The Language of Madness Chapter Three
Abby slumped on the bench, her head lolling against the wall. She'd handed her stool over to a late-night bar junkie and taken up residence on a bench a few feet away. She held her jacket close to her body, trying to ward off the chills that threatened.
A young couple took their places at the foosball table. They both looked happy and carefree, and an irrational part of her mind wanted to yell at them to leave. That table was theirs-hers and Luka's-and no one else was allowed to touch it. The table was part of one of her most cherished memories, and she wanted it all to herself.
She closed her eyes. She'd tried calling him half an hour ago, though it seemed closer to three hours had passed. His answering machine had picked up after an eternity, and she'd been ashamed of the pleading tone she heard in her voice as she asked him to pick her up. She only hoped he got home and got the message before the bar closed and she was forced to go outside alone.
If he judged her for her stupidity in coming here, he'd keep it to himself. He wouldn't berate her. She imagined his top concern would be getting her out of there and making sure she was all right. She could picture him kneeling in front of her, touching her gently, concern naked in those expressive eyes. She imagined him wrapping an arm around her shoulders and tucking her close to his side, and she wanted that with a fierceness that surprised her. She'd always felt safe with him; she'd learned a long time ago that he would go to any length to keep her safe.
She looked back at the couple at the foosball table, and she felt the weight of loneliness settle on her shoulders. She was no stranger to being alone; most of her life she'd felt that way. When she was a little girl, she hadn't been able to connect with her mother the way most young girls did. Once her father hit the road, she'd had to mature quickly, often becoming the caretaker for both Eric and Maggie. At the same time she'd watch the other kids in the neighborhood, mourning that she couldn't join them. She'd see them laughing, running through their yards, playing ball, chasing after each other, none of them aware of the little girl by the window, who only wanted the chance to be a part of their fun.
By the time she became a teenager, she'd learned not to form close attachments. She'd wearily accepted that her mother would never be completely well, and every time she tried to become more than just casual friends with someone, something went wrong and she had to leave to take care of her family. So for the most part her friends were left behind at the end of school each day, and her family had taken such an emotional toll on her that she closed the door of her heart against intruders.
Even as an adult, out from under her mother's roof but never free from her familial obligations, she hadn't opened the door again. Not completely, not to anyone, even her husband. Hindsight had led her to the conclusion that her marriage to Richard had been doomed from the start, because when she'd met him as a young nursing student, she'd been bitter and disillusioned from her mother's repeated outbursts. She'd just been so damned tired. She'd hoped, in a secret corner of her heart, that her marriage would give her distance from her mother. But Maggie's near meltdown the morning of the wedding had dispelled that notion for good.
So she closed herself away, never really giving their marriage a chance. Never giving Richard a chance to prove her assumptions wrong. And when the divorce was final, she'd been more relieved than anything. She didn't have to try anymore. She didn't have to pretend everything was okay. She no longer had to endure Richard's eye rolls and long-suffering sighs when Maggie pulled something new.
After the marriage fell apart, she told herself it would be a long time-if ever-before she got involved in another serious relationship. It hadn't been so long though before Luka came along, and he'd found his way into her heart before she realized what had happened. During her months as a med student, she'd felt like a teenager with a crush whenever she was around him, and only a few months later their relationship had grown and deepened into a strange mix of passion and emotional distance. Their feelings for each other had blossomed quickly, and each, frightened of the intensity for their own reasons, had responded by pulling away, refusing to talk about the pain behind their withdrawals.
It was only after they'd broken up, when she'd seen him fumbling through his misguided relationship with Nicole, that she'd realized what a mistake she'd made. Carter had accused her of not being over Luka, and it was true. She'd denied it to him, but her heart had called her a liar. She wasn't over Luka, and she didn't want to be.
She shook her head and pulled her gaze from the foosball table. Calling herself a sentimental fool, she looked toward the door and whispered his name.
* * * * *
Luka was frantic. He was running out of places to look for her. He'd tried her apartment, but there was no sign of her. He'd tried Doc Magoo's, and several other restaurants and bars near the hospital. He'd stopped by the hospital, on the off chance she'd gone back. He'd even called Susan at home, just in case Abby had changed her mind about Susan's couch. She hadn't.
He was to the point now of trying to remember every place they'd been together, in case she'd gone somewhere familiar. "Where are you, Abby?" he murmured under his breath, raking his fingers through his hair.
He was almost desperate enough to call Carter.
Carter, who'd been a thorn in his relationship with Abby almost from the start. He wasn't a bad person, but Luka had always resented his presence in his relationship with Abby. She'd always gone to Carter with her problems, and Luka had never really understood why. He'd done his best to be there for her, but she'd rarely turned to him.
