The Renfield Syndrome

  When I finally hit the top floor, I exited the small confines of the elevator. Another desk awaited me, one that I’d have to pass to gain entry into the room of a person they deemed unsafe for the average visitor. The older lady guarding the gates was much nicer than the one on the ground level below.

  “Patient?” she asked as she clicked away at her computer.

  “Jennifer Cunningham.”

  “And you are?”

  “Rhiannon Murphy.”

  When the woman’s fingers faltered, I knew she was aware of our story. Hell, what had occurred to us had once been on the Primetime News. She was able to pull herself back together fast, which I gave her proper credit for. It wasn’t every day that you meet someone who has survived what my sister and I had.

  “You’re all clear. She was medicated recently, so you can visit for an hour.”

  Something else I didn’t really want to know, but I didn’t say anything. Jennifer had to be medicated. Otherwise she’d find some way to kill herself.

  The steps to her room were some of the longest I’d ever had to take in my life. I remembered making this trip before I left Miami, feeling as if my feet were weighted by sand. It was much the same now. It was ironic, really. Wanting to see someone so badly but being afraid to do so.

  When I got to her door, it was slightly ajar. I pushed my way inside, glancing at the right corner of the ceiling where a camera was installed. Jennifer was seated in front of the windows, the blinds pulled up so she could see the sky just beyond her reach. I placed my duffel on her bed before I slowly walked over, forcing my feet to keep going, afraid of the sight that would welcome me.

  She had recently been bathed, because her hair wasn’t oily and her face was free of any traces of drool. Unfortunately, there was no shower in the world powerful enough to wipe the blank stare off her face, or the way her eyes were glassed over. Taking a knee in front of her, I carefully placed my fingers over her left hand. Nothing happened. She didn’t move or respond. Much like the last time, she continued staring past me, seeing something I could not.

  “Hi Jenny,” I whispered, hoping that somewhere, deep down, she could hear. “It’s me.”

  When she didn’t respond, I started talking.

  I told her about New York and my life there, excluding my necromancy as I had always been afraid to share my secret with her, terrified it would scare the only person I had left in my life away. When I got to Disco, I revealed how I felt about him, told her how much he’d hurt me, and how afraid I was to go back. I told her everything I couldn’t tell Goose, including the things that had occurred in Disco’s bedroom, which I would never utter to another soul. She remained quiet as I babbled, gazing past me to the sun, her hand limp beneath mine. As my tears came, I let them. There was only one person I’d never been ashamed to cry in front of, and that was the woman seated in a wheelchair in front of me.

  After I finished and I was sniffling my own snot, I swiped at my nose. “See, I leave town for a while, and this is what happens. I’m a total fucking mess.”

  For a brief moment, I thought I felt her finger move, but when I looked into her face, her vacant expression was the same. It didn’t really matter. I’d returned to see her, and now that I had, I knew it was okay to do so again. She wasn’t an unwanted memory of my past—she was the glue that helped me hold it together.

  “I’m not going to take so long to visit next time,” I told her as I got settled at her feet, waiting out my hour as I placed my head in her lap. “I promise.”

  Again, if she heard, there was no indication. But somehow I knew that she was aware—that she knew I’d come back to her.

  That was all that really mattered.

  I wasn’t sure why I was shocked to learn Carrie Shaw still lived at the house of horrors I once grew up in. I supposed it was another way to atone for her sins, to make up for the wrongs she had committed. As I paid the cabbie and grabbed my bag, I took a deep breath. Coming here wasn’t a part of my plan when I’d decided to make the trip to see Jennifer, but it was something I had to do in order to come to terms with my past.

  When I knocked on the door, I fisted the thin duffel handles, hoping to curb my temper. I soon learned it wasn’t necessary. Not when I got my first look at Carrie in what had become several years. She’d lost a shitload of weight, appearing almost skeletal, and her once long hair was trimmed close to her head. She blinked, as though she couldn’t believe what she was seeing.

