The Power of a Name
Chapter Seven
"See the weeds, darling?" she said, tears in her eyes. "You've got to pull them out." Her tears were the undoing of him, as they always had been. He knelt in their once perfect, green meadow and began to pull out the hideous brown weeds. The plants dug into his hands, leaving gashes and cuts which bled freely down his arms. But her voice urged him on, compelling him to continue. "That's it, my love. Pull them out. Destroy the roots. It has to be done."
He pulled and yanked and tore until the sweat rand down his face, chest, and back in glistening rivulets. His hands were rubbed raw and still he pulled. The weeds were less dense now, and he could see through them. There was something solid and grey hidden amongst them, and he headed towards it, pulling out the remaining weeds as he went. Finally, he could see clearly what it was. He backed away in horror, shaking his head. "I can't look."
"You have to, Jason," she said softly, sadly. "It's what has always been at the bottom of the weeds. You have to face it, sooner or later."
"No!" he cried vehemently, turning around and reaching out to his Belle, but she was gone. She had left him, and so had the light. He turned around frantically, searching for any escaped; and then, he saw it. There was no hiding from it. It was the only thing visible in the darkness. The words burned until they were branded into his heart and mind forever.
Isabella Black
1981-2000
Beloved daughter, sister, and friend
"She runs barefoot through the meadows of heaven."
The beautiful epitaph and intricately carved angels on the block of stone did nothing to take away from its true purpose. The gravestone he had never wanted to see, that he'd been running away from for so long had finally found him. It was his undoing. Jason fell to his knees in front of the despised headstone, sobbing uncontrollably. Great, heaving wails of pain with the realization that his Belle was never coming back to him.
Suddenly, he was falling through the darkness. And as he fell, reaching out desperately for anything to hold onto, he saw every selfish, stupid thing he'd done since the moment he'd run away from Salem. He saw the drinking. He saw the anger and the pointless fights. He saw that woman. He was screaming, screaming he was sorry, screaming for the chance to make it right, screaming for mercy. But he just kept falling, clawing the air for something to hold onto. But there was nothing. Nothing.
"Here. Let me help you." A soft hand had reached through the darkness to grab his hand. He was dangling over a bottomless pit of misery and despair, and only that hand stood between Jason and nothingness for all his days. A small, feminine hand that shouldn't have been strong enough to hold him for even a few minutes. But still, she kept an iron grip on him.
Who was she? Her hand was all that was visible, but he had the feeling he'd heard that voice before. "Belle?" he rasped out hopefully.
"No, my love. Let me help you." The sweet voice echoed in his mind incessantly until it grated like the roar of sirens. She wasn't Belle. She wasn't his love. With a hoarse cry of outrage, he pulled his hand free and began to fall again. No life at all was better than a life without Belle….
Jason awoke with a jump as he tried to stop himself from falling. Groaning, he rubbed a hand over his face. If these dreams didn't stop soon, they'd drive him insane. This last one was the worst so far. He could still see the inscription of that headstone when he closed his eyes. "Belle," he whispered miserably. She was slipping away from him. He could feel it. He couldn't remember the precise tone of her laughter anymore. The exact shade of blue in her eyes was lost to him. In a way, he almost welcomed the dreams, wretched as they were. At least in his dreams, Belle lived on, complete in every way.
Trying to push thoughts of her aside, Jason looked at the clock. He still had hours before work started. But he couldn't go back to sleep, not the way his heart was pounding now. Swinging his legs over the side of the bed, he sat up, resting his head in his hands for a moment. This migraine hadn't gone away for a week now. He was just glad the shaking had stopped. He hadn't realized how dependent on alcohol he had become until he quit drinking. He didn't miss it though, well, except for its blessed numbing qualities.
Jason threw on a pair of sweats and slipped into his running shoes. In the lack of other options, he had taken to literally running away from his problems lately. If he ran long enough and hard enough, he could sometimes make himself too exhausted to think about her or the wreck he had made of his life. Sometimes.
He felt better the moment he felt a blast of icy pre-dawn air on his face. It cleared his head and allowed him to think—or not think—about whatever he pleased. Jason set a fast pace for himself as he started down the path by the river. He wasn't out for a leisurely morning jog. He wanted to push himself to the very limits of his endurance, to run until his brain would be too deadened to think. Perhaps it wasn't possible, but it was either that or drown himself in a bottle somewhere.