He drove down the road, shaking his head, calling himself a liar. There'd been points when he'd been too wrapped up in his own pain to give hers a second thought. After he killed the mugger, it had taken a long time to get his head totally straight again, and by that time Abby's mother had come and disappeared. He hadn't been there for her like he should have been, hadn't realized just how deeply the entire situation hurt her.
He'd done it again with Bishop Stewart. Treating the ailing bishop had dug up the sorrow and anguish he felt at the loss of his family, and this time, when she tried to be there for him, he hadn't let her. He remembered vividly the day the bishop finally passed on. After returning from the scene of the train wreck, he'd gone up to see the bishop. Abby had caught up to him and tried to talk, but he'd pushed aside her questions and let the elevator door quietly slide shut between them.
He'd laid his soul bare at the bishop's death bed, and the cleansing had been agony, but it had been necessary. The weight of guilt had begun to ease from his shoulders, and he'd felt a measure of true peace for the first time since the deaths of his family.
He took a deep breath and continued on. There were only two more places he could think to check; a small Italian restaurant they'd visited several times, and the bar where they'd had their first date. He wondered if she'd even remember the bar, and decided it wasn't a very likely choice. Then he glanced at his watch and realized that it was after one o'clock, and the restaurant would long be closed by now.
He cursed under his breath. How could he have expected to find her? Chicago was a huge city, and she could be anywhere.
He made an illegal U-turn as he came to a decision. He was going to check her apartment one more time, then he was going to check the bar. And if she wasn't in either place, he was going to call the police. He couldn't take the idea she was out there alone any longer.
He convinced the super of her building to unlock her apartment door, but there was no sign she'd been there. There was a blood-stained towel on her bathroom counter, and a pizza was getting stale on her coffee table. He tossed the pizza in the trash and made sure the super locked the door behind him, then climbed back in his car and slammed his fist against the steering wheel. He'd been hoping she was curled up in bed asleep, and just hadn't heard him knock the first time.
When he got to the bar, he had to park a block and a half down. He climbed out of his car, and his steps were heavy as he approached the door. He remembered the first time they'd come here, and he wished fiercely that they could turn back time and have that night back. It had started so perfectly, he could have gladly stayed there forever.
He approached the building, and when he looked through the door's glass inset at the activity inside, his heart stuttered to a stop. "Abby."
Abby slumped on the bench, her head lolling against the wall. She'd handed her stool over to a late-night bar junkie and taken up residence on a bench a few feet away. She held her jacket close to her body, trying to ward off the chills that threatened.
A young couple took their places at the foosball table. They both looked happy and carefree, and an irrational part of her mind wanted to yell at them to leave. That table was theirs-hers and Luka's-and no one else was allowed to touch it. The table was part of one of her most cherished memories, and she wanted it all to herself.
She closed her eyes. She'd tried calling him half an hour ago, though it seemed closer to three hours had passed. His answering machine had picked up after an eternity, and she'd been ashamed of the pleading tone she heard in her voice as she asked him to pick her up. She only hoped he got home and got the message before the bar closed and she was forced to go outside alone.
If he judged her for her stupidity in coming here, he'd keep it to himself. He wouldn't berate her. She imagined his top concern would be getting her out of there and making sure she was all right. She could picture him kneeling in front of her, touching her gently, concern naked in those expressive eyes. She imagined him wrapping an arm around her shoulders and tucking her close to his side, and she wanted that with a fierceness that surprised her. She'd always felt safe with him; she'd learned a long time ago that he would go to any length to keep her safe.
She looked back at the couple at the foosball table, and she felt the weight of loneliness settle on her shoulders. She was no stranger to being alone; most of her life she'd felt that way. When she was a little girl, she hadn't been able to connect with her mother the way most young girls did. Once her father hit the road, she'd had to mature quickly, often becoming the caretaker for both Eric and Maggie. At the same time she'd watch the other kids in the neighborhood, mourning that she couldn't join them. She'd see them laughing, running through their yards, playing ball, chasing after each other, none of them aware of the little girl by the window, who only wanted the chance to be a part of their fun.
By the time she became a teenager, she'd learned not to form close attachments. She'd wearily accepted that her mother would never be completely well, and every time she tried to become more than just casual friends with someone, something went wrong and she had to leave to take care of her family. So for the most part her friends were left behind at the end of school each day, and her family had taken such an emotional toll on her that she closed the door of her heart against intruders.
