Chapter 28
WE MADE IT DOWN TO MEDICAL, Radar’s boyish face set in an impassive expression as he helped get Ashlyn situated on the steel bolted bed.
Not much to do, according to him. Miscarriage was a natural event, the body’s way of coping. Best he could offer was Tylenol for the pain and water to counter the blood loss. Later, I should watch Ashlyn for signs of fever, which could indicate an infection. In which case, she would require immediate medical attention.
Radar didn’t expand upon that statement. Such as, would Z permit one of his nine-million-dollar hostages to visit an ER? I had a feeling our ransom demand was about to come back to bite us. Especially the way Z had looked at Justin… Had we really managed to negotiate a deal with Mr. Big Bad Commando? Or had we somehow just played right into his hands?
Radar left, and I went to work removing Ashlyn’s blood-soaked jumpsuit, carefully covering her with a towel as I went. A camera was mounted in the corner of the room, and I couldn’t bear the thought of Mick, sitting in the control center, getting off on my daughter’s pain. I wondered if I could reach up, smear water, or maybe Vaseline across the tiny electronic eye. But I figured Z would never tolerate such a blatant act of insubordination. He’d materialize, there would be consequences, and looking at my daughter, myself, Justin… How much more abuse could we take?
I washed Ashlyn’s underwear the best I could in the sink, noticing some tissue, trying not to think about it.
Our captors had not considered new undergarments, so I redressed Ashlyn in her still-damp panties, now lined with feminine hygiene pads set out by Radar. He’d muttered under his breath that they made handy field dressings, hence his stash. Clean towels above. Blood-soaked towels below. Again, best not to think of it.
I forced myself to sit, stroking Ashlyn’s arm. Her eyelids had stopped fluttering. She appeared to be drifting into sleep. The body doing its best to heal, as Radar had predicted.
Radar finally returned. In hindsight, I realized he’d probably been gone a good thirty to forty minutes. Ironically, the longest time Ashlyn or I had been left unsupervised, let alone unshackled. Just hours ago, we would’ve run for it. But now…
Z seemed to know so much about us. Including how completely we would implode. Had he counted on it to make us easy marks? Known that eventually we would hinder ourselves? Ashlyn and I didn’t even require management anymore. We’d hamstrung ourselves with our own secrets. How accommodating of us.
“Methadone,” Radar murmured. One word. He spoke with his back to the camera. I thought about it, and then I understood. I bent over my daughter, my lank hair obscuring my own lips, so I appeared to be comforting Ashlyn. They could see us but not hear us meaning that appearances were everything.
“Those are the pills you gave me? I’ve heard of it.”
“It’s a synthetic opioid. Helps with withdrawal from other narcotics, such as Vicodin.” He turned toward a metal supply case, opening drawers as if searching for something. “But it’s also addictive. Eventually, you’ll have to wean off it.”
He was trying to advise me. For life after this. Assuming the ransom was a success. “How many pills should I take?”
“I’ve been giving you ten-milligram Diskets. First dose was four tablets. You seemed to struggle again this morning, so I gave you two more. It’s not an exact science. A real clinic would spend the first few days of detox figuring out the appropriate dosage for your situation. I’m just winging it.”
“I don’t feel…they’re not the same as Vicodin.”
“No high,” he said bluntly, still rearranging drawers. “Methadone manages the worst of the withdrawal symptoms, as you’re still on a narcotic. And the pills last longer. You should be able to take one dose a day in order to mitigate the depression, nausea, headaches. But like I said, you’re swapping one problem for another. Good-bye, Vicodin addiction; hello, methadone addiction. You’ll need to see a real doctor in order to manage the rest of your withdrawal. Assuming you want to.”
“You seem to know a lot about painkiller addiction,” I said at last.
He shrugged. “Drug abuse du jour.”
“You’re a good doctor, Radar. I appreciate your help. For me, and my daughter.”
He didn’t say anything, appeared uncomfortable.
I couldn’t help myself: “Why do you do this? Work with Z and Mick? You seem to have real skills, real talent. You could get a job, in a hospital—”
“Don’t.”
Single word, filled with more menace than I had anticipated. I drew up short, hesitant, then resumed holding my daughter’s hand.
The atmosphere in the tiny room now felt tense. Strange, really. Radar was a captor and we were captives. How else should it feel?
Except, of the three commandos, I trusted Radar the most. He was the caretaker, smuggling me methadone that clearly Z knew nothing about. And he was good with Ashlyn. Competent, even compassionate in his administrations.
Then again, what had Z said about him? Radar would sell out his own mother if the price was right.
Yet this young man, kid really, knew things about Ashlyn and me that Justin didn’t even know. And not only had Radar kept my secret, he seemed to be trying to help me. To prepare me for life beyond these prison walls.