When Jason began to run only the slightest tinge of gray on the skyline marked the approach of day. He ran, unheeding of the time or the gradual lightening of the sky. He had long since ceased to care about things like watching the sunrise, if he had ever cared at all. It wasn't some newfound sense of the wonder of life that made Jason finally come to a stop as the sun made its way over the horizon. He hadn't been bewitched by the beauty of the sight or stricken with some deep, spiritual epiphany. No, he was just out of breath.
Jason sank to the still damp grass of the park and inhaled deeply, painfully. He needed to rest a minute before an equally strenuous run back to his hotel room to shower and get ready for work. As his breath slowly came back to him, Jason finally noticed the sunrise. He only thought fleetingly that it seemed unusually bright before his eyes continued to wander.
There weren't many people in the park at this hour of the morning. Only a few other joggers out for a run before work. Jason's eyes caught on one person who stood out from the rest, merely because she wasn't running anyplace. She was standing next to the river's edge watching the sky. He felt instant recognition for her, though it took him a minute or two to place her as the crazy girl from the shoe store. At that moment, she bore little resemblance to the ditzy, bubbly teenager he had taken her down for then.
She was standing completely still, her gaze never wavering from the spot where the sun was ascending into the sky. Jason felt an emotion surprisingly like envy course through him as he watched her. The expression on her face was so peaceful, so content, so innocent. He'd never known anyone who exuded that kind of innocence and idealism. Not even Belle.
Jason heard the warning bells go off inside his brain the moment he compared her to Belle. There was no comparison to Belle. His Belle was—had been, he reminded himself with a wince—perfect. He didn't stop to analyze the momentary peace that had invaded his soul as he watched the girl. It had been a weird morning all around. And the farther away he stayed from Mimi Lockhart, the better off he'd be. Forcing himself to tear his eyes away from her, Jason got to his feet and started to jog back to his hotel. It didn't even occur to him that he'd found something else to run away from.
~~*~~
Mimi felt rather than saw someone watching her. But she didn't feel fear like she normally would have. She couldn't explain the feeling even to herself, but she knew she was in no danger. Whoever it was, they weren't someone to be afraid of. She waited a moment, soaking in the last few brief moments of the sunrise. This had been a daily ritual for years, ever since those horrid days of early adolescent angst. Her mother had told her to find someplace that was just hers where she could take a moment to let everything sink in, to sort out anything and everything that was bothering her. And she'd never needed it more than lately.
By the time the sun had risen and Mimi abandoned her meditative reflection, whoever had been watching her was gone. She frowned, wondering who it could have been, before she shrugged it off. She had enough things to think on and stress over without creating new problems in her mind. Between graduation coming up and her father losing his job and her parents expecting another baby, she had a lot to wrap her mind around. It seemed like everything in her life was changing all at once. More than that, it felt like she was on the brink of a new beginning. And she could only hope that new life included him.
~~*~~
Brady could sense something was wrong the moment he walked in that morning. There was something in the air that was more oppressive even than usual. Every time before when he'd come here, the lobby had been deserted, except for the madame of the brothel and the glowering bouncer. Today, a group of girls had gathered in one corner of the room and were talking in hushed tones. Brady looked, but she wasn't there. A knot began to form in his gut.
The women abruptly quieted when they saw him enter. A haggard-looking blonde with a bad dye job looked ready to approach him; but she stopped suddenly, her eyes widening in fear as her gaze locked on something behind him. Or rather someone. Brady picked up on the signal and turned around, coming face to face with Barb's brutish sidekick. He looked even more pissed off than usual.
"Get out," he growled. "Now." His hands clenched and unclenched reflexively several times with the desire to take out some of his frustration on the pretty boy in front of him.
Brady stood his ground, unflinching in the face of Glen's anger. "I'm not going anywhere until I see Sapphire," he declared firmly. He couldn't have said how he knew this involved her somehow. He just knew. And he wasn't about to leave until he knew that she was all right.
