The Geigers had considerably lightened Jeffrey's mood, probably because they had shed no tears. As fate would have it, however, his mood was not allowed to stay lightened for long. He shouldn't have been surprised. That had been the pattern thus far.
A professional looking blonde woman opened the door, knocking as she entered. Jeffrey had never understood why people did that. Why knock if you're just going to come in anyway? His mother drove him nuts that way.
The woman was law enforcement, 100%. She just had that look.
"Hello, Jeffrey," she said. She ignored everyone else in the room except for Skye, who she briefly smiled at (out of obligation more than as a genuine greeting). "I'm Agent Ginsburg. I was at the ranch last night, but I didn't get to officially meet you."
Yep, law enforcement. Goddamn. She hadn't unofficially met him either. He didn't recognize her at all, though there wasn't much he remembered about his rescue outside of Skye. He gave the agent a short wave. He wasn't very enthusiastic about her intrusion, even if he had been expecting it.
She finally acknowledged the rest of his guests. "If you wouldn't mind, I'd like a moment to speak with him privately."
"Go find that closet," Jeffrey said to Rosalind and Tommy with a wink.
"Oh stop," said Rosalind. She dragged Tommy out by his hand, her cheeks flaming red. She could be so easy to mess with.
Everyone else followed, except of course for Skye. She was included in "privately." Jeffrey told the agent that was more than fine. Agent Ginsburg sat in a chair next to Jeffrey's bed, crossing her legs.
"Is everything going okay for you?" she asked warmly.
"Yeah, I'm good," said Jeffrey. He tried to sound happy about it, but he was apprehensive about what the agent wanted. "Um, thanks. For finding me."
That was so awkward. He tried not to make a face. He'd felt like he had to say that. He was grateful, but voicing it made him uncomfortable and nervous. He would have rather left it unspoken.
Agent Ginsburg smiled. "Just doing my job."
It was weird that she got paid for that. She deserved to, but still – weird. She would move on by the next week, starting a new case. Jeffrey wished he could move on so quickly.
"I've gotten permission from both of your parents, so I'd like to get a statement from you," said the agent. "Written would be best, but if you would prefer it, I can record you describing it to me."
Already they were forcing him to relive it. He hadn't even been back for a day. Undoubtedly that meant his memories were fresh in his mind. They wanted details – details he wasn't ready to remember. He absolutely did not want to say them out loud.
"I'll write it down," he said. Then he glanced at his wrist cast. "If I can. I'm just going to call the nurse first."
"Of course. Whatever you need. We have plenty of time."
Jeffrey pressed the button that the nurse had earlier indicated. She returned in less than a minute. The second saline bag had emptied, and he badly needed a restroom. He couldn't get there by himself. He was massively embarrassed about that. He felt like a toddler. He hardly had an ounce of independence left. The nurse didn't make him walk. She fetched a wheelchair and pushed him down the hall. He made her wait outside. He was confident he could at least pee by himself. He did almost fall returning to the wheelchair, but he managed to avoid that.
When they returned, Skye and Agent Ginsburg were sitting in silence. Skye looked busy on Alec's phone, but Jeffrey knew she was faking it. She didn't know the passcode. She had lost her own phone for good, who knew what Dexter had done with it. Tossed it out the car window, probably.
The nurse repositioned the bed so that he could sit up comfortably to write. It would still be difficult. His body was bent in a shallow V, so he could continue to keep his leg elevated. Agent Ginsburg handed him a clipboard and a pen. He flipped open the stiff blue folder and stared at the white paper, embossed with the seal of the FBI. His body fell asleep as blood seemed to stop pumping through his arteries. The blank lines on the page felt like a threat.
"I'm going to give you time alone to complete this," said Agent Ginsburg. "There's no rush. Take however long you need."
Jeffrey rested the pen loosely in his right hand. He touched it to the paper, and it was as if an electric jolt had shot through his arm. He dropped it and lay his hand flat over the page.
"Start with what happened Friday night. Just tell your story. Anything you remember. I'll be right outside when you're done," said the agent.
Jeffrey nodded absently. He didn't pick up the pen; he rolled it beneath his palm. He didn't realize that Agent Ginsburg had gone. Not until Skye spoke."
"You don't have to do this if you don't want to," she said. "They can't force you."
The pen rolled into Jeffrey's lap. He drummed his fingers on the clipboard. His eyes were so unfocused that the lines on the page faded away. He squeezed his eyelids tightly shut, then pried them open, hoping to clear his vision. His eyes crossed and uncrossed. The lines started to reappear, though they were moving like waves. Some of that was his exhaustion kicking in. Most of it was shock.
