7/2/05
GRAVE CONCEQUENCES
Chapter 5
It was early afternoon when Nick finally emerged from the library the next day. After his shower the night before, he had taken a sleeping pill and spent the rest of the night in drug-enforced, dreamless sleep. Actually, he had dreamt, but they had only been fleeting, vague shadows without the power to become full-blown nightmares. He still felt groggy and heavy from the sedative, but he figured it was a small price to pay for undisturbed slumber.
The house was quiet as he headed for the back porch. He could hear Madra cleaning up in the kitchen and knew that he'd missed breakfast. That was all right, he wasn't particularly hungry, but he did wonder if there was any coffee left.
He found his mother out on the porch, sitting in her rocking chair doing embroidery. That wasn't a good sign. The only time his mother worked on embroidery, was when something was bothering her. She had told him once that needlework was conducive to deep thinking. It kept your hands occupied, while it left your mind free to concentrate on your problem. He had a strong suspicion that the problem she was ruminating on this morning had to do with him.
"Morning," he said, seating himself on the couch.
"Oh, good morning, dear, how are you feeling?" she said, smiling at him. Her voice was unnaturally cheerful and her question had been somewhat hesitant. He had never known his mother to be hesitant about anything.
The nightmare and his reaction to it had greatly distressed the family. Theirs was a fair weather family which liked things kept on an even keel. Any kind of unpleasantness was unwelcome and no one ever really knew how to directly deal with it. If it was some kind of behavior which could be fixed with some sort of disciplinary action, his father always took care of it. If a more subtle response was required, Jillian handled it. But an adult son who awoke screaming from nightmares was obviously more than either parent could deal with. Nick was upsetting the delicate balance on which this family depended.
"I feel okay," he answered, dutifully giving her the expected response. "Where is everyone?"
"Oh, your father had to go back to Austin early this morning, but he should be back tonight. Chris had to go into court. Brett and the girls decided to take all the children to the zoo. But Allison is here. She's out in the stable... Did you want something to eat? I could make something..."
"No, thanks, I'm good."
"All right."
The fact that she hadn't pushed the food issue was further confirmation that Jillian Stokes was off balance and floundering. She would normally never allow him to skip a meal without an argument. Nick felt guilty for upsetting everyone. Perhaps coming here was a mistake after all. Maybe he should have stayed in Las Vegas and dealt with his demons on his own, rather than drag his whole family into his private hell.
"Well, good morning Rip Van Winkle, nice of you to join us."
Nick looked up to see his sister, Allison, standing just on the other side of the screen door, looking in at him. She was dressed in jeans, work boots and a sleeveless shirt. Her mop of frizzy brown hair was contained for the moment under a straw cowboy hat. She had obviously been mucking stalls in the stable, despite the fact that their father employed people specifically to take care of the stables and the horses. Allison liked to do it herself. She was a large animal vet and just couldn't resist checking out the horses whenever she was at the ranch.
"Get dressed. We're going for a ride," she ordered Nick. "I have two of the horses saddled and ready to go."
"Oh, I don't know, Al," Nick said, hesitantly. "It's been a long time since I've ridden."
"All the more reason for you to get your ass dressed and get out here. Nick, you've hardly left the house since you got here. A little fresh air and sun might do you some good. Now, I'll give you fifteen minutes to meet me in the stables and then I'm coming in after you." With that pronouncement, she turned on her heel and headed back towards the stables.
With a smile and a shake of his head, Nick rose to follow his sister's instructions. Leave it to Allison to dispense with the BS. Subtlety was not one of her strong points. Being only a little over a year older than him, she was closer to him than any of his other siblings. She was a complete tomboy and, like him, had played numerous sports while growing up, giving them much in common. They had always gotten along quite well.
Throwing on a pair of jeans and a dark green t-shirt, Nick pulled a baseball cap on to cover his uncombed hair. Tugging on his boots, he headed out to the stable to join Allison, with five minutes to spare.
