I'm not even gonna give you all the benfit of an author's note. You're lucky I'm giving you a chapter.
Aidy's cell phone startled her as she sat absorbed in the book she was reading. She glanced at the clock; three-forty-seven AM. Any other night and she would have been asleep, or at least trying to be, by now. Whoever was rude or panicked enough to call her at this ungodly hour was lucky she did not have to work in the morning or they would have gone unanswered. She looked at the display and did not recognize the number on her caller ID. Huh. She flipped the phone open on the third ring.
"Hello?" There was a brief pause on the other end, but she could clearly hear someone - male by the sound of it - breathing.
"Aidy?" asked a familiar voice in an unfamiliar tone.
"David?" she asked back, in shock. "How did you get this number?"
"Easy," he said dismissively. She thought for a moment he would expound on that statement, but instead change the subject entirely. "Did I wake you? I didn't mean to wake you."
"No, you didn't wake me," Aidy assured him. "Is something wrong?"
She heard him laugh softly through the line. It was watery, almost like a sob. She felt her pulse pick up in alarm.
"Everything is wrong," he lamented, sadly. He was slurring his words, she realized. Christ. DDA McNorris was drunk calling her?! "You still there, Aidy?" he asked when she did not respond after a moment.
"I'm here," she said, still feeling shell shocked. "Why are you calling me, David?"
"I needed someone to talk to," he told her, sounding lost. She bit back a sigh and pressed a hand to her forehead.
"You barely know me," Adeliene admonished gently. "Isn't there someone better for you to talk to?"
"Awe, no!" he protested, sounding concerned suddenly. "Don't be down on yourself like that."
This time she did sigh. "I meant someone more appropriate."
"Appropriate?" David echoed. He paused, apparently mulling the concept over. "Well, I have a wife," he began, reasoning it out for her. "But she made it clear that she was done talking about her leaving me by leaving me."
"Oh, my God," she breathed reflexively. He went on as if she hadn't said anything.
"And, I could talk to my mistress, but I think that might be what caused all the fuss in the first place."
"Jesus, David!" she exclaimed softly in exasperation. His wife left him because she found out about the affair and he was calling her now, for what? Comfort? Aidy didn't think she could handle this.
"Yes, I could talk to Jesus," he conceded, thoughtfully. "But he's kind of busy, you know?"
She sighed again. Well, this answered the question of whether or not David was going to push her out of his life. Once again, reaching out for her. She rubbed a hand over her forehead as she realized that, once again, she would not be able to refuse him.
"Okay, David," she told him, closing her book and setting it aside. "You've got me. What do you want to talk about?"
"Is it raining where you are?"
His wife left him and he wanted to talk about the weather. She rolled her eyes. "Of course it is. It's raining all over this part of the state."
"I love it," McNorris told her. "I was listening to it before I called you. Do you ever listen to the rain, Aidy?"
"Sometimes. I love the rain, too." It was true. In fact, it had almost lulled her to sleep earlier that evening. Just her luck she'd fought the urge.
"Yeah?" he asked, sounding surprised and pleased. "I knew we were friends for a reason." Friends? They barely knew each other! "Why wasn't your father a nice man?"
It took the girl a minute to process the sudden shift in subject. "I told you," she said, flatly. "Drugs."
"Oh, right. But how he wasn't nice? Wait, that doesn't make sense." He paused. Then, carefully forming each word, he said, "How was he not nice? Yeah, that's better."
"He just wasn't. I don't want to talk about my father, David," Aidy told him, firmly. She could feel herself tensing slightly.
"But I-" he broke off as she heard something glass shatter in the background. "Dammit!"
"What was that?"
"I broke my bottle," he told her, sounding irritated. "Damn. Now, I have to go get another one."
Adeliene sat up straight in alarm. "You don't mean drive to get one, right? David?"
"There's a twenty-four hour place not far from my house," he informed her distractedly.
"David, you can't drive," she told him. Her heart fluttered nervously at the thought of him behind the wheel.
"Of course, I can drive," he snorted. " 'V'had my license since I'm sixteen!"
"You can't drive in your state," the girl clarified, voice raising in pitch as her throat constricted with no small measure of fear.
"Massachusetts?" David queried, sounding woefully confused.
"You're drunk," Aidy told him, flat and blunt.
"Not overly," he responded, unconcerned.
She scowled at nothing and bit off a nail too close to the quick, flinching. It was an impossible situation. How to keep the intoxicated man safe and sound in his home? It wasn't as though she were there and could just take away his keys. She closed her eyes on the thought that popped into her head.