Glen seemed ready to let loose the demons within him again. Seeing this, Barb immediately stepped between the two men. There was a world of difference between Glen going off on a common prostitute and assault on a wealthy patron. "I'm sorry, sir," she said smoothly to Brady. "Sapphire is occupied at the moment. Perhaps one of the other girls…" She gestured broadly to the women gathered around, watching with curiosity and a touch of fear.
Brady ignored the odious woman in front of him and kept his gaze concentrated on the gigantic oaf behind her. "I'll wait," he said coldly. "How much longer will she be?"
Barb shifted nervously caught in her lie. "Well, after this client leaves, Sapphire will need her rest. I'm sorry, but I'm going to have to ask you to leave now." There was a note of command in her voice, and she looked pointedly back at Glen.
Brady was ready to continue the fight, to know where she was when he noticed that same blonde woman who had started to approach him earlier had made her way behind Barb and Glen and was gesturing and mouthing for him to meet her outside. He nodded imperceptibly and turned his attention back to the despicable pair in front of him. "I'll be back," he warned them. "And I won't give up until I've seen her." Without waiting for their response, he quickly left the building, eager to know what the woman had to tell him.
Once outside, Brady wondered what he was supposed to do. It hardly seemed likely that Glen and Barb would just let her follow him out the front doors. Drawn by instinct, he walked towards the small alley to the left of the building. He leaned against the wall and waited to see if she would make an appearance. He was starting to think the whole thing was just a ploy to get him out of the building when the side door opened and she slipped out, careful to prop the door open so that it wouldn't lock behind her.
Her cloudy blue eyes rested on him with a wary, trust, like she had no other choice. "You're Brady Black," she said finally, in a low tone. It wasn't a question, just a statement of fact.
Brady nodded curtly. "You know who I am. Mind if I ask who you are?" He doubted she was the kind of person he would normally trust either. But she had taken a risk in meeting with him, and he had to hope that meant something.
"Nicole," she said, quickly and quietly. Her eyes rarely remained focused on one spot more than a second or two. She was nervous, jumpy. Afraid. "I'm a friend of Sapphire's. That's all you need to know about me." Her eyes finally rested on his face, searching it intently. Brady stood quiet and still through her perusal. "She doesn't trust you, but I don't a lot of options at the moment. She'll die if she stays here. You'll be good to her, won't you, Mr. Black?"
Brady's face registered his alarm as well as his resolve. "Of course, Nicole. But what's going on? What happened? Why is she in danger?"
Nicole leaned closer to him, her voice barely audible, as if she was afraid even the walls had ears. "Glen beat her up last night, mister. Real bad. And they won't take her to the hospital, 'cause they're afraid of being arrested. But I'm worried about her, mister. It's worse than just the bruises. There's something inside, I think. She needs a doctor. You'll take her to one, won't you?"
Brady's whole body was rigid with rage. If Glen was here now, he'd kill him. That was that. "Take me to her," he gritted out. "I'll get her out of here. I promise you that. She'll be safe."
Nicole sighed, feeling relief rush over her. Whatever Sapphire might think, this was a good man. One of very few. She laid a hand on his chest to stop him before he could rush up the stairs. "One more thing, mister. Once she's better, don't let her come anywhere near her. Ever. Glen will kill her."
Brady nodded, his fist unconsciously clenching. He'd be damned before he ever let Glen so much as look at her again. "Where is she?"
"She's in her room," Nicole told him, shaking her head sadly. "But you're going to have to be careful moving her. I think some of her ribs are broken and—"
Brady didn't wait to hear the rest. He charged up the back staircase, actually hoping he did run into Glen. It would feel really good to give that bastard everything he deserved. But he reached her door uncontested and took a few breaths to calm himself before opening the door. Silently, he made his way to her bedside. The room was unnaturally dark with the curtains drawn. It took Brady's eyes a moment to adjust to the dim lighting. When they did, he couldn't withhold the gasp that jumped to his lips at the sight before him.
The girl who just yesterday could have been counted as one of the most beautiful in the world was now lying on the bed, battered beyond belief. Her face was barely recognizable, covered in bruises, lumps, and gashes. She had a broken nose, two black eyes, and her arms above the sheets were proof that the damage wasn't confined to her face alone. "My God," he breathed, horrified, as he knelt by her side. How could anyone have done this to another human being? He stroked back her long, silky hair, the only part of her left untouched by the beating.