As they rode out to the back pastures, with Aggie trotting alongside, Nick found that he was glad he had come along. He felt himself relaxing more than he had in several days. It was a pleasantly warm afternoon, not too hot and with a refreshing cool breeze. Allison didn't press him for conversation and they rode in comfortable silence. He even found the easy gait of the horse beneath him soothing, although he knew that he was probably going to be sore in some sensitive places tomorrow.
The acreage of the ranch was not terribly extensive, but Bill Stokes had always been a firm believer that any ranch should be a 'working' ranch and he had always kept a hundred head of cattle or so. Nick knew that in recent years there had been talk of selling off the cattle, as they were more of a money drain than they were worth, but he had never heard how that problem had been resolved.
They were now riding toward a fenced in area in which thirty or so animals were grazing. Each was about the size of a pony, with thick, woolly hair and long necks and faces. They had a certain camel-ish appearance about them.
"What the hell are those?" Nick asked.
"They're alpacas," Allison said with a smile, dismounting and leading her horse over to the split rail fence. Leaning her elbows on the top rail, she gazed out at the strange animals proudly.
"What happened to the cows?" he asked as he dismounted as well and moved to join her at the fence.
"Oh, Dad sold them off a couple years ago. I convinced him to buy the alpacas."
"Why? What do you do with them? Do you eat them?"
"No, their wool is very valuable. It's a lot softer than sheep wool and just as warm. And they're much less destructive to their environment as sheep. I think they'll be an excellent investment for Dad. Besides, they're kind of cute, don't you think?"
"Yeah, I guess so... kind of, they sort of look like small llamas."
"Yeah, they're related to llamas and they also come from South America... So, do you want to talk about it?"
"Talk about what?" he asked, although he knew perfectly well what she was referring to.
"The nightmare."
"Nope."
She turned to face him. "Nick, you need to talk about it."
"No, I don't."
"Yes, you do. You need to face it and deal with it or it's just going to slowly eat you up inside."
"Really? Is that what they taught you in veterinary school?" he asked, a bit more caustically than he had intended.
She sighed. "You're right, I'm not a psychologist, but I do know what I'm talking about. Do you remember my friend Rachel?"
"Yeah, what about her?"
"She was raped last year. By some asshole she went on a date with. The D.A. decided not to prosecute because of lack of evidence, so nothing ever happened to the guy. It was a pretty rough time for her. I sat through some of her counseling sessions with herand one of the things the therapist kept stressing was that you shouldn't hold these things in. You need to get it out in the open and deal with it, no matter how painful it is."
"Look, I'm sorry for what happened to your friend, but I wasn't raped."
"No, but you were still violat-."
"I don't want to talk about it!" Nick interrupted, not wishing to hear that word connected to him. It brought up too many memories he didn't want to deal with.
"Okay, fine, I understand if you don't want to talk to me, or even Mom and Dad. But you need to talk to someone. The crisis center where Rachel went to is in Garland. They have a lot of good therapists there. Maybe you should check it out."
"A rape center?"
"It's not just a rape center. They deal with different kinds of trauma... Look, if it would make you more comfortable, there's also a very good trauma center in the Las Vegas area. I looked into it. It's called Desert Haven."
Crossing his arms over his chest in an unconsciously defensive posture, he turned away from his sister. The afternoon had begun so pleasantly. He resented her like hell for shattering that illusion of peace.
"Nick, you need help," Allison persisted. "Please, at least think about it."
Nick spent most of the rest of the afternoon walking the perimeter of the ranch. He had a lot to think about and he wasn't ready to deal with his family just yet. It was funny, he had agreed to leave Las Vegas partly because he hadn't been ready to deal with his fellow CSIs, but now that he was back in Texas, he wasn't finding his family any easier to handle. And unfortunately there was more of his family to deal with. There was always someone watching him, looking for the cracks in the veneer of his control. But, of course, no one ever said anything directly about what happened to him, no one except Allison.
