Stupid
Chapter Eleven
Feeling dulled and oddly lifeless, Josh carefully set his hands on the still form, having stopped his attempts now that the body was becoming cold. Swallowing, eyes closing, he let out a harsh breath and then inhaled… and regretted it when the scent of blood, shockingly powerful in his father's office, filled his nostrils.
There was no bringing him back, he thought achingly, shaking his head slowly, weary of thought but unable to stop it.
He'd been killed instantly, or, at least, almost instantly…
Moving away from the body, he began rubbing his red hands on his slacks, an absent-minded movement as he stared at the corpse with dark eyes and a strange sense of helplessness that felt all-too familiar. Coughing, sighing, Josh turned forcefully away from the body, refusing to let himself look at it any longer.
Embracing the numbness that fell around him, filled him, Josh finally moved to the phone on the desk and, taking a seat in his father's now-empty chair, he dialed the number, noting the splotches of dark red that decorated the numbers as he dialed, crimson shadows of what had once been a life.
A twisted life but, still…
His throat, aching with the force of holding in all that panic after finding him, was beginning to ease, his grief fading into the background now that he was going to be calling in other people, now that he wouldn't be alone any longer, waiting to come back to him when he was alone.
Later, later, later… later, Josh, later… later…
It was always later, wasn't it…?
He waited, with a rare and terrifying patience, for his call to get through and, when it finally did, he spoke with a chilling calmness, stating, "The body's here." This done, he set the phone back in the cradle, staring at it as screaming started in his head, high-pitched and terrified, the same as it had once before, after they had called him in.
And then, with a start, he realized it wasn't the same screaming and his head rose, eyes flicking away from the phone and towards the open door, to the darkness that filled the rest of his father's clinic, at the female voice rising even as he listened, growing louder and more panicked and, shaking himself, he stood, moving towards the door.
There he paused, realizing how close it was and, looking back, he stared at the body, at all the blood on that ground, a mess that could never be cleaned up now and closed his eyes again, blocking out the screams for a moment before his control finally stopped and he whirled, moving out of the office and towards the room so very close, where the screams were coming from.
In the dim light of the bedroom, sitting on the end of the bed, Kendall folded sheet of paper once and then twice, pulling fingers across it slowly. With legs folded under her and not aware of how cold she felt in the thin satin of her nightgown, she then slipped the letter into the envelope, staring at it for long moments.
She should stop this, stop acting so foolish but… but this was the only time she could feel…
Sighing softly, shaking her head slowly, Kendall closed the envelope, gripping it in both hands for long moments, pathetically grateful for the silence of the penthouse, something that was painfully fleeting these days. With another, more forceful remembrance of her plans later, she stood, heading quickly across the room and to the closet, opening it and stepping in, raising her eyes and taking in the dark shadow of the box above her.
Not taking it down, she stretched to her toes and, with a flick of a wrist, dropped the latest letter into the box, holding the edge of the cardboard with shaking hands before, with a short sound of pain, she pulled her hand away, taking a few steps back and then spinning when the door opened.
"What're you doing?"
Smoothing hands down her nightgown, she gazed at her husband for long moments, fingers fisting in the material and pressing it closer to her body, some insane urge to keep it on right now, not wanting to be touched by anyone and, realizing that he was beginning to look irritated, she managed, "Just checking that I'm not forgetting anything.'
"Good." Shrugging out of his jacket, Ryan moved closer, tossing it down and then wrapping arms around her waist, pulling and tugging her close to himself, kissing her and, though she had seen that movement, she still drew back slightly when he took control of her mouth, possessively swallowing her.
It took a few moments, but she finally managed to pull away from him, bracing hands against his chest and pushing away, groaning slightly from the effort and then averting her face, catching him frowning as he released her. Shifting in his hold, but not trying to get away, Kendall looked away, gazing at the closet. "What's the matter?"
"Nothing," she muttered, shaking her head and, when he kissed her again, she returned it as well as she could, not fighting it and half-hoping it would mean something this time, almost waiting for something to spark or ignite in her, waiting for some kind of response, however weak it might be.
And, as always, despite her best attempts, there was nothing.
Ryan stepped back, turning and starting to pull off his shirt, losing all interest in her as he tossed his shirt away and started towards the bathroom, asking over his shoulder, "You all packed for the trip?" At her nod, he took the final step into the bathroom and she heard the shower start up, water pounding the floor. "Chris is still with Maggie, right?"
"Yeah…" she murmured, nodding dully as she moved to the closet and stretched, shoving the box back, even though she wasn't actually worried about him finding it. Turning away finally, she gazed at the bed for long moments before, with a forceful shake of her head, she glanced at the bathroom, listening to him move around inside. "Where were you?"
