HUGE FLASHING NEON WARNING SIGN!
I did say buckle up, didn't I?
-x
The Beevises had been notorious for their support of the St. Paul community since moving to Minnesota from their eastern origins.
Active members of the local Presbyterian church, Bill and Arlene Beevis had instilled in their children a generous, philanthropic nature that had then been passed onto the Beevis grandchildren.
She, like her mother and grandparents before her, had often sought out ways to get involved in her community.
In her first summer at RADA, she had met Shane.
Shane had plans; massive, mega plans, he had said over lunch, for a philanthropic theatre troupe that he would head up following graduation. Would she consider joining that troupe? he had asked.
She had joined that troupe, following graduation from RADA.
She had become a star in that troupe, that troupe which went around to organizations across the United Kingdom to perform for patients in various range of illness.
At one of those organizations, she had met Mia.
Mia had been interning at a psychiatric hospital wherein Shane's troupe had been asked to perform.
The captive attention of the audience had given Brenda the first glimmer of hope she had experienced since she had learnt of Dylan's return to Beverly Hills, and to Kelly.
Performing on stage, looking out at the patients with their serene expressions and muddled minds who had aided in boosting Brenda's confidence that she could survive her disheartened state of mind, she would not have imagined that someday, she would be one of them.
That her own mind would be muddled.
Brenda had been engaged in a board game shortly after breakfast, a game her fellow patient had requested that Brenda play with her.
Brenda had agreed, so as to not be rude.
The game, however, was not Brenda's focus.
Her focus, instead, was stuck fretting over how she would appear to her children when they would see her as a patient in a psychiatric hospital.
Would they be disappointed in her?
Would they disown her as their mother?
Would they be proud in her for taking the first steps in reclaiming her life?
Reclaiming it from what, they would query.
Perhaps she would be able to tell Dylan, but how could she tell her children?
How could she tell Adrianna, after everything Adrianna herself had been through?
Brenda jiggled the dice, threw it down, moved multiple spaces, and then informed the other patient that it was their turn.
She had spent most of the game people-watching.
It was a different experience, to be amongst the patients as one of them instead of a performer putting on a show.
"Were you forced to be here, too?" she had been asked.
"I voluntarily checked myself in," she had answered.
"Voluntarily checked yourself in? Oh honey, no one voluntarily checks themselves in here."
She had.
She had been asked her due date by three different patients, as if that put a time limit on how long she could be in there and put into question whether she should have checked in in the first place.
"I'm here for my children," she had said. "They need me to be in my best form and I'm – I'm not."
No one had pried into the specifics of why she had checked herself in, though she had heard that was the question more likely to be asked during a group session.
"Your turn," she was told.
"I have to skip a turn," said Brenda.
"My turn, then."
"Vincenzo," said a voice carrying the timbre of a classic Hollywood starlet, "I believe Ms. Bussichio would prefer to have an intermission from this game. Wouldn't you, dearie?" she asked Brenda.
"I do not mind," said Brenda.
"Analiese," said Vincenzo, "I propose three times. You say no. Each and every time, it is a no. I play a game with a beautiful girl, you become jealous. Which is it?"
"Vincenzo, darling, you can believe this is jealousy, but Brenda has promised me a discussion of the arts and I am very much looking forward to our discussion."
"We play later?" asked Vincenzo.
"We can play later," said Brenda.
She walked away on the arm of Analiese.
"You didn't have to rescue me," she told Analiese. "He was a nice older bloke."
"He cheats," said Analiese. "You do not want to play board games with a cheater. When are your husband and children expected to arrive?"
"Within the hour," said Brenda, "and they'll be bringing along my brother."
"I have made a promise to that charming young man that I will be alongside you through your stay here," said Analiese, "which I do hope will be brief."
"He was not fond of me checking in here," said Brenda, "but I think he understands why it was necessary."
"You must do the work, if you are to overcome what ails you."
"Have you done the work?"
"Oh, much of it, but dearie, I am elderly, and my time is short."
Analiese pat Brenda's hand.
Her demeanor reminded Brenda of her late grandmother Walsh, which Brenda relayed.
"Was she a great woman, your grandmother?" asked Analiese.
"The best," said Brenda. "Grandma Walsh was the first to support me anytime anyone in the family would say 'there goes Brenda with another one of her zany ideas.' She was the first to scold my father for his treatment of my fiancé."
"Did it weigh on you?" asked Analiese. "That treatment?"
"It did," said Brenda, "considerably. I think I let it get to me a few too many times, what my father thought of Dylan."
"Fathers do have that way about them," said Analiese. "Mine warned me against my beau."
"Mr. Marigold?"
"This was long before Mr. Marigold."