"Fine" she said. Her tone much aggrieved as she resigned herself to her plan. "I'll bring you a bottle."
"You will?" he nearly squeaked. Any other time and she would have found it adorably funny, but just now it grated her nerves. "That's great, because I can't seem to find my keys." Son of a bitch. "I just had them, too. I- oh, here they are. Ha! In my pocket. You know, it's always the last place you look."
She shook her head with another sigh and asked for his address, making him repeat it twice to be sure it was correct. Twenty-five minutes later she was pulling into his driveway.
Aidy turned off her car and sat for a moment, trying to figure out exactly what it was she thought she was doing. Surely David had someone else to call, someone who would take responsibility for the man away from her. On the other hand, even if such a person existed, it did little good at this point. She was already here.
But he didn't know that. McNorris might have already passed out and was sleeping it off by now. She could drive away, back to her apartment, and he'd never know the difference. No, she couldn't do that. She wanted to, and that thought kind of sickened her about herself. She couldn't just run away because a situation was a little intense.
No? Wasn't that what she'd done at Quantico? Wasn't that why she'd run all the way to L.A.? Aidy ruthlessly stamped down the thoughts that taunted her and flung off her seatbelt, opening her car door and stepping out into the rain.
As the girl made her way up the drive a flash of lightning lit the world for an instant. Her heart leapt into her throat when she saw a figure standing in a front window of the house. She shook off the startlement, continuing up the concrete pathway. David had been watching. She felt vindicated in her decision to stay, knowing it had been the right one. The last thing the poor bastard needed was to be abandoned outright by a friend on the night his wife left him.
Adeliene didn't bother knocking, since he already knew she was there; she simply let herself in the unlocked front door. It was warm outside and the rain had dampened her clothes and skin; she shivered in the sudden coolness of the house, the combination of AC and wet skin chilling her. The door had opened directly into the living room. David stood not far from her, in the window, staring out into the night. He was holding a glass of amber liquid at his side.
"You didn't need to bring a bottle," he told her, his voice soft and sad in a way it hadn't been on the phone. "I found one." He sounded almost sorry for the fact as he lifted his other arm, showing her the bottle of scotch he held. It was just as well, as she hadn't actually brought him any alcohol anyway.
"You said you needed to talk," she reminded him softly, wiping at her wet arms to try and assuage the chill. His brows drew together for a moment, as if he were trying to remember if he had, in fact, said anything of the sort. He gave up on the elusive thought and downed what was left in the glass as though it were water. "It's dark in here, David," Aidy pointed out. He shrugged.
"I was listening to the rain."
"Where's the light switch?" she asked, glancing at the wall beside her and finding none.
"I hope it never stops," he said then, either ignoring her question or just too absorbed in his own thoughts to hear. She tried searching for the switch, but the dimness of the room impeded her. She could hear the clink of the bottle against the glass, the liquid tinkling into it as he poured. "Washes everything away."
"David," she called gently, waiting for him to look at her. In the dim bluish light filtering in through the window, his eyes looked mournfully void of color and they glinted sharply - tears. He'd been crying; he might still be crying. She felt an involuntary pull in her chest that she felt he did not deserve, but it happened none the less. "Where is the light switch?"
He moved across the room, in her general direction, but obviously focused on something behind her. He tripped over what she guessed was a coffee table and lost his footing. She darted forward to steady him before he went sprawling and felt the too cold wetness of alcohol slosh over her wrist and forearm. Lovely. Using his unsteadiness to her advantage, Aidy managed to twist him around and deposit him safely in the couch beside them.
As she released him, the girl realized that his shirt was rather damp. "Did you go stand out in the rain?"
"For a bit," he said with a shrug she could barely make out in the darkness of the room.
"Sit here," she ordered softly. "And just tell me where the switch is." He rested the bottle in the crook of his other arm and pointed over the back of the couch at the far wall. The lab tech made her way carefully across the dark room and flicked the switch, which had been rather easy to find once she knew where to look. A warm glow immediately lit the area as three lamps around the living room came to life.
Aidy took a moment to look over the McNorris's décor. She hated it. It looked waspish, as if some uptight old woman lived in the house. The wife must have had complete control over the design scheme, because nothing in the room reflected David.
Nothing but the broken scotch bottle that lay on the floor not far from where she stood.
"Is your kitchen this way?" she asked, heading toward the table and chairs she could plainly see through an open archway directly ahead of her.
"Yup," he confirmed, peering over the back of the couch. Adeliene hadn't really needed his input. She'd only asked so that he would know where she was going and would remain in his seat while she cleaned up the broken glass and spilled liquor. Once finished, she came back to the living room.
