt the shame of her sickness and a lack of dignity deep within her heart. When her twitching and convulsions became too violent they gave her a shot. Ellie found it twistingly ironic, drugs to combat the drugs. She made her way to the bathroom, a six-stall facility located directly in the middle of her hallway wing. At the sink she turned the faucet and let the water run, feeling the cool liquid flow over her hands before splashing it upon her face. The freezing droplets of water stung her skin but felt soothing at the same time, reminding her that she was still alive despite her precarious predicament. She splashed a few more handfuls over herself before turning and exiting the bathroom, making slow but steady progress to the counseling center and her dependency group.

She was the last one to arrive. The members of her group sat anxiously upon their plastic chairs. Most bobbed their head up and down between their knees awaiting the counselor to bequeath some words of wisdom that would miraculously set them free of their addiction. Ellie peered at them with the skepticism of a newcomer, wondering how the words of a stranger –skilled as she may be- could set them free from their addictions. She took her place in her chair. The counselor looked up at her briefly before glancing back down at her notepad. She scribbled down a few more notes and then gazed out in panoramic fashion at the group before her. Ellie had been introduced to her just two days before. Her name was Martha, she held a doctorate in psychology with an emphasis on chemical addiction and the effects on the brain. She was thirty-eight years old, with long black hair pulled up behind her in a ponytail, and she wore light brown cotton pants and a white silk blouse buttoned right up to the base of her neck. When she spoke she did so with a soft almost condescending manner, which put Ellie in a defensive mood. You need help, and I’m the only one qualified to give it to you her manor said. Ellie felt like she was going to vomit, and this time it wasn’t from chemical withdrawal.

“Okay welcome back. Before we begin I have an exciting announcement.” She gave a dramatic pause. “We have a new member.” The rest of the group feigned excitement with an amicable golf clap. The counselor peered at her. “Ellie would you like to introduce yourself to the group?”

No thanks lady, I’d just as soon remain anonymous. Ellie knew that thought would never fly here, so she played along.

“My name is Ellie Pritchard, and I’m a drug addict.” She recited the line as she had been instructed just hours before.

“Hi Ellie!” The group chanted in unison and mock enthusiasm.

“I want you all to welcome Ellie to the group and make her feel at home.” The counselor verbally vomited her lines with obvious experience. “Now why don’t we begin?”

Oh my God, what the hell am I doing here?

The thoughts played through her mind like a home movie. The words of her counselor were drowned out by the images in her mind. She thought about Aiden, her grandfather, and Randall. What must they think of her? She had never wanted her life to come to this, but here she was an addict, a user.

“Jim why don’t you begin?”

A small lanky man with dimpled skin from childhood acne stood up and addressed the group. “I’m just trying to take it one day at a time. I’ve been writing in my journal and trying to cope with my addiction.”

Ellie recoiled into herself, drowning out the words of her fellow addicts. She didn’t need to be here, she didn’t want to be here, and for Christ’s sake hadn’t any desire to be here with these junkies. The room began to spin; she felt another bout of sickness coming on.

No God please, not here.

She looked around her, Jim was still speaking, though to her his words came out free of sound, as though she had pushed the mute button on her television set. The group around her nodded their heads up and down in rhythmic cadence. Ellie felt as though she were on a merry-go-round, watching the bobbing of the horses as they spun around and around. She felt the bile building in her throat. Her salivary glands began to kick into overdrive, spewing forth sticky liquid that filled her mouth with relentlessness. She swallowed it down, hoping that that would be the end of it, but her stomach protested and she felt her abdominal muscles begin to wretch.

No, no, no, please not here.

And then she vomited, spraying mucus and stomach acid across the room in a violent heave that spread out from the corners of her mouth like a ruptured fire hose, spraying in all directions, with no way to stop it. Bits of bread and lettuce hurtled through the air –remnants of her lunch- projected forward and propelled by the violent upheaval in her small intestine. Ellie watched horrified as her last meal struck the other members of the group splattering against their clothes like rain on a tent roof and spilling atop Martha’s shoes, staining the white canvas of her loafers. Ellie hurled the contents of her stomach several more times before the spasms in her diaphragm subsided, and then she placed her head in her hands resting just between her knees and listened to the deafening silence about her. An acidic stench permeated the air and filled the room with a choking odor. Depressed and humiliated, Ellie wept into her hands. Salty tears leaked between her fingers.

Martha rose from her chair and placed a soothing arm around her shoulders. As Ellie wallowed in her shame, it felt like a vise grip.

“Are you okay Ellie?”

She managed to eek out a nod between sobs, her shoulders lurching forward with every gasp. The group remained silent, content to let Martha deal with the distraught newcomer.

“Why don’t we get you back to your room? I think you’ve had enough for today.”

Another nod followed and then Martha helped her from her seat and began to assist her down the long hallway. Life had become one big shithole for Ellie Pritchard, and she was left to dig her way out without a shovel.