He had been counting on his family's dysfunctional emotional reserve to spare him from uncomfortable, probing questions, and they hadn't disappointed him there, but they seemed determined to demonstrate their concern for him, if not with words, with smothering attention. He needed some time alone to get his head together.
It was growing dark by the time he and Aggie started back to the house. As the sun set behind him, the stunted shrubs and tall grasses they were walking among, threw distorted shadows out in front of them and Nick found himself glancing around nervously. The surrounding landscape was quiet and empty, but he still kept pausing to look behind him periodically. He knew he was being paranoid, but he couldn't stop the chill which prickled up his spine at every odd noise.
When Aggie abruptly started growling softly and slowly creeping toward a large clump of scrub bushes, her ears pricked and her hackles raised, Nick froze. His heart rate had doubled and suddenly he couldn't seem to move. The dog lunged at the bushes and a large jackrabbit flew out from beneath the greenery to quickly disappear into the dusk. Aggie gave a frustrated bark and bounded after the hare for a few feet before realizing that she'd never really had a chance at catching the long-legged rodent. She returned to Nick's side, seeming inordinately pleased with herself for simply having flushed the creature out of its hiding place.
Breathing easier, but still shaken, he gave the dog a pat on the head and they continued on toward the house. It was fully dark by the time they made it back and several members of the family were gathered on the back lawn when they walked up. Bill was the first to reach him. As was usually the case, his fear and concern for his son's safety was expressed as anger.
"Where the hell have you been?" he demanded. "We were starting to get worried. I was about to call the police!"
"I'm sorry. I just went for a walk. I lost track of time. I'm sorry."
Bill wiped his hand over his mouth and nodded. "Go inside. Your mother's frantic with worry."
It seemed that while Nick had been out for his walk, the rest of the family had been making plans for the evening. It was an unfortunate, but still necessary, part of Bill Stokes' job as a state Supreme Court Justice that he be politically active. Political agendas should have had no place in the justice system, but the reality was they did. And no man, not even a Supreme Court Justice, could survive without support.
Bill and Jillian had both been invited, months ago, to attend a fund-raising dinner for a local police officers' memorial foundation, which provided financial support to the families of police officers and firefighters killed in the line of duty. It was an obligation which, in light of recent events in the family, they felt they could not in good conscience back out of.
Nick's brother Chris, an A.D.A., was due in court the next morning for a big case, so he and his wife were heading home for the night. The rest of the family was discussing where they could all go out for dinner.
Hearing about these plans, Nick immediately balked. He was in no mood to sit in a public restaurant, surrounded by strangers, while forced to make small talk with his sisters. His family alone was causing him enough stress, he really didn't need a larger audience. He flatly refused to leave the house.
When several members of the family expressed reluctance to allow him to remain home alone, he grew impatient. Was he still the sick 9-year-old who needed a baby-sitter? As his mind followed that thought to its uncomfortable conclusion, his response to his family was a bit harsher than he had originally intended.
"You know, I do manage to live alone in Nevada without needing constant supervision!"
Significant glances were exchanged among the various members of his family. Nick knew that his uncharacteristic, and increasingly short, temper was becoming a topic of concern for them, but he just couldn't seem to keep his emotions in line these days. Forcing himself to a calmer frame of mind, he tried to reason with them.
"Look, I'm sorry, I snapped at all of you, but I think I'd like some time to myself. Please, just go out, have a good time. I don't need a chaperone. I'll be fine. Please, just go."
As he had anticipated, it was his mother and Allison that were the most reluctant to leave him. His sister took him aside as everyone else was preparing to leave. "Nick, I'll stay, it's no big deal. I really don't think you should be alone right now."
"I'm fine, Al. I'm really kind of tired. I think I'll just lie down for a while."
"You're not going to take any more of those pills, are you? It's certainly not going to do you any good to get addicted to sedatives. You need to face your nightmares and learn to deal with them."