"Did you?" he asked.
"Yes," Skye whispered. "I know how hard it is."
Jeffrey sucked in a long breath. He moved his hand, about to grab Skye's for comfort. Instead, he pulled back and picked up the pen. He looked at it in his hand. He could hardly hold it; it balanced uncertainly against his cast. He didn't know how to start. His mind was resisting him and drawing a complete blank. He'd spent the past several hours constructing a concrete barrier around every memory he had of those five long days. He had put so much effort into locking them away that his walls were hard to crack. Once they broke, he wasn't sure he would have the strength to rebuild them.
He was acutely aware of how cracked his lips were. He picked at the dead skin with his teeth, then attempted to wet them with the tip of his tongue. It was as dry and coarse as sandpaper. It seemed to be swelling in his mouth. He had to hang his jaw open to breathe, like he was sick with a stuffy nose.
"I don't want to tell them," he admitted. "This is my biggest secret, and they're strangers. I won't even tell my parents." He hadn't wanted to tell Skye either. The only reason he had was because he had seen the worst of what had happened to her. If she wanted to know the worst of what happened to him, who was he to say no? He'd surprised himself by telling her as much as he had. It was one thing to describe what Dexter had done, but to be honest about what he'd said? How he had so shamefully submitted to him? He could not believe he told her that. The worst part was, as gagged as he had been, he could have told Dexter to burn in hell and he wouldn't have known the difference. But he hadn't. He had groveled and cried and degraded himself exactly as Dexter wanted. He had long surpassed disgust with himself. He despised what he had allowed Dexter to turn him into. He'd thrown his self-worth to the wind telling Dexter he was nothing. It hadn't come back. Skye sensed that, but it didn't matter how much she validated him. He was weak and an embarrassment. He took no pride in himself. He never would again. Any future confidence he felt would be a mirage. He would always know with absolute certainty that if things got bad enough, he would bend the knee to cowardice. That was what Dexter had taught him: he was governed by fear. Which was not what Skye wanted in a guy at all. He hated to disappoint her.
"Then don't tell them," said Skye.
Jeffrey's heart pounded so violently in his chest that he pictured cracks splintering across his already broken ribs. His shallow breathing filled the silence. He'd forgotten what it was like not to be conscious of his every breath.
"Just don't read it," he finally said. He wasn't that much of a coward. He could write it down. He put the pen to the paper again. Skye already knew the truth, but the weight of her stare made his brain sluggish. It took him straight back to being punch-drunk. If he was about to physically feel his pain as he described it, he was in trouble. He refused to break in front of her again.
"I could leave you alone for a while. If that would help," said Skye with obvious hesitancy.
Jeffrey considered this, then shook his head. "Please don't."
Skye relaxed. She gently climbed from the bed to give him space. She sat in the chair closest to him. She still had Alec's phone in her hand. "What's the passcode?" she asked.
"1874."
Skye unlocked it and started playing solitaire. She glanced up at him sporadically with a supportive smile. She said nothing to give him a window of distraction-free silence.
Writing was difficult. It wasn't just that he was having trouble cultivating complete thoughts, physically he could hardly form the letters. The pen scratched the paper, but no ink transferred onto the page. Jeffrey propped his right arm on his left fist so he could hold his hand at a better angle. When he tried again, the pen worked. His handwriting was abysmal. Shaky letters blurred together in a scribble. Jeffrey stopped before he had even finished a sentence.
"You can't read that, can you?" He turned the paper toward Skye.
She squinted. "Some of it, maybe." She leaned closer. "Actually, not really."
Jeffrey exhaled and took the clipboard back. He pulled apart the Velcro straps on the brace around his left wrist. He slid it off and tested bending his wrist. He sank his teeth into his tongue so that his only response to the stabbing pain was a stifled grunt. He switched his pen to his nondominant hand. It was awkward to hold, but it was an improvement. He could close his hand around it. It took effort to teach his left hand to move correctly. He found it easier to write in capital letters. He took it one painfully slow line at a time. He had to focus so intently that it felt more like he was drawing – something he was hopelessly inept at. Each letter hurt his sprained wrist. He had to remember to breathe. He stopped to give his hand a break and looked over what he had written. I was alone upstairs and Skye screamed. I found her in the kitchen with Dexter. I had called 911 but hung up when he told me to. He said he would kill her. He told me to kneel and forced Skye to handcuff me. It looked like a child had written it, but the words were legible enough. Jeffrey glanced at the clock. That had taken him four minutes. Agent Ginsburg would be waiting for a long time.