"Was your father correct? About your beau?"
"He had warned the beau would approach me inappropriately," said Analiese. "Perhaps ironically, it was the one man my father liked who went about the act my father had warned me about with all the others."
"Were you…?"
"You were not to speak of it, in those days. It would bring scandal upon your family. It would hinder your chance at success and my dear, I wanted to be a star! The next Loretta Young, that was what I announced to the entire town when I left for my shot at fame."
"Was he convicted?" asked Brenda. "The man who…"
"Was forward with his intentions?" asked Analiese.
Brenda made no movement of either affirming or correcting Analiese's question.
He had not been, said Analiese.
"He was killed in Vietnam," she said.
"Did it anger you?" asked Brenda. "For him to be killed, instead of facing justice for what he had done to you? For all the nights you lay in bed, unable to sleep as you scrolled through all the ways it could have been different, that you could have stopped him somehow? For all the nightmares he controlled when you were able to sleep?"
Analiese's interrogative stare blazed into Brenda.
"My sisters were…they were raped," said Brenda. "One of them is my sister-in-law. She and my brother were apart when it happened."
She had learnt of Kelly's rape shortly after Brandon had.
Brenda had stepped away from a dress rehearsal to answer her mobile, thinking it involved a situation with her nephew.
"Brenda, you have to talk to your brother," Kelly had said. "He's going berserk."
"Berserk? Why?" Brenda had asked.
"He," Kelly had selected her words carefully, "he was going through the archives at the office and he…he found an article…an old article and…"
"And now I want to kill every single one of our so-called friends who didn't tell me that my wife was – that she was –" Brandon had blasted into the phone.
"I wasn't your wife at the time," Kelly had said.
"I should have been there!" Brandon had yelled. "If I had been there, maybe I could have done something!"
"What could you have possibly done?" Kelly had asked.
"I don't know," Brandon had said, "beat the guy up, seek justice, something! Maybe you would have been with me that night, instead of – instead of –"
"He's dead, Brandon," Kelly had said. "I got my justice. I killed him and he's dead."
Brandon had turned his anger onto Dylan.
"Some friend you are," he had spat into the speakerphone.
"Did I do something?" Dylan had asked his wife.
"Brandon's on a rampage against anyone who didn't tell him Kelly had been –"
"Raped, Brenda!" Brandon had said. "She was fucking raped and what, did you all think I wouldn't care? Why didn't anyone tell me! I would have flown out! I would have…done something!"
"Maybe we didn't want to disrupt your new, blossoming career," Dylan had said.
"Bullshit," Brandon had said. "I would have left the campaign in a heartbeat if one of you had told me what was going on with Kelly."
"Maybe that's why we didn't," said Dylan.
"You can't blame yourself for this," Kelly had said. "You can't, Brandon. You weren't there. You couldn't have known."
"But I should have been," Brandon had said. "I should have been."
Brenda had been replaying her brother's reaction in her head since the night of her own assault.
If her calm, ordinarily collected brother with a reasonable head on his shoulders could have been that ready to blow shite up, Brenda hadn't wanted to learn her husband's reaction to hers.
"Dearie?" asked Analiese.
"Were you afraid?" asked Brenda. "To tell people?"
"The first time I ever told anyone," said Analiese, "was in support group in this very building."
"I have to talk about it," said Brenda. "I know I do, but…I don't know if I'm ready. I don't know…I don't know if I'll ever be ready."
"Oh, my." Analiese wrapped Brenda into her side. "You, dear?"
"Me," said Brenda.
"I take it your husband does not know?"
"No one knows," said Brenda. "No one except the two Marigolds and…and Kris."
"Kris?"
"Kris. She – she saved my life. And in – in the process, she – she gave up her own."
Analiese comforted Brenda in the way that Brenda's grandmother would do.
"Is that why you are here?" asked Analiese.
"He," said Brenda. "He is why I'm here."
"Mr. McKay?"
"No." Brenda looked around to ensure the patients were occupied with other tasks. "He."
"You believed you would be able to keep this secret inside without it causing you suffocation?"
"You did."
"There is not a day that goes by," said Analiese, "where I don't wish I had confided in Mr. Marigold."
Brenda dwelled on Analiese's confession.
She dwelt on it as she met with her family.
She dwelt on it as she attended a weekends' worth of group sessions, in which she listened more than she spoke.
Listened to others she decided had gone through much rougher times than she.
It made her less willing to divulge.
"Brenda," said her group psychologist, "we have not heard from you."
"I would rather hear more of the others' experiences," said Brenda.
"Group, if you would like Brenda to share why she is here, please give a round of applause," said the psychologist.