Silence, stillness for a moment and she shook her head, more slowly, swallowing. When his voice came back, there was something defensive and harsh about it; despite the way he popped his head out of the bathroom and grinned at her, she saw nothing there that came from caring. "I was checking a few things about the trip."
Kendall nodded, agreeing silently, submitting as she settled on the edge of the bed, laying hands on her lap and staring at her reflection, what she could see of it from where she sat, a shadow in the shadows and she flinched when she met her own eyes, looking away, at the open door of the bedroom, where light poured in.
Hurt to breathe, hurt to think, hurt to be here, walking around and making herself care… making herself not care… making herself…
Hurt.
This was a dream.
Still, watching his mother, it made his heart ache in his chest as Zach watched the woman reading, laying back in her bed, stretched out, seemingly swallowed by the heavy covers, ostensibly consumed by the darkness that was her existence and what was left of her dark hair swept back to fall limply across the pillow.
She glanced up, raised one eyebrow, worn green eyes flickering with sympathy as she nodded to the tray that he held in a white-knuckled grip. "Are you going to bring me my food or are you just going to stand there all night, staring at me like I have two heads?" She paused, tilted her head and smiled indulgently.
Moving forward, he set up the table, organizing the food once or twice more as she marked her page and set the book aside, the sight of those wasted hands making him swallow roughly. Trying not to look at them, he pulled the napkin off the tray, opened it and, as she chuckled slightly in amusement, he tucked it into the neckline of her dress, passing her the fork and then fiddling with the rose in the vase, convinced that something was wrong.
"You'd make a wonderful nurse," she commented, for perhaps the five hundredth time, picking at her plate for a moment before finally getting a small bit of food on the end and carefully biting it off the prongs, chewing slowly. Her hands, once strong and lithe things, were claws now, bone white with those jarring blue veins running through them, decorating them like some morbid kind of jewelry.
"How are you?"
A shrug, another small bite being taken and he blinked once or twice at the strangeness of her hand, frowning when he thought he saw—no, no, that was—and then it happened again. As if her hand was some ghostly thing, it seemed to fade for a moment, melting away before flickering back to life, holding onto whatever was left of her wasted existence here.
He looked away, looked anywhere but at her, seeing it happen again but, when the fork clattered to the plate, his head snapped back and he half-stood, ready to jump forward in a heartbeat to do whatever was needed. And then he stopped, pausing, hesitating, when he saw her staring back at him, smiling sadly. "My poor boy… look at what's been done to you."
"Doesn't matter," he whispered raggedly, roughly, blinking back sudden tears as he reach ed out and caught that hand in his, reminding him viciously of some parent holding the hand of a small child, so great was the difference between her wasted hand and his strong and supple hold.
Again, she seemed to fade, this time seeming to melt away in his grip, no matter how tightly he held her, almost crushing her fingers in an attempt to keep her. It worked for a time and he blinked again, breathing harshly through his mouth as he shook his head, knowing what was going to happen but unable to change anything.
His head rose and he met her eyes, those once brilliant green eyes that had burned with the heat and the fire that had burned out in his mother long before he had been born… now, it was fading and he flinched when Kendall smiled sadly, cocking her head and curling her fingers through his. "What about me?"
His hand, shaking as he struggled to pour the Scotch, finally made him snap from the frustration and he shoved the glass away, turning away from his desk and taking a long swig from the bottle itself, grimacing and shuddering as it burned away the last visages of his nightmare and the heavy exhaustion that had kept him chained to the nightmare.
Leaning weakly against the counter, he took another swallow, closing his eyes and grunting softly as he tried to use it to erase the images out of his skull, tried to burn them away with the harshness of the alcohol. Didn't work, of course it didn't work, never did work with this particular torment… Jesus Christ, had he tried since this one had first started…
A glance at the clock showed that he had only been asleep for a little more than an hour but that was still too long and, after taking another long swallow from the bottle, he set it aside and reached up, loosening his tie and ripping it from around his neck, tossing it away as he picked back up the bottle.
It was getting harder.
Restlessly, he looked at the liquid rippling in the bottle, rolling his wrist and gazing at it with an agonized gaze as he shook his head furiously, struggling to breathe. When the door opened, he jerked, raising his head and staring at Edie, who stood half in the room, with her bag over one shoulder and, from the looks of it, about ready to head home. "Mr. Slater?"
"Go home, Edie."
For long moments there was silence before, casting him a look of devastating understanding, she sighed, shifted her jacket once and then turned and left the office, clicking the door shut behind her and leaving him alone, again, sinking back into his solitude as the heady alcohol began to loosen up his mind.
Just… hurt…