His palms were sweating. The pen slipped and he gripped it tighter. He gasped, but for the moment, the pain kept him grounded. It didn't allow him to slip completely into the past. His back twitched and burned as he wrote about Dexter beating him. He could count each individual stitch. He focused on his wrist pain. He dreaded writing about hanging from them, then that pain would no longer tether him to the present.
It took Jeffrey over three and a half hours to complete his statement. When he finished, he felt numb. He struggled to remember where he was. The hospital. I'm at a hospital. He repeated that to himself half a dozen times. He's gone. It's done. He's gone. It didn't do much to help. His eyes were wide open, but he saw Dexter sneering right in front of him, corporeal and not at all like a fragment of his memory. Jeffrey threw his clipboard at him, but the image of Dexter didn't so much as waiver. It mocked him, seeming to say, "Even here, you're mine. Don't forget that."
Jeffrey responded to his hallucination. "I'm not," he breathed. The words coiled around his neck and crushed his trachea, exactly as Dexter's chain had. "That's not true. I'm not."
Skye jumped out of her chair. She leaned over the bed to look him directly in the eye. She rested her forehead against his and their noses brushed each other. She blocked the vision. The real Dexter was locked away and incapable of reaching him, and still she shielded him from him.
"Just look at me," she said. She ran her hand over his arm. It was like she knew what he was seeing.
Jeffrey tried kissing her, but even that did nothing for him. He still saw Dexter laughing at him, reminding him that he was nothing but his weak little toy. Jeffrey jerked back.
"I'm not. I'm not his slave," he said. He was lying to himself. He was a slave to his memory. It dominated him. He was still Dexter's prisoner, this time in his own mind. He was no freer from him now than when he had been in chains.
"No. You're not," Skye said fervently. "You never were."
Jeffrey pulled her into his chest, hoping that would make him feel safer. Instead it reminded him of every time Skye had thrown her body over him to protect him. He carefully pushed her off.
"I can't get away from him," he said. "He's here right now, in this room."
Skye nodded. "That's what makes you so brave."
Jeffrey didn't mean to, but he rolled his eyes. "I'm a coward."
"Stop that," she pleaded in a whisper. "It's okay to be afraid."
"Do you really believe that?" It was like he'd stared into the sun and the remnants of it wouldn't fade from his eyes. Except instead, he saw Dexter. He would stare into the sun until it blinded him if he thought it would rid him of that sight.
"Yes. I have to," Skye promised. "Because I am. Constantly."
"You didn't think that before." She used to laugh at fear.
"And then I grew up," said Skye. She took Jeffrey's hand. His skin tingled from her touch. That electricity didn't cause him any pain. "I see him too."
Jeffrey swallowed. Of course she did. "I'm sorry, Skye." He stopped himself from adding that he wished Dexter had left her behind.
"You're so annoying," she said. He didn't need to say it for her to know what he was thinking. "New rule: you can't apologize to me."
Jeffrey's mouth threatened to form a smile, but he was still too shaken for it to appear. "Ever?"
"No, if you fuck up I expect a full apology," said Skye. "But not about him. It wasn't your fault. I'm sick of telling you that."
"Okay." Jeffrey was even closer to smiling. "Sorry."
"Thank you," said Skye.
As much as she wanted him to, Jeffrey couldn't shake his feeling of responsibility. Dexter had wanted nothing from her until Jeffrey had dragged her with him. How could he let that go? He had trapped Skye, fearless as she was, in the same net of fright as him.
"I know you don't believe me."
The girl could read his mind. "I do," he lied.
"I appreciate your dishonesty," said Skye. "But one day you will. It's my mission."
"I love you for that."
"You love me for everything."
Jeffrey's smile finally broke free, even if it was a weak one. "Most things. The rest I tolerate."
"Shut up and let me kiss you."
He wanted her to say it again. It still shocked him; it made his heart stop. Jeffrey had given up hope that Skye would ever feel the same about him, and that was before he had thought that she was dead. Before they had been kidnapped at all. The change gave him whiplash, but he welcomed his confusion. It filled him with a fresh, giddy sort of contentment when he figured it all out again.
Disappointingly, she never did kiss him, because just then both of his parents joined them inside. They looked worried, like they had expected to find him curled up in a whimpering, fitful ball. Without Skye, it likely would have gone that way.
"Are you alright?" asked Mrs. Tifton. "Agent Ginsburg has been waiting a while and I thought…well, I don't know what I thought."
"That I was having a complete mental breakdown?" said Jeffrey.
Mrs. Tifton half-shrugged.