"So, what did you want to talk about?" she asked. The girl stood in front of the couch, trying to decide which of the floral print arm chairs looked the least uncomfortable to sit in.
"I don't remember," David admitted, sounding half amused by the fact. He reached up to scratch his temple and Aidy gasped. Almost the whole of his left shirt sleeve below the elbow was stained maroon with what could only be blood.
"Jesus, David!" She quickly took hold of his wrist and unbuttoned the cuff, then rolled his sleeve up gently, searching for the source of the bleeding. Blood had smeared then dried on his skin from fingertips to elbow, obscuring the injury. "Where's the bathroom?"
The blonde pointed towards a hall that led from the room. "First door."
Aidy was there - finding the bathroom's décor as uptight and foofy as the living room and kitchen - and back in a matter of seconds, bearing a wet hand towel and a small first aid kit. She pulled the coffee table back and sat on it, pulling David's arm towards her again, and started carefully wiping away the blood.
"You don't have to do that," he told her, but did not try to pull away.
"Someone has to," she told him. It struck her how that little exchange had very succinctly summed up this whole experience. She started at his elbow, searching for the wound. It was a small gash about an inch long on the flesh of his forearm, just aside his elbow. She put down the towel and examined it closer. "Did you do this on the broken bottle?"
"No, the window," he told her. That simple statement cause her blood to pound in her ears as she froze, bent over his arm. It hadn't even occurred to her that David might be a violent drunk and now she was kicking herself for it. She became intensely aware of the fact that they were very close together, one of her knees was between his and vice versa. She swallowed hard.
"Window?" she asked, trying not to show the sudden panic she was feeling. "What window?"
"At Andrea's," he said. Andrea, the mistress.
"I thought you said you couldn't talk to her," the girl reminded him, hearing the quiver in her voice.
"Not about Marian. I went to see her before, but I don't have a key anymore and I didn't think it through." David told her all this as though it should make perfect sense to her.
"Why did you break the window?"
"I told you, I didn't want to wake her and I didn't have a key, so I broke the window to get in. I didn't want to wake her, but I didn't think it through."
Somehow, the muddled explanation lessened her worry. It still niggled at her mind though and she knew the surest way to provoke a drunk was to hurt them. She rather ungently prodded at his injury. The blonde inhaled sharply through his nose, but did not flinch. He didn't even complain. The knot in her gut loosened. Aidy was still wary, but almost positive the man would not become violent.
"Sorry," she said, meaning it.
"It's alright. I deserve it."
That brought her eyes up to his. Twin pools of shimmering blue stared at her from reddened lids, so sad she felt the insane urge to hug the man. Rosy lips quirked into a rueful half smile and he brought the bottle directly to them this time, taking a long drink. The girl scowled and snatched it from his grasp, setting it down on the coffee table with a loud thunk. She opened the first aid kit and took out the antiseptic ointment and a largish square bandage.
"I think you've had enough," she told the blonde. He only shrugged, not moving to regain possession of the scotch.
"Maybe you're right. I have had a lot," he conceded.
"When did you start drinking?"
"When I was nine."
"I meant tonight," she clarified, trying to stay patient.
"Right after I left Burman's. The first time. Before I went back," he said. "It had just started to rain." The last trailed off into a sigh as his eyes slipped shut and the girl assumed he was listening to the drops falling outside.
"Burman?"
"Ron Burman, the movie producer," he informed her as if shocked she didn't know already. There were hundreds of producers in L.A., she couldn't be expected to remember them all.
"You went to see a movie producer after your wife left you?"
"What? No," he snorted. "That was before. When I sold my soul."
This conversation was just getting more and more confusing. She finished applying the ointment to his gash, as gently as she could, and wiped her fingers on her pant leg. Picking up the bandage, she tore the wrapper off and carefully laid it over the wound, pressing down on the edges to make sure the adhesive stuck. Then, she picked up the towel and began cleaning the blood off again.
"Why don't you start from the beginning, David?" she suggested. Maybe if he told the story in order, it would make more sense.
"My father was a fixer back in Dorchester," he began. She sighed, pausing in her task.
"I meant tonight," she told him again.
"This is about tonight. It's a long story," David told her. She looked up at him, seeing his solemn expression. His eyes were anything but solemn. They burned at her with a deep yearning that told her this was something he needed to say, it was eating him up inside. He needed someone to hear it.
"Okay, David," Aidy told him softly. "I'm listening."
Oh, you want more, do you? Well, so do I.