It was meant to be an encouraging gesture.
To Brenda, the group had summoned the guillotine.
"I have to confide in my husband a secret," she said, "a secret I can't confide in him."
"Been there," murmured several members of the group.
"That is why we are here," said the psychologist, "to help you deal with the trauma you have faced. What trauma have you faced, Brenda?"
"I…I…"
Raped, Brenda thought. Say you were raped.
But was I?
Her, sitting beside me, and him, over there; her and her and him, they were.
Kelly was. Val was.
Was I?
Assaulted. Say you were assaulted.
"…assaulted."
"You were assaulted?" asked the psychologist.
"My daughter," said Brenda, thinking fast. "My daughter was assaulted. On Halloween."
"You are here because your daughter was assaulted?"
"Is that not enough reason to be here?"
"This is a safe space, Brenda. Whatever you say in this room remains in this room."
Brenda surveyed the reassuring faces around her.
"I'm not used to this," said Brenda. "My family, we aren't used to this. We have to be extra cautious about – about everything, or it ends up in the press."
"Is anyone here a member of the press or planning to go to the press?" asked the psychologist, peering around the room.
"I wasn't implying that," said Brenda. "Just that – that I have to – have to compose myself a certain way, as someone in the public eye."
"It's okay," said Brenda's neighbor. "You can tell us."
"Can I?" asked Brenda. "Can I, when I can't even tell my husband? My brother? They're the people I'm supposed to tell this stuff to, aren't they?"
"Is there a reason you have refrained from telling your husband and brother?" asked the psychologist.
"Their reactions," said Brenda.
"So you have put their needs ahead of your own?"
"Yeah. I guess…I guess I tend to do that. Not that – not that they ask me to do that. It just happens. Maybe it's how I was raised."
"And if you were to open up to them, would they be willing to listen?"
"They would," said Brenda.
They had met their time limit for the session.
"We may have started a breakthrough with you, Brenda," said the psychologist.
"Maybe," said Brenda.
She engaged in arts and crafts, with little interaction as her earlier companions were in their own group session.
Brenda retreated to her room, coloring book in hand.
She looked at the journal she had been given.
"Write," Brenda had been told. "It will help."
"I'm not the writer," she had said. "My husband is."
"It will help," she had been told a second time, "to organize your thoughts."
I was raped.
Brenda stared at the sentence she had written down until her eyes glazed.
She drew a line through it.
Maybe, she wrote. I was maybe raped.
Can you be maybe raped?
Does that cheapen other peoples' experiences with rape, if you say you may have been but you aren't sure?
Marigold says I was something.
It was assault, at the very least.
Why is that so hard to tell the people I love?
I was assaulted.
I went to jail, and I was assaulted.
He touched me where I didn't want to be touched and now, he plagues my mind.
Dylan won't read this.
Would it be easier if he did?
Would he blame himself for not being there?
He couldn't have been there. There was no possible way he could have been there, just like Brandon couldn't have been there for Kelly's.
But that didn't stop Bran from getting mad at himself that he couldn't prevent Kel's.
Brenda snapped her journal shut.
Her room provided more sunlight than her cell had.
Sunlight that cascaded onto her visitors.
"How was group?" asked Dylan, their children launching forward in physical greetings.
"It was alright," said Brenda. "The psychologist got me to open up, a little. Is anyone else planning to come by?"
"Val said she would be by later," said Dylan. "I think Silver's going to come by around the same time. Brandon's engrossed in an assignment – I'm meeting with him later about that–"
Donna had come the day before. Andrea had accompanied her.
The former hadn't had much to say beyond a few encouraging words.
She had let the latter do the rest of the talking.
Brenda had appreciated Donna's presence regardless, and had further appreciated Andrea's compulsive need to fill the silence.
Brandon had visited afterwards.
Theirs had been a quieter visit, one that had begun with "Brenda, I'm here if you'd like to talk" and had ended with Brandon's joke that he had never heard Brenda be so quiet.
"Kel's worked it out so she can come tomorrow," Dylan continued to list the planned schedules of their family, "Sanders, well, you know Sanders –"
"Hospitals like this freak him out," said Brenda.
"Kelly and the new Mrs. Sanders are working on him; might see him tomorrow as well," said Dylan. "Nat's working on convincing the hospital to let him send in some food for you, Erica's fighting with her job to let her have some free time during your visit time, and –"
"And everyone wrote in this card for you, Mum," said Adrianna, producing the card of well-wishes that Brenda have a smooth recovery.
"We even got Sammy to say something," said Callie.
"It was Ade's idea," said Dylan.
"It's lovely, Ade, thank you," said Brenda, showing Adrainna her immense appreciation.