  “Rhia?”

  “In the flesh.”

  “Do you want to come in?” She looked so fucking frail, which made all of this seem unfair. In my younger years, she was heavier, somehow more intimidating. Now I was the scary one. Isn’t it funny how that happens?

  I didn’t want to step inside, but my trip was about more than what I wanted—it was about facing the things that scared me, looking them in the eye, and telling them to back the fuck off.

  “Sure,” I said with more enthusiasm than I felt.

  She moved aside and I discovered the house wasn’t at all as it had once been. The entire place had been remodeled, for starters. No more wooden panels, old furniture, or overly large paintings gathered from garage sales.

  “Can I get you something to drink?” she asked as she ushered me toward the couch.

  I remained standing, shaking my head. “I didn’t come here to sit and chat.”

  “Oh.” She started to wring her hands, her mannerisms uncertain and nervous.

  I couldn’t believe I was about to say what I was, but time changes things, including the attitudes and opinions of people. “I wanted to stop by and tell you to keep going to see Jennifer. I can’t be here as much as she needs, and she doesn’t deserve to be alone.”

  She started moving her hands more quickly, shifting her feet. “I wasn’t sure if you’d approve of me seeing her.”

  “I think that if you want to make up for what you allowed to happen in your home, the best place you can start is there. She’s the one whose forgiveness you need most. Not mine.”

  “That’s true.” Carrie nodded, hands still working, feet continuing to shuffle. “I was told by the private investigator I hired that you didn’t want to see me.”

  “I still don’t. Call this my personalized twelve-step program.”

  “Then at least hear me out. Give me a minute and listen to what I have to say.”

  “Okay.” I planted my feet, determined to do as she asked. “Your minute starts now.”

  “I was wrong. Everything I did was wrong. I allowed fear of a man to control my actions and thoughts. But you have to understand something. Ray was far worse to me than he ever was to you. Before we married, he was the man of my dreams. I had no idea what kind of monster he was until it was too late. He used to make me do the most horrible things.” She sobbed, breaking down. “You can’t imagine the things he made me do.”

  “Oh.” I laughed without humor. “I think I can.”

  “He used to make me—” She swiped at her tears until she found the strength to continue. “I’m not going to tell you the things he did. I lived them, which is more than enough. I will tell you that by the time we fostered, he seemed to be in control of himself. I hoped it would be enough to make him see what he’d done in the past was wrong. I never knew what he’d do once he was around Jennifer. I never imagined he would see her as anything more than a child.”

  With a strangled cry, she broke down—good and fucking proper.

  She cried so hard she couldn’t breathe, taking ragged and uneven inhales before letting them out in horrific sobs. Her entire body was trembling, and I was pretty damned sure the quaking arms weren’t fake. It would have moved the most hardcore person, but not me. Not someone who had lived a life no child should because the woman before her was too chicken shit to do something about it.

  I waited until she had control of herself b
efore I spoke. “Carrie, I’m not going to bullshit you. I’m still angry at you. I still blame you. And I still think that you’re an absolute piece of shit.” Her new, unstoppable spray of tears didn’t stop me, not that they ever could. “But you’re trying to make up for what you’ve done, which is a hell of a lot more than I can say for most people. If you’re sincere in trying to make amends, do right by my sister. Make sure she receives the best care afforded to her. Do anything and everything in your power to see that she gets the best treatment possible, so that she at least has some chance at making a recovery.” I retrieved a piece of paper that contained the number to my cell from my pocket. “If you can’t get her the help you feel she needs, call me. I’ll make sure it happens.”

  When she finally calmed, she accepted the piece of paper, and I pivoted on my heel, ready to depart. I’d accomplished what I needed to by facing my past and forcing myself to balls up. While it didn’t feel as good as I thought it might, it was a start.

  “Rhiannon?” Carrie’s voice was weak and shaky, as if she were liable to fall apart at any moment.

  Turning in her doorway, I looked at her. “Yeah?”