"Thank you, for the advice, Dr. Freud," Nick said dryly. "Don't worry, Mom has the pills and has appointed herself my personal pharmacist."
"Well, good for her... Look, are you sure about this?"
"Yes, I'm sure. I'm getting really tired of everyone watching me, waiting to see what I do next."
"Nick, we're just wo-."
"Just go, please."
"Fine."
With the house finally empty, Nick returned to the library and sprawled out on the couch. He was completely emotionally drained. It was amazing to him how taxing it was becoming just to deal with his family. He had come home to relax and recuperate and instead he was more stressed now than he had been in Vegas. Perhaps it was time to head back to Nevada, to deal with this psychologist and get back to work. He supposed that the sooner he returned to his normal routine, the sooner he would start to feel better.
But even as he told himself this, he felt a sort of confusing sense of dread, or perhaps anger, at returning to work. The confusing part wasn't that he would feel these emotions in connection with his job, but that he was feeling them in connection to his co-workers. Part of him desperately missed them and wanted to talk to them, but another part was... angry with them? No, that didn't make sense, he was simply afraid of how they would respond to him... They had saved his life...
Nick gave the bridge of his nose a squeeze. He was starting to give himself a headache. Taking a deep breath and forcing his mind to let go of these confusing, contradictory thoughts, he settled himself into a more comfortable position and closed his eyes...
He sat bolt upright on the couch, his heart pounding in his chest. He didn't know how long he'd been asleep, probably only a few minutes, but he'd heard a noise. He sat completely still, all of his concentration trained on his hearing. He flinched slightly when he heard it again, a muffled thump coming from somewhere within the house. Almost reflexively, his eyes traveled upward to stare at the ceiling. Like many of the houses in the western half of the U.S., where the water tables tended to be high, the Stokes' ranch house had no basement, but it did have a large attic...
Hearing the sound again, he determined that it was not coming from the attic. It was coming from the ground floor. There was someone in the house. Moving as quietly as he could, Nick went to the window of the room and pushed down several slats of the blinds. The window looked out onto the front lawn. Angling himself to the side, he could see the driveway. It was empty. No one from the family had come home early.
He jumped when he heard the thump again. His entire body was trembling and he was breathing heavily. Moving cautiously to the door, he pushed it open and glanced into the hallway. The house was completely dark. The noise sounded like it was coming from the opposite end of the house, from the direction of the garage and the side door, but he wasn't entirely sure. He glanced back into the room, checking for some kind of weapon.
Remembering that his father had always kept a pistol in the top drawer of his nightstand, Nick headed for his parents' room, which was next to the library. He entered the room cautiously, checking each corner. Satisfied that it was empty, he went to the nightstand and pulled the drawer open. His father's Walther PPK sat right where it always had. Picking up the small 9mm, he released the clip and checked to see if it was full. It was. Pulling the slide back, he found a round already chambered. Damn, Dad..., he thought. Well, at least the safety was still on.
Releasing the safety, he noticed a flashlight in the drawer as well. He considered grabbing it, but decided against it. The light's beam would give away his position and ruin his night vision. He was better off, staying in the dark. Heading back out to the hallway, he quickly moved to the guest room, directly across the hall. Pushing the door open, he stepped inside quickly, pointing the gun into each of the room's four corners in turn, clearing it methodically, just as he had been trained.
Finding the room empty, he moved to the one next to it, repeating his actions. By this time, his hands were shaking so badly that even with his two-handed grip he could barely keep the gun steady. Cold sweat was trickling down his temples and between his shoulder blades.
A quick perusal of the living room and dining room, revealed both to be empty. He checked the door to the back porch and found it locked, so he continued on to the kitchen. Hearing the thump once more, he could pinpoint that it was coming from the vicinity of the laundry room. Taking a deep breath, he took a firmer grip on the gun, but kept it low, pointed at the floor in front of him.