"Uncle Shane says he bought you a present," said Callie, "but that you have to get better first before you can open it."
"Shane knows?" asked Brenda.
Dylan confirmed he had told Shane, whilst also assuring Brenda that he had waited until after Mia and Maggie had left the country before he had.
"They're probably gonna despise my guts for a while for not telling them," said Dylan.
"I wouldn't have wanted you to," said Brenda. "They had their Fiji trip planned for months."
"That's what I told them you'd say," said Dylan. "And now they aren't happy with you, either."
"Kai asked me to bring you this," said Adrianna.
Brenda accepted the much-loved stuffed lion.
"Maddie sent it," said Adrianna. "Kai said Maddie said Sakura always brought her lots of comfort when she was sad, and she hopes Sakura will do the same for you."
"Didn't Janet give her Sakura?" asked Brenda to her husband.
"She did," said Dylan. "It was the last thing Mads ever got from her mum."
"We'll have to remember to give it back to her," said Brenda.
"Mads will let you hang on to Sakura for as long as you need her," said Dylan.
"Ruby said I can sing you a song, Mummy," said Callie. "It's a song Ruby's daddy would play for her when she got sad. She said it cheered her up every time, so maybe it will cheer you up."
"I told Cal it would be better if I sang it," said Adrianna.
"And I told Ade she isn't the only one who gets to sing," said Callie.
"Girls," said Dylan.
"I think I would like to hear both of my girls sing," said Brenda. "I think the twins would like that, too."
The sweet, melodious mix of her daughters draped a salve over Brenda's inner turmoil, though she had previously not known the song they had selected.
It was a Hebrew lullaby, said Adrianna, sang to David by his grandmother and her grandmother before her.
"Girls," said Dylan, "I think we should let your mum rest now."
"Bye, Mummy," they chorused.
Dylan said his own goodbye.
"Dylan, wait."
He looked slack-jawed at the hand Brenda had used to reach for her husband's arm.
"Do you – could you maybe –"
"Could I what?" asked Dylan.
"Could you sit in tomorrow?" asked Brenda. "During my group session? If they – if they let you? I – I have something to say and – and I'd like you there when I say it."
"I'm not going to say no to that," said Dylan.
Brenda tried to stand from the bed.
Dylan helped her off it.
She waddled over to the desk.
Opening the journal, she ripped out the page she had written, folded it in half, and gave it to Dylan.
"I think I can say it," said Brenda. "But just in case I get cold feet, I'd like you to read this. After. If I get cold feet. But don't read it yet."
Dylan gingerly tucked the paper into his wallet, next to the photos he had of Brenda and their children.
"Are we," he caressed Brenda's cheek, "are you going to get through this, Bren?"
"I think I might," said Brenda, leaning into his touch. "I think I'm getting there."
"So it has helped you," said Dylan, "being here."
"You've helped me," said Brenda.
She enclosed her hand over the ring still hanging around Dylan's neck.
"I've been in a dark place, Dylan," said Brenda. "Such a dark, dark place and…and I gave you every reason to give up on me, but…but you didn't."
Dylan's breath released in spurts.
"Did you really think I would?" he asked.
He curved his hand around the nape of Brenda's neck.
She moved in.
"Dammit!" Dylan swore.
"You should get that," said Brenda.
"It's probably nothing," said Dylan.
"If it was nothing, they wouldn't be calling you," said Brenda.
Dylan may have been the one person in the world who managed to avoid consistent, pesky spam calls.
"I can check it later," said Dylan.
"We'll be having dinner soon," said Brenda. "You may as well check it."
With his arm still attached to Brenda's neck, Dylan listened to his mobile.
"Shit!" he said. "Bren, dammit, I'm sorry, but I have to go. Goddamn their fucking timing!"
"Are you going to tell me what that call is about?" asked Brenda.
"Hopefully some good news," said Dylan. He kissed the tip of Brenda's nose, between her eyes. "You have, Bren. You have made a breakthrough. You can be proud of that."
She could be proud of that, Brenda thought as she went to dinner.
She pondered over what the call could have said that had Dylan leave in a flurry.
She recognized the back of a kitchen staffer's head, or thought she did.
The staffer had exited Brenda's eyeline before she could investigate further.
Soup, she decided, was not the hospital's forte.
It had a peculiar taste to it, one Brenda could not adequately detect.
Overcome by lethargy, she dragged back to her room.
Only a few feet more, and she would be able to crawl into bed.
Her feet were weighted.
She slunk beside the door.
She…couldn't stretch out her legs.
She couldn't wiggle her hands.
She couldn't see.
Anything.
Nothing but tenebrosity; miles upon miles of tenebrosity.