Their dinner consisted of macaroni and cheese, some reheated broccoli and day old bread. Without Ellie around to cook for them the boys were left to fend for themselves, and the culinary outcome was not good. Aiden pushed the broccoli around on his plate, spreading it out on the porcelain, hoping that it would appear as though he had eaten some of it. He wished Chubs were here, Chubs would eat anything, and he could have easily slipped the broccoli under the table to be devoured by the hungry canine, leaving no evidence behind.

They sat in Cletus’ kitchen. Randall thought that it might be easier for Aiden to adjust to his mom’s absence if he was in the presence of family. It didn’t appear to be working very well. Aiden had worn a frown all-day.

“Come on champ, I need you to eat at least some of your broccoli.”

“I can’t it tastes like crap.”

“Where’d you here that word?” Randall said with his mouth full of macaroni.

“From you, when you smashed your thumb with the hammer.”

“Well you shouldn’t say it.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s a bad word, I shouldn’t say it either. Tell you what. I won’t say it anymore if you don’t.”

“Okay.”

“How’s the investigation going?” Cletus said, interrupting the ethics lesson.

“Slow, slower, and slowest.”

“You still focusing in on that Darrow character?”

“Yeah, but we don’t have much to go on other than some changed tires and some bondage items.”

“Well if you ask me,” Cletus said, pointing with his fork for emphasis, “you’re on the right track. That Darrow fellow is no good. I can feel it in my bones.”

“Yeah well that’s pretty much the consensus, but connecting him to the crime has proven to be more of a challenge than we thought.”

“When can we go see mommy?”

“Tell you what champ, you finish your broccoli and we’ll go see your mother right after dinner.”

Aiden shoveled the broccoli into his mouth like a backhoe filling a ditch. That’s one way to get him to eat his vegetables Randall thought. When they had finished Cletus cleaned up the dishes and Randall got Aiden ready to go. Twenty minutes later they had piled into the Cherokee and were on the road to the rehab center. The entire drive was filled with silence; no one wanted to discuss the horrid situation of a family member with an addiction problem.

When they arrived Randall opened the back door for Aiden and he took off for the sliding glass doors, eager to see his mother.

“Whoa, slow down champ.” Randall called out after him. “She’s not going anywhere.”

Aiden waited for them to catch up, and then the three entered the center together. The nurse behind the counter ran over the visiting time rules. All three of them nodded their comprehension, eager to see Ellie. The automated lock on the treatment ward door buzzed and Randall pushed it open as they stepped into the hall beyond. They walked down the hallway and stopped just outside of Ellie’s room. Randall knocked three quick raps against the door before they entered. He gasped as he looked at Ellie. She was white as a ghost. Aiden tried not to show his dismay but it registered upon his face like a highway billboard. Cletus betrayed no emotion; a stern look permeated his face.

“Do I look that bad?”

“You’ve looked better.” Randall said, trying to keep his alarm at bay. “How are you feeling baby?”

“Like I’ve been run over by a dump truck.”

They worked their way over to her bedside. Aiden climbed up and threw his arms around his mother. They both cried a wave of tears.

“Don’t cry baby. Mommy’s all right. Everything’s going to be all right.”

Her words did little to comfort him; the allure of the hospital permeated his thoughts making him sad.

“Mommy?”

“Yes baby.”

“When are you coming home?”

“Soon baby, I promise.”

He hugged his mother closer. Randall and Cletus looked on silently. After a minute or so Aiden let go and sat quietly on the edge of the bed. Randall looked at his fiancée, wishing he could aid her in her pain. She sensed it and looked up at him.

“I’m so sorry.”

“Sorry for what?”

“For putting you through all this. You forgive me?”

“There’s nothing to apologize for, we’re just here to make sure you get through everything okay.”

He hugged her close, feeling the tears wet the shoulder of his shirt. She cried for near ten minutes straight before looking Randall in the eyes.

“Thank you for loving me.”

He kissed her softly and brushed the tears from her cheek.

Darrow paced within his labyrinth, his boots echoed on the stone floor filling his mind with thoughts of hate. Why the hell didn’t his master let him kill her? She was primed and ready, helplessly fastened to the steel gurney. It had been two days, the whore was screaming at the top of her lungs. The noise scraped the inside of his skull like steel wool, digging at the fleshy part of his brain and sending him into an insane tirade of curses and swear words. He couldn’t sleep. The cunt screamed incessantly, tormenting his every moment. Oh how he longed to cut her, to make her bleed, but his master was resolved to let both her and Darrow suffer.

He plopped down on his bed, steel springs creak beneath his weight. Darrow kicked off his boots and sat motionless, listening to the cacophony of pleas and screams within the next room.

“Please God, please. Let me go.”

He smashed the side of his fist against the bedpost, no doubt causing a deep bruise that formed not just in his skin but in the bone as well.

“JESUS. MAKE THE BITCH STOP!” Darrow screamed at the top of his lungs.

Not until you bring me another. I am not strong enough yet for the work that needs to be done.

“Fuck the work, let me cut her, it will make you stronger.” Darrow pleaded, but the entity held fast.

No, it is in her suffering that I grow stronger. Until you bring me the blood of another, the girl must live.

“I CANT.” Darrow screamed. “They’re watching me now.”