I tried to picture my old life, or maybe the new life that would begin sometime after 3:00 P.M. tomorrow. Wearing my own clothes. Sleeping in a room with the lights off. Returning to my family and friends, one of whom had most likely set us up, meaning none of whom I’d be able to trust.
And suddenly, unexpectedly, my eyes filled with tears. I ducked my head, not wanting Radar, let alone Mick in the control room, to see me cry. Oh my God, where were we going from here? We didn’t need Z and his prison cells and orange jumpsuits to break us. We’d done it to ourselves, ensconced in our luxurious Boston town house, going through the everyday motions of our extremely privileged lives. Once a real family, now three mere clichés. The pill-popping wife, the unfaithful husband, the pregnant teenage daughter.
Justin seemed fixated on our rescue as some sort of magical switch. Our kidnappers would deliver us in return for the insurance money, and that would be that. We’d click our heels three times, whisper there’s no place like home and instantly wake up in our own beds. Justin would go back to work. Ashlyn would go back to school, and I’d…
I’d visit a methadone clinic and get my addiction under control? Or say fuck it, and rush back to my lovely orange bottle of pills first chance I got?
I didn’t know. I honestly didn’t know, and for a moment, the thought of going home, of returning to our real lives with all the unsolved problems…it terrified me.
At least in here, we knew who the enemy was. Whereas, once we were home…
Beside me, Ashlyn suddenly jerked awake. Her hazel eyes flew open, panic written all over her face. “Mom!”
“It’s okay. I’m here. Shhh…”
“Oh, Mom…” I could tell the second she finished coming round, as her hands dropped down automatically, cupping her tender stomach. She gazed at me a long time, her expression still young, but already older than I wanted it to be.
“I know, honey,” I murmured. “I know.”
“Don’t tell Dad,” she whispered, the words nearly automatic.
I had to smile, but it was a sad expression on my lips. “He’ll always love you, sweetie.”
“No, he won’t. He has standards,” she said, and her tone was clearly bitter.
I didn’t know what to say about that, so I resumed my bedside vigil. A daughter who had kept her mother’s secret. And now a mother charged with keeping her daughter’s secret.
“I’ll…um…grab a new jumpsuit,” Radar muttered, clearly uncomfortable. He exited, leaving us once more unsupervised and unshackled.
Merely trapped in our own self-induced misery.
I brushed the tears from my daughter’s cheek and we waited, together, for the worst of our pain to ease.
WE COULDN’T HIDE IN MEDICAL FOREVER. Z must have demanded an update. Upon hearing that Ashlyn was stable enough, it was back to the family cell for us. Radar walked on one side of Ashlyn, I took the other. She moved gingerly but didn’t require much support. To be fifteen again, so young and fixable.
Her footsteps slowed as we entered the cavernous dayroom.
I didn’t blame her. Justin had never been one to run from a fight. Sure enough, the cell door barely clanking shut behind us:
“I want to know his name.” Justin rose to standing in the middle of the tiny space, arms crossed over his chest, voice stern and cold. Not asking, but demanding.
Ashlyn pulling her arm away from me, bringing up her chin. “Maybe his last name is Chapman. As in your girlfriend’s younger brother. He’d be about my age, right?”
My eyes widening, just as my husband paled.
Justin whirled on me. “How dare you tell her—”
“I didn’t.”
“I did!” Ashlyn, in full glory now, arms flung out, thin body nearly levitating with hostility. “I checked your phone, Dad. I read your e-mails. Quite a little exchange you had with a girl young enough to be my sister. Wonder what her father would think. Maybe she’s not supposed to sleep around, either. Maybe, she was also supposed to wait for a boy who would honor her and love her and respect her. You know, all that crap you used to feed me, before running out the door to cheat on your family. Hypocrite! Fucking liar!”
“Ashlyn!” Myself, stepping quickly between my daughter and my husband, as if that might keep Ashlyn safe.
Justin’s face, already terribly misshapen, had taken on the color of eggplant. Steam should have been pouring out of his ears. Certainly, every blood vessel in his body appeared ready to burst.
“Don’t you ever speak to me like that, young lady!”
“Or what?”
“Stop.” My voice came out too shaky. I cleared my throat, forced myself to sound more forceful. “Both of you. Take a second.”
Ashlyn, turning on me now. “Why? You afraid I’m going to tell him about your drug problem.”
“What?”
I wanted to laugh. I understood it would be wildly inappropriate. But the sheer rage on my daughter’s face, followed by the sheer bewilderment on Justin’s. I wanted to giggle. Except I was pretty sure the first hiccuping laugh would lead straight to tears.
Ashlyn, still on a rampage: “Jesus Christ, Dad. She’s been stoned out of her mind for months now. The glazed-over eyes? The way you ask her a question and it takes a full minute before she answers? I mean, come on, Dad. It took me two weeks to figure out she was abusing prescription painkillers. I’m a kid. What the hell is your excuse?”