"I didn't think that soup was going to actually work."
"What did I tell you, baby? Great-Grammy's recipe. You should have a little more faith in me and in the complete lack of security they have in that kitchen."
"My fianceé's been cheating on me with another man. You'll have to excuse me if my faith in you is a little shredded at present."
"Oh come on, I haven't been cheating on you with David. It was all part of the plan."
Gina? Brenda thought groggily.
The voice sure sounded like Gina.
"And getting knocked up with Dylan McKay's kid?" asked the distinctly male voice. "How was that part of the plan, again?"
"You both wanted to shred Brenda's trust in everything until she might end up having a mental breakdown," said Gina. "What better way of making the affair real than by making sure Dylan slept with me, making sure he knocked me up?"
"Do I want to know how you got him to?"
"Maybe I'll tell you. Eventually."
Brenda choked on a fabric stuffed into her mouth.
"Sounds like someone's awake."
"She can be awake if she wants to be," said Gina. "She's not getting out of that bag."
Bag? thought Brenda.
"We've got company," said Gina's partner.
"Leave it to me," said Gina. "Do you know how long I've wanted to sock it to her, that rich CEO bitch David yammers on and on and on about like there aren't other women on the goddamn planet, David?!"
"Your boss?"
"Former boss. I put in my resignation today."
"About fucking time. They've treated you like shit."
"They've all treated me like shit," said Gina. "All of them. Every single one. Blaming me for my dad's death. Blaming me for their unfaithful men. Blaming me for the reason I gave all the love, and never received any in return. Blame. That's all they placed on me. Blame. A constant blame game. But I got them back. I got them back good."
"Thanks to me."
"You, and LL."
"She's getting out of the car," Gina's partner announced.
Valerie! Brenda tried to yell, to no avail.
Her lips would not move.
Her mouth had numbed as if she had been given nitrogen to undergo the filling of a cavity.
Val, run! Turn around and run!
"Gina, hey," said Valerie. "What are you doing out here?"
"Going for a drive with my stepbrother," said Gina.
"With her…stepbrother," said the man.
"I didn't know you have a stepbrother," said Val.
"There's a lot of things you don't know about me," said Gina. "We thought we'd check out the coast. Where are you headed?"
"Nowhere special," said Val. "Is that a…is that a punching bag?"
"I'm getting into shape," said the man. "Women love a six-pack, don't they? That's what my…stepsister tells me."
"That's the biggest punching bag I've ever seen in my life," said Val.
Brenda attempted to shake the bag, an action as fruitless as trying to see through a dark without an end.
"Yeah, he has a lot of work to do," said Gina. "Too many holiday goodies. We'll be along then. Have a good night."
"Yeah," said Valerie. "You do the same."
"Oh, I will," said Gina. "The best night I've had in a while."
Brenda could panic a little less, knowing her captors had moved away from Valerie.
Just a little.
She still had plenty of panic for her twins, and for herself.
Her twins were paddling along as normal.
Whatever she had been given, it hadn't harmed her twins.
Why? What did they have planned for the twins, if they had deliberately chosen a recipe that would not harm them?
Why did I choose the fucking soup! Brenda thought.
She had been distracted. She had been distracted at dinner.
One of the other patients had distracted her.
Had the soup been tampered with then?
Had the soup been tampered with before it had left the kitchen?
It was her, thought Brenda. She was there. In the kitchen. I did. I did recognize that staffer. It was Gina!
"Stepbrother?" asked the man. "I'm your stepbrother now?"
"Oh George," said Gina, "you know you're no stepbrother of mine."
The combined smacking of lips, indicating an intense makeout session.
"I'm disappointed in you," said George, "revealing that we're going up the coast."
"Val doesn't know which part of the coast," said Gina, "and in a moment, our whereabouts will be the last thing she'll be thinking of."
"You aren't planning –"
"Not planning. I'm doing. Say goodnight, Val. Hasta la vista, you cunty bitch!"
A screech of tires over gravel road.
A horrific, stomach-twisting scream that curdled one's kidneys.
A thunk.
A thud.
A voice in Gina's phone.
"I need you to clean up a little problem for me," said Gina. "On LL's orders. As always, you're the bestest."
Gina told George that she would be back in a jiff.
"Brenda Walsh," said George, "oh Brenda Walsh, you're going to look at me and not know who I am, but I know you. I've been waiting, biding my time, waiting until you were at your most vulnerable, ever since my grandfather learned what you did."
Brenda racked her brain on how many Georges she had met in her life and which of them would have felt she had wronged them.
She came up empty.