"Nah." Jeffrey smiled like he hadn't been on the verge of that very thing. He inclined his head toward Skye. "She was just distracting me."
That wasn't remotely true, but both of his parents visibly relaxed. Skye didn't call him out for lying.
"I dropped it over there." He pointed to the clipboard on the floor. The folder had disconnected from it and skid a few feet away.
That one Skye did call him out for. "You threw it, full swing. Like a baseball player."
"I might have done that," said Jeffrey. He made sure to keep his tone light, pretending that chucking away his statement had been a game and not a bout of panic. "But I'm done. You can give it to the agent if she's still waiting."
Alec bent to pick it up.
"Don't look at it." There was a heavy urgency behind his request as a new panic sprang up.
"I won't. I promise." Alec flipped the folder shut and stuck it back on the clipboard. He was gone for only a second to hand it off to Agent Ginsburg.
"She said to tell you thank you," said Alec. "Along with a couple other things I didn't listen to."
"I kind of hate her, is that just me?" said Skye.
"Why?" Jeffrey laughed.
"I don't know. She's so FBI."
"You watch crime shows literally all the time."
Skye shrugged. "Maybe that's why. She's disappointing."
"So she's not Criminal Minds enough for you? That's not fair."
"Eh, I don't feel bad. Spencer Reid sets the bar pretty damn high," said Skye. She locked eyes with Jeffrey, suddenly serious. "That's a show I'll never watch again."
"Happens. I'm done with Hamilton. And Game of Thrones, probably." Summarizing that show to distract her from her assault was more than enough to taint it for him. Plus, there was too much rape in it for him to be comfortable (or capable) of watching. He'd left those parts out of his synopsis.
"Did you know Jeffrey can rap?" Skye asked Alec and Mrs. Tifton. It was obvious that was not a question either of them had seen coming.
"No I can't," said Jeffrey. "Not even a little. I messed up so many times."
"Yeah, because I made you do it. You were under duress. And distress. I was impressed."
Jeffrey snorted. "You sound like Dr. Seuss."
"Shut up, I was. I mean it."
Jeffrey didn't know how she had managed to get in the right mindset to be impressed about that when Dexter was on top of her, but he supposed that had been the whole point of her asking him to do it. He was glad he'd distracted her at least a little. "Dexter wasn't."
"No he was. Absolutely why he didn't tell you to shut up. I think he just pretended to be mad to save face."
"Sure, okay." Jeffrey started to laugh. It was certainly one of the more ridiculous situations they had found themselves in. It was only a short laugh, however. Ridiculous, yes, but that didn't make what Dexter had done any less damaging. There was a reason that just thinking about Hamilton made bile rise in Jeffrey's throat.
"I'm sorry, are you kidding?" Alec waved his hands. "You rapped in front of Dexter? Hamilton? Lin Manuel Miranda?"
Now it was Skye laughing.
"Yeah, that's where this came from." Jeffrey slid his finger underneath the line of stitches by his eye. Skye's laughter stopped. He knew she still felt bad about that, though he wished she wouldn't. "I was trying to…um, show him he didn't scare me." What he had actually been trying to do would stay between him and Skye. If she ever wanted to tell that story, she could. It wasn't his to tell.
Alec's mouth hung open in disbelief.
Mrs. Tifton reached over and snapped it shut for him. "Dignified."
"That's your style, not mine."
That was unquestionably flirtatious. Jeffrey had put his parents holding hands out of his mind, partly because he didn't want to make something out of nothing, and partly because he had been busy thinking about other things. It was becoming clear to him now that it was not nothing.
"Okay I wasn't going to say anything, but what is going on with you two?"
Alec and Mrs. Tifton glanced nervously at each other. His mother turned pink.
"They've been bonding," said Skye. "Or so I've been told."
"Huh," said Jeffrey. "What's bonding? Are you going to like…date or something?"
A genuine look of fear crossed both of their faces.
Skye cackled. She nudged Jeffrey with her elbow. "Nice."
"Because if you are, I just think I should be a part of that conversation." Jeffrey was having fun making his parents uncomfortable. He'd never allowed himself to so much as dream of this before.
It was Alec who answered. He fumbled for the right words. "We haven't really talked about it. At all, actually. I mean, it's still up in the air. I think it is." He glanced at Mrs. Tifton, gaging her response. "We don't even know if we'll get along when you're not…well, missing and dying."
Mrs. Tifton had used her time to gather up courage. With a shocking amount of confidence she said, "Jeffrey, tell your father he doesn't need to be afraid to ask me out."
Alec was quick with a response, which was good, because Jeffrey was reeling. "Jeffrey, remind your mother that it was she who divorced me. If she wants to go out, this time she has to ask me."