Moving through the kitchen, he stepped into the short hallway into which the door from the garage opened on his right. On his left was the large family room. Directly in front of him, across the square space, was the swinging door which led into the laundry room. As he was about to check the family room, he heard the noise again, very loud, very distinct, and very definitely coming from the other side of the swinging door. He heard a sort of hollow scratching sound as well.
Raising the trembling gun, he slowly inched closer to the door. In one swift movement, he kicked it open and stepped into the room, gun at the ready. Aggie jumped guilty, raising her head from the plastic garbage pail she had been happily rooting through. Seeing him, she wagged her tail enthusiastically. Almost dropping the gun in his relief, Nick gave a slightly strangled sob and sank to his knees, his body weak and shaking. The retriever went to him and began licking his face.
He smiled and tried to fend the dog off. He suddenly felt exhausted, as if he had just had a grueling workout, which in a way, he supposed he had. A distinct ache was beginning to throb just between his eyes. Shifting to a more comfortable position, with his back resting against the door jamb, he leaned his head back and closed his eyes.
The unmistakable sound of footsteps coming from the kitchen brought him instantly back to full alert. He had assumed that the noise he'd heard was only the dog, but what if he'd been wrong? Aggie wasn't a guard dog. She was simply a family pet and an exceptionally friendly one at that. Would she necessarily bark and carry on if a stranger entered the house?
Hearing the footsteps moving towards the laundry room, Nick climbed to his feet, quickly and quietly. The swinging door had closed behind him and he moved to press his back against it. He raised the gun, barrel pointed at the ceiling, and braced himself for another charge into the unknown. Bursting though the door, he pointed the gun out in a two-handed grip, ready to fire.
"Jesus, Nick, what the hell are you doing!" Julia gasped, instinctively clutching her sleeping daughter tighter to her chest and twisting her torso to shield the child's body with her own.
"Oh, god!" Nick breathed, immediately dropping the gun barrel to the floor. "I'm sorry! I didn't... I'm sorry. I thought someone was in the house."
"Yeah, the people who live here! What the hell are you doing with a gun! There are children in the house!"
"Julia, what's going on? Nick, why do you have a gun?" Allison asked as she came to join her two siblings.
Nick pushed past the two women and headed for the library. He needed to get away from his sisters for a minute so he could think. Closing the door behind him, he sank down on the couch and laid the gun on the cushion beside him. He had just pointed a loaded gun at his sister and her infant daughter. What the hell is happening to me? he asked himself, staring down at his still shaking hands.
There was a soft knock on the door. Before he could even respond, it opened and Allison stepped into the room. She came to stand in front of him. When he wouldn't look up at her, she bent down and picked up the gun. She pulled the slide back and checked the chamber. Bill Stokes collected antique rifles and owned several pistols. All of the Stokes children had been taught gun safety at early ages.
"Damn, Nick, this is loaded and the safety's off," she said quietly. "Care to tell me what happened while we were gone?"
"I heard something and I thought someone was in the house," he said softly.
"And your first thought was to get a gun?"
"I thought there might have been someone in the attic."
"Why would you think that?"
He didn't answer. He had never told his family about Nigel Crane, the stalker who had been living in his attic and who had tried to kill him.
"Nick, even you have to admit that your actions were irrational. Do you always go for your gun when you hear a strange noise?"
He still didn't answer. He couldn't admit to her that after the encounter with Nigel Crane, he had slept with his gun under his pillow for several months.
After waiting several minutes without getting any response, Allison sighed heavily and said, "Fine, don't talk to me..." With an exasperated shake of her head, she tuned and left the room, taking the gun with her.
When Bill and Jillian Stokes walked into the house nearly an hour later, they found Brett, Julia and Allison sitting in the family room, each drinking a beer and staring despondently at each other. A grim tension hung over the room like a funeral pall.
"What's happened?" Jillian asked, immediately sensing the mood.