"You thought I wouldn't find out it was you, didn't you?" said George. "You thought I wouldn't find out you were the one who called the cops on me? Well bitch, I found out. And now you know. You know what life was like for me, to be in prison all those years. And for what? A little grudge week fun? Luckily for me, I found someone who hates you almost as much as I do. Almost, because no one can hate you more than I do. And when I found her, I found my Gina. So I guess I can thank you for that, for bringing Gina's crazy roommate to me so that I could meet my future wife. Even if I did have to share her with McKay's baby and with that dork Silver."
Getting the feeling back in her fingers, Brenda worked at untying her wrists.
Frustrated, she smacked her hands against the inside of the bag.
The sting shot through her arms.
"You destroyed my life, Brenda," said George. "My reputation. My shot at the big bucks. You and that pathetic weakling – what was her name? Brittany? Brandi? Bonnie? Bonnie. You and Bonnie. So now? Now, I take yours."
"That should do the trick," said Gina as she returned to the car.
"What'd you do?" asked George.
"I just told dear Val a thing or two for her to relay to Dylan," said Gina.
"An honest thing or two?"
"It's honest in that Val is selfish."
"So are you."
"So am I," said Gina.
"You're diabolical, sweetcheeks," said George.
"I learned from the worst," said Gina. "My dear, darling, deceased conwoman of a mother. Now let's get this bitch to LL."
"The money's all ours?"
"We'll get the money we were promised, after we deliver Brenda."
"Then we off her and it's off to the Cocos we go!"
"Not so fast. I still have to pay Brenda back for killing my son."
"I signed up to take her life."
"We will," said Gina. "Patience, my love."
"I'm tired of being patient," George whined.
"The justice system failed me," said Gina. "All they cared about was money, McKay money. I had to take matters into my own hands. Life in prison, Brenda. You could have had life in prison, but that selfish husband of yours just had to interfere in the plan. Sweetheart, when I get through with you, you'll wish you were back in Lynwood."
Dylan, thought Brenda, don't believe what Val tells you.
I don't know what she's going to tell you, but whatever you do, Dyl, don't believe her.
Because…because whatever she tells you won't come from her.
I'm sorry, Dylan.
I love you.
I love you.
I…love…
xx
He had snapped at the poor bloke who had only done as he had requested.
"Couldn't you have chosen a different time to call?" he asked. "My wife and I were having a moment!"
"Mr. McKay," said the boy, "you said to call you as soon as the results were in."
"I thought you were forced to pull the test," said Dylan.
"That's what I let Ms. Kincaid think," said the boy. "Do you want these results?"
"Fuck yeah, I want them." Dylan snatched at the paper, speed reading faster than he ever had.
He smacked it down.
"I knew it!" he growled. "I fucking knew it!"
In the case of Gina Kincaid's son, Dylan had read, Gina Kincaid's DNA had not been found.
"Give me it," said Dylan. "The other test I ordered. Give it to me. Now!"
In the case of Gina Kincaid's son, Dylan read, Brenda McKay's DNA had been found.
"She stole our embryo," said Dylan. "She fucking stole our embryo! She stole our son and let Bren go months thinking Gina's son had been killed when he was never Gina's to begin with! The paternity test said he was mine because he was from my fucking embryo, with my wife!"
"I assume you got the results you wanted."
"I want to know how this happened," said Dylan. "I want to know how the fuck Gina had access to our fucking embryo to begin with!"
"I'd tell you to ask the president of the clinic," said the boy, "but she just quit."
"She quit?"
"This morning. She quit."
"Get me everything you can on this president," said Dylan, "and I mean everything," he emphasized.
"Yes, sir."
Dylan met Brandon as planned, though he would have rather returned to the hospital.
"How's my sister today?" asked Brandon.
"She seems to be doing better," said Dylan. "Much better."
"You seem cheerful."
"I could tell you I fucking told you so, but I think I'll wait until after I tell Brenda that," said Dylan. "What did you want to talk to me about?"
"I was checking to see if you got hold of any information for that…project I asked you to work on," said Brandon, "but I think they might need to speak with you more." He gestured at Steve and Kelly.
"What's up?" asked Dylan. "And can we make this quick? I have to make it back to Bren before visiting hours are up."
"It's about Bren," said Kelly. "Tell them what you told me," she urged Steve.
"It might not be anything, Kel," said Steve.
"But it might be, Steve," said Kelly. "And if it is, you could be doing Brenda a massive service."
"Can one of you tell me what you're on about?" asked Dylan.
"If you know something about Brenda, you really need to tell us," said Brandon.
"Before I start," Steve said to Dylan, "I swear to you, man, it was not intentional. Not at all."
"What wasn't intentional?" asked Dylan.
"Pipe down and let him talk," said Kelly. "Go ahead, Steve."