"This time? I think you mean both times," said Mrs. Tifton. Jeffrey had yet to recover.
"Hold on, I made the first move," Alec protested.
"You wish you made the first move."
"What are you talking about? I kissed you!"
Mrs. Tifton rolled her eyes. "And I could have spelled "kiss me" in the sky with fireworks and it would not have been more obvious I was asking you to."
"Still. I kissed you."
"Fine," said Mrs. Tifton indignantly. "I'll ask. We'll get brunch. I love brunch."
"I hate it," said Alec, just to be difficult.
"No one hates brunch."
Jeffrey shook his head in wonder. His parents were still bickering. Skye had an amused look plastered on her face.
"This isn't happening, right?" he said. "No way it's real."
Skye grinned and kissed him. "It's as real as that."
"That doesn't feel real either."
Skye raised an eyebrow. "Let me try again." Her second kiss was deeper. She held his face in both of her hands and parted his lips with her tongue. After only a few seconds, he pulled back. He could feel his self-control slipping, and he wasn't particularly willing to lose it directly in front of his parents.
"Better?" asked Skye.
"Getting realer." He pointed an accusing finger at each of his parents. "You're both idiots."
"Jeffrey!" Mrs. Tifton was offended.
"You talked out your issues and now you're good? That's it?"
"We only really talked about one," said Alec. "You."
"I'm the big one!" said Jeffrey. "Unbelievable. I could have had married parents this whole time."
"Hey, I tried. She wouldn't see me," said Alec.
"Excuse me!" said Mrs. Tifton. "You left the second Papa gave you enough money."
"What?" Alec laughed in the middle of the word. "Son of a—no, sorry. He's dead. I'll be nice." A second later, another comment burst out. "Is that really what he told you? He did try to pay me off, but I was so insulted that I said – this is a quote: "fuck off, old man. Stick your checkbook up your ass." That is when I left."
Mrs. Tifton's mouth was forming words, but no sound came out. Everyone stared at her until she remembered how to speak. "You—you cursed at my father?"
"Oh yes," Alec laughed, then looked at Jeffrey. "Your grandfather hated me."
"Well, after that, of course he did," said Mrs. Tifton.
"In case you're wondering, he thought you were worth ten grand."
"I wasn't wonder—ten grand? Really? That's it?"
Alec scoffed. "That's it, she says."
Mrs. Tifton was put out. "You can't buy a decent car for that much. I am at least worth a Benz."
"Not the issue here," said Alec, laughing harder. "He could have offered me half a million dollars and I would have said the same thing. I was so pissed off I just—"
"Lost your temper?" said Skye. She looked sideways at Mrs. Tifton. "Been there."
Mrs. Tifton held her head high. "Yes, it has been established that I ate my words. Can we stop bringing it up?"
"We're never going to stop, sorry," said Jeffrey.
Mrs. Tifton covered her red cheeks with her hands. "I became my father, didn't I?" As she thought about it harder, she moved her hands over her mouth in horror. "Oh god. Oh no. I did."
Jeffrey smiled broadly. "Not exactly. What did you say you would give Dexter again?"
"Thirty-five million dollars," answered Skye. "I didn't know you're that rich, Jeffrey."
"Me neither."
"That's only if I liquidate everything," said Mrs. Tifton, though it made no difference.
"Thirty-five million is a little more than ten grand," said Jeffrey. "You're completely different from Grandpa."
Mrs. Tifton smiled, then said, "I do like to think that in a ransom situation he would have offered more. Maybe not all his money, but some sort of higher number."
Jeffrey thought about hearing his mother beg Dexter to take everything she had if he would just give him back to her. Emotion rose in his throat. He didn't speak until he had shoved it back down. "You really would have given him everything?"
Mrs. Tifton suddenly looked like she might cry. "Does that really surprise you? You're my son."
"No," Jeffrey said after taking a moment to think about it. "I guess it's just nice to hear right now."
"You're expensive," said Skye. Then she stuck her lips to Jeffrey's ear and whispered, "See? Not worthless."
A shiver shot down his spine. Her breath tickled his earlobe. In his heart, he knew that Skye was right. It wasn't that he felt like a complete waste of space, he didn't doubt that there were people who cared for him. Jeffrey was having trouble caring for himself. He was too angry and ashamed about what he had done to value himself the way that he once had. He couldn't shake the one person who saw him as less than a human being, as nothing. Dexter had abused him enough for his opinion to plant roots in Jeffrey's brain. It carried so much more weight than that of those who loved him.