Justin, officially too stupefied to speak. Me, a hand now clasped over my mouth because, heaven help me, any second now, I was going to burst into hysterics.
“I mean, really. You’re out all the time with your new girl. Mom’s doped out of her skull. Of course I decided to have a little fun. Even took a tumble in your bed. Not like you two are using it.”
Justin lunged. I got my arms around his waist, not that it really mattered. He weighed twice as much as me and, even bruised and battered, moved like a freight train. He roared something. Maybe that he would kill him, the mythical boy. And Ashlyn screamed something. Maybe that she hated him, her own father.
He was swatting at her. Trying to get at our child. Our own baby, who just hours before had been pregnant with a baby of her own, and I felt this incredible pressure build behind my eyeballs. A pain beyond any pill’s ability to deaden. A hopelessness beyond any wonder drug’s ability to lift.
Then, I was in the fray. Digging in my heels, shoving back at my husband, heaving, heaving, heaving as I screamed at the top of my lungs:
“You stupid idiot! I didn’t want your money. I didn’t want your house. I didn’t want your precious business. I just wanted you to love me. You stupid, stupid asshole. Why…couldn’t you…just love me?”
Our legs tangled up. Justin went down hard, hands over his swollen face. I fell to my knees beside him. Pounding his shoulder, sobbing hysterically, while Ashlyn wept next to the bunk beds.
“And it wasn’t just her, was it? There were other women, too. Lots of others. Jesus Christ, you are just like your father. And now I’m just like my mother except popping pills instead of cigarettes, and we were both supposed to be better than this. What happened? God, Justin, what happened to us? How did we become exactly the people we never wanted to be?”
I couldn’t stop hitting him. My rage was a feral beast, finally off its leash. I hated my husband. I hated my life. But mostly, I hated us, the ways we’d both failed, proving ourselves human, when so long ago, we’d been sure we’d rise above all that. Mortals were fallible. We’d been in love.
At the last second, I saw my husband’s shoulders shake. I saw the tears on his cheeks, the defeated bow of his head…
I couldn’t take it anymore. I threw my arms around him. I held him close, promising forgiveness I wasn’t sure I had in my heart to give, but for now, this moment… If he would just be all right. If we could just pretend to be a family…
Ashlyn joined us on the floor, her arms around both of us, damp cheek pressed against my neck. “I’m sorry, Mommy, I’m sorry, Mommy, I’m sorry, sorry, sorry.”
Justin moaned. We cried harder.
“Oh, for the love of God.”
Z stood in the open doorway, staring at us as if arriving at the scene of a car accident.
“You people…” He couldn’t complete the sentence.
And I agreed with him. We defied description. What kind of family behaved like this? What kind of people loved one another, and hurt each other anyway?
“Three P.M. tomorrow. Not soon enough.” Z stopped shaking his head, stabbing a finger at me instead. “You. Off him.” Another finger, pointed at my daughter. “You, too. Stand and present.”
Ashlyn and I climbed shakily to our feet. Z stared at us harder. We threw our shoulders back, assuming the posture of good soldiers. He grunted his approval. Then, his gaze went to Justin, now uncurling on the floor.
“Whatever happened, I’m sure you deserved it. Ladies. With me.”
We started walking forward just as Justin rose unsteadily to his feet.
“Wait.”
Ashlyn continued marching, but I stopped. I couldn’t help myself. I’d loved this man so much of my life. The afternoons at the firing range, our first home, the birth of our daughter, the way I used to wake up and find him watching me so intently.
All those moments when I know I had really, truly seen him. All those moments when I know he must’ve really, truly seen me.
“I didn’t realize,” Justin murmured. “What was going on with Ashlyn, with you… I didn’t realize. And Ashlyn’s right. I should’ve. A good man, an attentive father… I fucked up, Libby. That’s on me. When we get home, if you want a divorce, I’ll do whatever you want. I’ll even rip up the prenup. House, company, whatever you’d like, I won’t fight you. In fact, you can have it all. It’s the least you deserve and shame on me for not realizing that sooner. But I wish… I would miss our family, Libby. I would miss us.”
I waited for him to say more. But he swallowed instead, choked up.
I thought of all the things I could offer in reply. Forgiveness. Acknowledgment of my own crimes. Or more importantly, that I missed us, too. Had for months, and no pill in the world had been able to fill that void. All the nights I had wandered down to the darkened basement, my hand pressed against that closed bedroom door, willing my husband to feel my presence, to open his door to me.
I said: “How many other women, Justin?”
“You’re the only one I’ve ever loved,” he said.
Which told me enough.
I turned away from my husband and walked toward my captor instead.