  “Don’t stay away from Jennifer so long. A few months ago, she broke out of her stupor, and there was only one thing she kept repeating over and over.”

  When she didn’t say more, I prodded, “Which was?”

  “Your name.” She continued crying, clutching the piece of paper. “Rhiannon.”

  I thought nothing could possibly hurt as much as Disco’s betrayal, but damn it, I was wrong. Closing the door and walking down the cleanly manicured sidewalk, I kept myself numb, forcing my brain to function on autopilot.

  Somehow I managed to leave Carrie’s home without breaking down, but once I made it to the first available bathroom—inside a nearby musty old gas station—I allowed myself to fall apart, heaving into the nasty toilet, until my stomach had nothing left to give. I sobbed uncontrollably into the grimy, unsanitized wall. When the last tear had fallen, I stood, walked to the sink and washed my face.

  As I wiped my fingers over my eyes, removing the traces of my pain, I wished it could be just as easy to remove the scars of my past, the betrayal I wasn’t sure I could forgive, and the heavy ache in my heart.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Rhiannon’s Law #7: Home is where you make it, and it doesn’t necessarily have to be a domicile where Betty Crocker is your mother. It can be any place you feel comfortable in your own skin. Be it a video arcade, a pool hall, or in my case, a local tittie bar.

  Music blasted from the speakers, Diva Avari’s “Fucking Bitch” drowning out the hoots and hollers that came from the patrons when Cassie took the stage. As I predicted, she kept Lacey on her toes, upping the ante with her exotic looks, raven-colored locks with streaks of red, and legs that didn’t stop working. The minute Lacey heard Cassie’s song of choice, she took it like the middle finger it was, and I grinned.

  That was The Black Panther Lounge, always keeping things real.

  “Bartender!”

  Normally, the BP’s resident fat ass and loud mouth, Lonnie, would have made me angry. Now, he made me break out in a smile. I never thought I’d miss being treated like shit, but I had. This was my zone, the place I felt safe, and Lonnie was one of many reasons I was reminded of it.

  Ambling over, I asked, “What can I get you, Lonnie?”

  True to form, he didn’t bother looking at me. “Crown and Coke.”

  “Sure thing.”

  I whipped up his drink of choice in no time, adding a little extra crown in his glass as I did. Deena appeared from the back room just as I placed the drink in front of him. I could tell she was expecting some smart-ass comment about how rude he was, or how much it grossed me out to see yet another stain on his otherwise pristine white T-shirt, but I didn’t. Nope, I was seeing things through entirely different eyes now.

  “You okay?” She frowned at me when she didn’t get my usual tirade.

  “Absolutely.” I smiled and strode past her when another patron strolled up, indicating he was ready for another round.

  It had been a week since I’d gone to see Jennifer, but it seemed a lot shorter. I’d decided to take Deena up on her offer to crash at her place when I told her I needed a change of scenery—avoiding Disco, Goose and Paine at all costs. Of course, I knew the time would come when the avoidance wouldn’t be accepted. It was cool, though, since I had my head on straight and my heart right where it was supposed to be. I was done being the idiot, the lovelorn fool, the stupid girl who forgot her mistakes and was therefore prone to repeat them.

  “I need a double shot of Wild Turkey.” The man shoved his glass at me, and I took it without comment. So what if my world now revolved around assholes and hours spent studying in the New York Public Library?

  It could be worse.

  I filled his drink as requested, accepted his cash, and made my way to the ancient cash register that would nail you in the gut unless you knew to get the hell out of the way when you hit the proper button. Once I’d stuffed the remainder in the tip jar, I went for the cloth under the counter to clean the bar. It was a fast-moving night—a Saturday—and if I didn’t keep the counter clean, it would be laden with sloppy messes from alcohol-impaired drunks in no time flat.

  “Rhiannon!” Deena yelled and I looked up. “We need another keg of Samuel Adams from the back.”