Even as an adult, out from under her mother's roof but never free from her familial obligations, she hadn't opened the door again. Not completely, not to anyone, even her husband. Hindsight had led her to the conclusion that her marriage to Richard had been doomed from the start, because when she'd met him as a young nursing student, she'd been bitter and disillusioned from her mother's repeated outbursts. She'd just been so damned tired. She'd hoped, in a secret corner of her heart, that her marriage would give her distance from her mother. But Maggie's near meltdown the morning of the wedding had dispelled that notion for good.
So she closed herself away, never really giving their marriage a chance. Never giving Richard a chance to prove her assumptions wrong. And when the divorce was final, she'd been more relieved than anything. She didn't have to try anymore. She didn't have to pretend everything was okay. She no longer had to endure Richard's eye rolls and long-suffering sighs when Maggie pulled something new.
After the marriage fell apart, she told herself it would be a long time-if ever-before she got involved in another serious relationship. It hadn't been so long though before Luka came along, and he'd found his way into her heart before she realized what had happened. During her months as a med student, she'd felt like a teenager with a crush whenever she was around him, and only a few months later their relationship had grown and deepened into a strange mix of passion and emotional distance. Their feelings for each other had blossomed quickly, and each, frightened of the intensity for their own reasons, had responded by pulling away, refusing to talk about the pain behind their withdrawals.
It was only after they'd broken up, when she'd seen him fumbling through his misguided relationship with Nicole, that she'd realized what a mistake she'd made. Carter had accused her of not being over Luka, and it was true. She'd denied it to him, but her heart had called her a liar. She wasn't over Luka, and she didn't want to be.
She shook her head and pulled her gaze from the foosball table. Calling herself a sentimental fool, she looked toward the door and whispered his name.
* * * * *
Luka was frantic. He was running out of places to look for her. He'd tried her apartment, but there was no sign of her. He'd tried Doc Magoo's, and several other restaurants and bars near the hospital. He'd stopped by the hospital, on the off chance she'd gone back. He'd even called Susan at home, just in case Abby had changed her mind about Susan's couch. She hadn't.
He was to the point now of trying to remember every place they'd been together, in case she'd gone somewhere familiar. "Where are you, Abby?" he murmured under his breath, raking his fingers through his hair.
He was almost desperate enough to call Carter.
Carter, who'd been a thorn in his relationship with Abby almost from the start. He wasn't a bad person, but Luka had always resented his presence in his relationship with Abby. She'd always gone to Carter with her problems, and Luka had never really understood why. He'd done his best to be there for her, but she'd rarely turned to him.
He drove down the road, shaking his head, calling himself a liar. There'd been points when he'd been too wrapped up in his own pain to give hers a second thought. After he killed the mugger, it had taken a long time to get his head totally straight again, and by that time Abby's mother had come and disappeared. He hadn't been there for her like he should have been, hadn't realized just how deeply the entire situation hurt her.
He'd done it again with Bishop Stewart. Treating the ailing bishop had dug up the sorrow and anguish he felt at the loss of his family, and this time, when she tried to be there for him, he hadn't let her. He remembered vividly the day the bishop finally passed on. After returning from the scene of the train wreck, he'd gone up to see the bishop. Abby had caught up to him and tried to talk, but he'd pushed aside her questions and let the elevator door quietly slide shut between them.
He'd laid his soul bare at the bishop's death bed, and the cleansing had been agony, but it had been necessary. The weight of guilt had begun to ease from his shoulders, and he'd felt a measure of true peace for the first time since the deaths of his family.
He took a deep breath and continued on. There were only two more places he could think to check; a small Italian restaurant they'd visited several times, and the bar where they'd had their first date. He wondered if she'd even remember the bar, and decided it wasn't a very likely choice. Then he glanced at his watch and realized that it was after one o'clock, and the restaurant would long be closed by now.
He cursed under his breath. How could he have expected to find her? Chicago was a huge city, and she could be anywhere.
He made an illegal U-turn as he came to a decision. He was going to check her apartment one more time, then he was going to check the bar. And if she wasn't in either place, he was going to call the police. He couldn't take the idea she was out there alone any longer.
He convinced the super of her building to unlock her apartment door, but there was no sign she'd been there. There was a blood-stained towel on her bathroom counter, and a pizza was getting stale on her coffee table. He tossed the pizza in the trash and made sure the super locked the door behind him, then climbed back in his car and slammed his fist against the steering wheel. He'd been hoping she was curled up in bed asleep, and just hadn't heard him knock the first time.
When he got to the bar, he had to park a block and a half down. He climbed out of his car, and his steps were heavy as he approached the door. He remembered the first time they'd come here, and he wished fiercely that they could turn back time and have that night back. It had started so perfectly, he could have gladly stayed there forever.
He approached the building, and when he looked through the door's glass inset at the activity inside, his heart stuttered to a stop. "Abby."