Dylan was going to chuck his mobile out a fucking fifteen-story window.
After he found a fifteen-story window to chuck his mobile out of.
"What?" he barked.
"I'm here for my visit with Bren," said David.
"Okay, and?"
"And the receptionist says a friend checked Brenda out? Did you check her out?"
"I wouldn't check Bren out unless she said she was ready to be checked out, Silver," said Dylan.
"Brenda was checked out?" asked Brandon.
"Val was going to visit before you." Dylan waved his hand at Brandon to shush him. "Maybe Bren had a change of mind and asked Val to check her out."
"Or Val decided to break her out," said Steve. "I would do that. You can't convince me those places actually help people. We would help Brenda much more than any psychologist."
"If we could help Bren more than a psychologist, she wouldn't be in there," said Kelly.
"How close was Val's visit to mine?" asked David.
"She was going to leave about the time you got there. Why?"
A frustrating pause hung in the air.
"Why, Silver?" Dylan repeated.
"There's only one road to this place," said David.
"Yeah, I know," said Dylan, "I've driven it."
"There's only one road that would let me see Val's car when she's driving away."
"Okay and?"
"I didn't see Val's car. I didn't see Val's fucking car!"
"She probably just left earlier than she thought she would," said Dylan. "Sanders, call your wife."
Steve asked the reason for Dylan's demand.
"Because Silver's freaking out," said Dylan. "Call your wife."
"Do you have to refer to her as that?" asked David.
"She is his wife," said Dylan.
"Yeah, thanks for the reminder," said David.
"Hey, you had a chance to speak your peace, and you didn't," said Dylan.
"I was trying to keep the peace, for Bryant!"
Steve leaving a voicemail changed Dylan's tune.
A bit.
"Bren and Val are probably together," said Dylan. "I'll come meet you."
"Can you call Bren's phone?" asked Steve.
Kelly set an expression on Steve that read as seriously, Steve?
"Psychiatric hospital," said Steve. "Right. Doesn't have her phone."
"They could be headed back home," said Dylan. "Sanders, you wait for Val at home. Kel and Bran –"
"We'll wait at yours in case Val drops Bren off," said Brandon.
"And nobody panic," said Dylan. "Val could've run out of petrol."
"Gas," said Steve. "It's gas."
"Whatever," said Dylan.
He did plenty of panicking himself on the way to meet David.
"Of all the times for you to be without your fucking mobile, Bren," said Dylan.
He was getting that pang again, the same pang he had experienced the night of Halloween to warn him about Adrianna's assault.
Rubbing at his chest, he maintained a dutiful eye on the road.
He parked when he spotted Silver's car.
He got out when he spotted Silver.
"Silver?" asked Dylan.
David was hunched over on the ground.
"Silver," said Dylan.
"Who could've done this to her?" David violently shook. "Who would have done this to her?"
"Done what to who?" asked Dylan.
He edged over until he could see what had sent David into his frenzied state.
"Fuck," said Dylan. "Val."
He squatted beside her, assessing the damage.
David cradled the bloodied, battered Valerie.
"Can I move her?" he asked.
Dylan advised against it.
"Val," he said. "Where's Brenda? Where is she, Val?"
"Brenda," said Valerie, barely conscious and hardly audible as she clung to David, "Bren."
"Yes, Bren," said Dylan. "Where's Bren?!"
"Car…" Valerie's explanation came out broken. "Cliff…Brenda…couldn't…save…"
"What car?" asked Dylan. The pang had become a searing gash. "Where's your car, Val?!"
"Car…over…cliff…Brenda…"
"Your car did not go over a fucking cliff," said Dylan. "Brenda did not go over a fucking cliff!"
He would have known.
He would have been made aware.
His soul would have notified him if the other half of it was…was…
"Where is she, Val!" said Dylan. "Where is my wife!"
"Dead." Valerie struggled to breathe. "Brenda is…is…"
"No she isn't!" said Dylan. "She isn't!"
"David…baby…"
David placed his hand upon Valerie's abdomen.
"I'll make sure you and the baby are well-looked after," he told her.
Dylan kicked up his feet, fighting against the immobility that tried to consume his legs.
He managed to make it to the edge of the cliff.
There they were.
The charred remains of Valerie's car.
Over the cliff, just as Valerie had said.
Was that…was that pieces of Brenda's jumper, scattered in the wreckage?
Dylan's heart slammed against his ears.
His knees crashed on the edge.
He would have gone over himself.
He considered it.
His girls.
He had to get home to his girls.
Brenda's girls.
He had to tell them…tell them…
"Why didn't you save her, Val!" Dylan roared.