  “I’m on it!” I tossed the cloth back to its proper place and headed for the back.

  My cell vibrated in my back pocket, and I pulled it out to see it was Disco calling—again. The fluttering in my belly was something I couldn’t control, but what I decided to do next was. I didn’t answer, which had become commonplace. I’d speak to him when I was ready, in my own good time. We had issues to sort out, sure, but only after he’d had time to think about what he’d done.

  I found the keg and hoisted it with ease. The pendant made things like that a lot easier. I knew I shouldn’t wear it as often as I did, but I figured as long as I didn’t willingly call on its power, it was all good.

  As I placed the keg under the counter and attached it to the spout, I heard someone clear their throat. Glancing up, I came face to face with a good-looking man about my age. He was looking at me in a way I was used to, like a piece of candy that was ripe for the tasting.

  “Need help with that, darlin’?”

  “Nope.” I returned to the task at hand. “I’ve got it.”

  I knew to avoid eye contact until he took the hint, and waited until he was no longer waiting around before I surfaced from beneath the bar. I breathed a deep sigh of relief when I was asked for a refill on a beer and a shot of Hennessy.

  Hector walked by as I placed the drinks in front of their destination, and he grinned and nodded. I hadn’t been sure the boss man would allow me to return after all the shit I’d caused, but I was damned grateful that he had. It appeared that we needed each other, whether we wanted to or not.

  Cassie’s song ended and I watched as she collected her earnings from the stage before she vanished behind the curtains. In a few minutes, she’d be working the room, which meant I had to be on the lookout for a possible catfight. So far, Lacey and Cassie had managed to remain united in their common interests, but I knew it wouldn’t last. Each wanted to top the other at the end of the night, and right now, the scales were tipping in Cassie’s favor.

  “Excuse me. Can I get a Grey Goose? Double shot.”

  I turned around slowly, coming face to face with one of the three men I’d managed to avoid. Goose was smiling, as if no time had passed at all. If he was angry at me for not returning his calls, it didn’t show.

  “Sure,” I answered, returning his smile, and marched to make his drink. It didn’t take long to create his beverage of choice. When I placed it in front of him, he handed me a twenty and said the same thing he’d said a very long time ago. ?
??Keep the change.”

  “Thanks.” I turned to the register, cashed him out, and stuffed the remainder in the tip jar. I was tempted to return to the other end of the bar. Instead, I walked over to him, resting my elbows on the counter.

  “So how goes it?”

  He laughed. “Do you really have to ask that question?”

  “Let me guess.” I couldn’t totally erase the sarcasm from my voice. “You were sent here to check up on me?”

  “Whatever clued you in?” He sat his glass on the counter.

  “I don’t know, maybe the dozens of messages on my phone?”

  He sighed, staring at his drink. “You can’t run from Gabriel forever.”

  “Who said I was running?” When he glanced up, I smiled. “I’m just giving him a little of what he likes to dish out. It’s only fair.”

  “He’s hurting, Rhiannon. He really is. He prowls that home of his night after night, and he’s restless. You need to talk to him and resolve what’s going on between you.”

  I thought that hearing about Disco’s agony would make mine easier. Unfortunately, it made me feel worse. Yes, he’d done something atrocious, something totally unforgivable, but despite it all, I still loved the asshole bastard.

  Not to mention, I wasn’t entirely innocent.

  “I’ll talk to him.”

  “When?” Goose asked before I could finish my sentence.

  Unable to commit myself to an exact date, I shrugged. “Soon.”

  Fortunately, our chitchat was interrupted, and I found myself running from one end of the bar to the next. It was to be expected on a Saturday. There was plenty of cash to be spent and plenty of bubbly to go around. When I made it back to Goose, he had a folder in front of him.

  “Want another round?”

  “No, but if you want what’s inside this folder, you’ll agree to meet me when you’re off the clock.”

  I eyed the folder dubiously. “And what’s so special that I’d be willing to do that?”