She stirred restlessly and winced, pain shooting throughout her entire body. Yet the hand touching her was soft, caressing. She reluctantly let her eyes flutter open. Damn. Why wasn't she dead? That was all she had wanted yet here she was, still alive, still suffering, still trapped in this despicable hellhole. She didn't even bother trying to recognize the person by her side. It didn't matter. Nothing mattered.
"Beloved," a soft, deep voice said. There was something familiar about the voice, but who was he? And who the hell was he talking to? It couldn't be her. No one talked to her with that kind of gentleness in their voice. "It's me. Brady. I'm here. It's going to be all right now. How are you feeling?"
Brady. Great. Of all the people who could be by her side, it had to be that lunatic. She'd even rather it be Glen come to finish her off. She let out a string of the foulest words she knew to let him know what she thought of him being here.
Brady chuckled softly. "At least your tongue doesn't appear to be damaged." However, seeing her the way she was made frivolity impossible to maintain. He rubbed a strand of her hair between his fingers. "It's time now, Tempest. Come away with me."
She groaned. What was the point of fighting anymore? He'd win sooner or later. Men always did. She couldn't even die and escape it. She laughed hollowly, even though another spasm of pain was her only reward. "Sure, mister," she managed to grit out. "You want me? You got me. Lucky you."
Brady only laughed quietly as he pulled back the covers and lifted her easily into his arms. He tried to spare her as much pain as possible, but he could still see her biting back cries of pain. "I'm sorry, beloved. It will all be over soon." He carried her out of the room and down the back stairs to his waiting car. She didn't reply. Speaking too much effort. But she knew better. It would never be over. Never.
~~*~~
Brady saw Craig Wesley emerge from the OR and hung up his cell phone. "How is she, Dr. Wesley?" he asked frantically. He hadn't had a moment's peace since he had brought her into the hospital and she'd been rushed into the operating room.
Craig poured himself a cup of coffee, releasing a tired sigh. "She'll be fine, thanks to you." He offered Brady an exhausted smile. "We managed to stop the internal bleeding just in time. If you brought her in twenty minutes later, she wouldn't have made it. As it is, she'll have one hell of a long recovery. A broken arm, two broken ribs. Given the beating she took, she's lucky to be alive. She's in recovery right now. With the pain medication I have her on, she'll be in and out of it a lot the next few days. I want to keep her here for observation for a few days."
Brady released a breath he didn't realize he'd been holding. "Thank you, Dr. Wesley," he responded, shaking Craig's hand and grinning like an idiot. "Thank you so much. For everything you've done."
Craig surveyed Brady closely. As a friend of Marlena and John and as Belle's physician, he had once known Brady Black well. But ever since the deaths of his family members, the young man had been acting increasingly eccentric, hiding like a hermit in the mountains. And now, he was back in Salem, and apparently enamored of the town's most disreputable woman. "Brady," he said slowly, unsure where to begin. "I heard what you told the police about her pimp or whatever he is beating her up, but how exactly do you fit into all this? Obviously, your personal life is none of my business; but you seemed to have formed some sort of attachment to this woman, and I'm just wondering…" He trailed off, leaving the question unspoken.
"I love her, Dr. Wesley," Brady replied abruptly, not bothering to mince words. He saw Craig's disgusted wince but chose to ignore it. "I know everything you're going to say, but don't bother. I'm not crazy, and this isn't about sex. I know who and what she is, and I don't care. I love her. And I'm going to take care of her."
Unable to meet Brady's steady, clear gaze, Craig looked over the chart in his hand. Brady had committed himself to pay for her care and filled out her forms. But virtually every blank was filled with 'unknown.' "At least you know her name," Craig muttered as he saw the name Amanda Black on the file heading. He did a double-take. "Wait a minute! 'Black'? Have you married this girl, Brady?"
Brady's blue eyes were focused and unflinching as he replied, "Not yet. But before she leaves this hospital, I'm going to." And as Craig studied the determined man before him, he knew better than to doubt a word out of his mouth.