"Selfish," said Val. "I'm…selfish…David…baby…our…"
"Valerie!" David shook her. "Val, come on!" He looked at Dylan. "Our? Did she…did she say our?"
"She saved herself," said Dylan, slowly standing to his feet. "She saved herself, instead of my wife. My kids. My…my goddamn life."
"She's half-conscious, man; she doesn't know what she's saying."
"Then where is my wife, Silver! Over a fucking cliff! That's what Val said! Bren's over a fucking cliff! Because Val was too selfish to save her! Her supposed best friend. Her supposed sister!"
"Valerie lies. All the time," said David. "It's her oxygen. It's her currency. If she could use lies instead of cash, she would, and she'd be a fucking millionaire for it."
"Tell me what fucking reason she would have to lie about this. Huh, Silver? Can you tell me that?!"
"I – I don't know, but – but Bren…"
"Bren isn't…she isn't…"
She isn't coming home, Dylan thought, but couldn't say.
The words sat foreignly on the edge of his tongue.
"I – I have to tell our girls that their Mum – that their Mum isn't…that she isn't…"
"You can't just leave Val here!"
"I'm finding some fucking service so I can demand a fucking search-and-rescue team get out here and find my wife's body!"
"Dylan –"
"Don't, Silver. Don't talk to me right now. Just don't. I'll ring for an ambulance for Val. I'll ring for one, but then…then I don't want to see her. I don't want her to see my girls. I don't want her in my house!"
"You can't believe her that she didn't try to save Brenda," said David. "She would have done everything she could to try to save Bren."
"If Val had tried everything she could, then my wife would be here," said Dylan. "She would be here. She wouldn't be over a fucking cliff."
He stumbled into his car.
He fumbled over the keys on his mobile.
He called for the ambulance.
He rang for search-and-rescue.
The patter of rain did not combine well with his already blurred windshield.
The music on the radio was diabolical.
Their song.
The song that had announced their first dance as husband and wife.
He switched it off.
He had started preparing the nursery that morning.
He had planned to surprise her with it, when she returned.
He had bought two hats from three different teams, deciding the twins could choose which baseball team they would root for.
He had placed the hats on hooks beside the new changing table.
He had filled the cupboard under the changing table with two months' worth of diapers.
He had set out the necessary tools to put together the crib, which he had told himself he would do when he returned home that night.
If it wasn't for his girls, waiting at home, he wouldn't return.
"A weekend, Brenda," he said, gripping at the steering wheel. "I told you a weekend. One fucking weekend. Why couldn't you fucking listen! Why can't you ever fucking listen!"
Brandon.
He would have to tell Brandon.
He had figured out Toni's warning.
You musn't let Brenda go to the psychiatric hospital.
Toni had tried to tell him.
The pang in his chest had tried to tell him.
Brenda had been adamant, insistent that the hospital would help.
He should have gone with his gut.
He should have kept her home.
If she had been home, she wouldn't have been with Valerie.
If she had been home, she would have still been at home.
"You're supposed to stop beating," Dylan announced to the interior of his car. "Why are you still beating!" he raged at his heart.
He heard the siren, the telltale sign that help was on the way.
For Valerie.
Not for Brenda.
They couldn't do anything for Brenda except…
Except find her body.
He could do that for her.
He could find her body.
If there was still a body to find.
If it hadn't been charred to bits, like Valerie's car.
"I hate you, Brenda," said Dylan. "I swear I hate you. You've left me, you've left our girls, and I will hate you for it until…until…"
Until I join you, he thought, and…and the twins I never got to meet.
Why the fuck did you let Val check you out!
Why the fuck did you check yourself in!
Why the fuck did I let you check yourself in!
Dylan rubbed at his eyes, uncaring that doing so made the street less visible.
I failed her. I failed my wife, my universe, my…my Brenda, was his last thought as the horn blared rambunctiously underneath his limp head.
-x
Psychologists would have a field day with my Google searches, but I swear they're only for writing purposes...
Sources: Google and Reddit anecdotes, so hopefully there's a bit of truth to what Brenda experienced in the hospital.
Beverlybeat requested Brandon's reaction to Kelly's rape, and I managed to work it in.
(Shout-out to KJ to express my continued gratitude and appreciation, as well as those of you whose review I could respond to directly. Thank you, KJ! I feel like that scene wherein David and Donna discussed trying to help Dylan is something that could have actually happened off-camera because otherwise, the gang was self-absorbed, self-involved, and damn idiotic to accept Dylan's lies. You know how much I love throwing it back in BD's different dates! I think David's change of heart probably came from Ruby's change of heart and she likely talked to her dad about it.
DAMN, you're good.)
Thanks a million!