"Nick pulled a gun on me," Julia said. She was calmer now, but there was still a strained note to her tone. "I was holding Hannah at the time."
"What the hell would he do that for?" Bill demanded.
"Apparently he mistook us for intruders," Allison said. Standing, she handed the pistol to her father. "I think you should lock this in the gun safe with all the others, at least until Nick leaves."
"You're not suggesting that Nick would actually harm any of us, are you?" Jillian asked, appalled.
"Actually, at this point, I think he's more of a danger to himself than to any of us."
"What!" Bill exclaimed.
"That's ridiculous," Jillian said. "Why would Nick hurt himself now after he fought so hard to survive that nightmare he went through?"
"Mom, I went through all of this with my friend, Rachel. According to her therapist, fighting to survive is purely instinctive. It's ingrained into our psyches. It doesn't require conscious choice. You just do it. But often, when people have survived a traumatic event, they become suicidal once the danger has past. They no longer have that drive for survival to focus their energies on. All they have left are the memories of their ordeal. And those memories play out over and over in their minds, until they simply can't take it any more."
"And you think that's happening to Nick?"
"I think it's starting to. Can you honestly tell me that you don't think his behavior is getting increasingly erratic?"
"He's been through so much..."
"Yes, he has and he needs professional help to deal with it."
"He doesn't want to talk to a professional."
"Well, of course he doesn't," Allison said. "He doesn't want to think about any of it, but that doesn't change the fact that he needs to. And if he won't do it willingly then we need to make him."
"What are you suggesting, Allison? That we have your brother committed?" Bill asked.
"... You could..."
"Allison! Even if I wanted to, the law says that he has to have demonstrated that he is a danger to himself or others."
"I think waving a loaded gun around constitutes a danger to others, don't you?" Julia spoke up.
"She has a point, Dad," Allison said. "Besides, you are a state Supreme Court Justice. If you signed committment papers, I seriously doubt there's a single lawyer in this state that would contest them."
"I should hope to God there would be. Allison, you are talking about railroading your brother into a mental institution. Is that what you really think I should do?"
"...No, I don't," she said with a groan. "I just think we need to get him some help."
Nick sat on the couch in the library, staring blankly into space. His body was screaming at him to lie down and go to sleep, but he refused to do so. He was afraid the nightmares would come back. He had already amply demonstrated to his family that his mental stability was questionable. He didn't need to give them any more ammunition.
He had heard his parents come home and he knew they were talking with his sisters and brother-in-law. He couldn't hear any of the discussion from the other end of the house, but he didn't need to hear it to know that his most recent escapade was the main topic.
After nearly a half hour, he heard a soft knock on the library door. Even though he had been half expecting it, he still jumped slightly at the sound. He looked up as the door opened and his father stepped into the room. Bill Stokes looked very grave. He was still holding the small pistol.
"Your sisters told me what happened," he said.
"Yeah, I figured they would."
"Nick, what were you thinking? You knew the girls would be coming home soon. Why would you go and get my gun?"
Nick said nothing. He had no explanation for his behavior. In hindsight, he knew that he had completely overreacted to the situation. But at the time it had all seemed so threatening and so very familiar.
"Nick, why won't you talk to any of us?"
Because you don't really want to hear what I have to say, Nick thought. He knew that his family meant well, but they simply wanted him to 'get over' his problems so everything could get back to normal. They didn't really want to know all the unpleasant details. And while Nick understood this, he also resented it. Allison understood, but she wanted him to face his demons and he just wasn't sure he was ready to do that yet.
"I think it's time for me to go back to Las Vegas," he said at last.
Bill sighed heavily. "Nick, we don't want you to leave. We just wa-."
"I know," Nick interrupted. "But this isn't working out and I don't want to cause any more stress for the family."
"You're not causing any stress."
"Yes, I am. I'm disrupting everyone's lives and we both know it. It's time for me to go home."
"You are home, Son."
"No, Dad, sorry, but Vegas is home."
To be continued...