Yes. No. “For the short-term.”
“Pain meds, bro. It’s the way to handle the long-term.” The aide wheels me back around the corner and this time Mom, Cyrus and the rest of the crew hanging in the hallway notice. Most of the guys offer some sort of greeting, my grandfather looks at me like he’s proud and my mother smiles in sadness.
They create a clog my aide won’t push through and I’m stuck in the hallway. Mom on one side. Cyrus on the other. Tug-of-war.
“You okay?” Mom’s face turns an ugly shade of gray as her eyes wander over my head. On top of scared not being her thing, neither is blood.
“Yeah. Where’s Violet?” Not being near her is a crazy itch that needs to be scratched.
“They’re taking a look at her knee,” answers Cyrus. “Running some tests. Eli’s promised to stay with her. You did good looking after Violet. Let us take that burden now.”
Mom coughs in disgust, Cyrus’s eyes narrow on her and I push the wheelchair forward on my own. Mom and Cyrus are smart enough to move out of the way.
Footsteps follow me into the room and a glance back verifies that Cyrus, Pigpen and Mom are the only ones who come in. Good thing they’re also smart enough to stay away as I stand and then sit my ass back onto the hospital bed. One more person tries to help me and I’ll be throwing punches.
Outside, the lamps to the parking lot are lit and headlights go up and down the main county road. I’m lost as to what time or day it is. Lost is a great way to describe everything.
“I want to see Violet,” I say, and nobody argues with me. Nobody says shit, but nobody argues. Maybe they all went deaf. “I said, I want to see Violet.”
“After she comes back from the tests, I’ll see what I can do,” Cyrus says.
I don’t like that answer and I don’t like how Cyrus paces to the window to look out, turning his back to me.
“She okay?” I press.
Like a fucked-up checklist, I go through our time with the Riot. Relive in rapid succession every hit, every punch, every slap she took—I relive the gunshot and I flinch. Everyone notices, but no one says a thing. As if maybe if they do speak, I’ll explode.
Mom crosses the room and sits on my bed next to me. She wears the same clothes as when I dropped her off at work on Friday night. Same tank, same jeans, same earrings and that’s when I notice she’s not just gray, she’s exhausted. Black circles under her eyes and pronounced worry lines.
She reaches out, brushes my hair away from my forehead like I’m a child, then takes my hand. I let her but then flip them so that my hand covers hers—so I’m the one offering the comfort. I don’t like it when Mom’s scared.
“Jenny said Violet’s not talking,” Mom says.
Jenny. Violet’s mom. The pounding in my head ceases, but it’s an insane silence that follows. “What do you mean not talking?”
“Violet nods and shakes her head,” Mom continues. “Verifying information only through that show of a yes or a no. Violet seems to understand everything that’s being said to her and she seems lucid enough through the painkillers they’ve given her to respond to difficult questions this way, but it’s scaring Jenny.”
It’s scaring Mom. I glance around. Neither Cyrus nor Pigpen will meet my gaze and the two grown men wearing black leather cuts shuffle their feet. Must scare them, too. Got to admit, I don’t care for the unsettling happening within me.
“The police want to talk to you and Violet,” Cyrus says.
“Okay.” No news there. Two undercover officers were with Eli at the end of the dirt road. The Terror involved them from the start. We haven’t been questioned yet, though, and I’m guessing that’s because we were bloody, bruised, and Violet has a busted knee. “But I’m asking about Violet.”
“Before they talk to you,” he continues, “I need to know—with how she’s acting. Did they...”
My skin prickles as a darkness rolls through me. I know what he’s asking. The same thing I asked Violet in the basement.
“Did they hurt Violet?” Pure menace leaks from Cyrus’s voice.
Cyrus, Pigpen and I talked not long after I was admitted. That dead period after the hospital figures out you’re not dying but still need tests. Mom left to fill out paperwork and I told them as much as I could. The play-by-play and who was involved.
They listened, grimly nodded as I gave them the down low, but I didn’t get beyond the head of the Riot showing up and explaining it was all a mistake. Mom returned and I didn’t want her involved in the details. Don’t want her sucked into any of this nightmare.
Pigpen readjusts on the wall he leans against. “We know she was hurt, but—”
“I know what you’re asking,” I cut him off. “She was alone with the Riot in the back of the car.”
“Alone,” interrupts Mom, and her voice has gone higher in pitch. “Then where were you?”
She doesn’t want the answer and I don’t want to be a witness to her reaction. Can’t imagine trunk will go over well. I was kidnapped, now I’m home. That’s all she needs to know. “I asked Violet what happened there. She said they hit her but didn’t try anything. Besides for a few minutes upstairs, she was in my sights the rest of the time.”
Pigpen’s eyes snap to mine. “They separated you at the house?”
“After the president brought us upstairs, I put Violet in a bathroom. Wanted walls between her and them while they called you. I had an eye on the hallway almost the entire time. There were maybe two minutes with her out of my sight at that point.”
Cyrus and Pigpen share a look and I shake my head. “Even with her out of my sight, I would have heard if there was a struggle. I would have heard her yell for help.”
“So Violet was talking,” Mom confirms.
“Yeah.”
“When did she stop talking?” Cyrus asks.
I run a hand through my hair and there’s a shot of pain when I hit my newly stapled gash. “Sometime after the gunshot.”
The hospital bed moves as Mom jumps to her feet. “They shot at you?”
Ah, hell.
“Who were you with when you were separated from Violet?” Pigpen asks.
Mom throws her arms out to her sides. “Did anyone else hear what he said?”
But they already know. “Skull.”
Pigpen studies me with narrowed eyes. “What did you two talk about?”
“Get out,” Mom roars as she rounds on Pigpen. “Get out now!”
Pigpen and Cyrus both look at me for approval and I nod. That one act causes Mom to mash her lips together. “He’s my son and he’s a minor. I’m the one still making the decisions here. Not him and not you!”
Cyrus raises an eyebrow. An unspoken reminder that I’m weeks away from eighteen.
Pigpen pushes off the wall. “Won’t be far.” Which means he’ll be outside the door, standing guard.
Cyrus rounds the bed and gives me a brief but strong hug. “I’ll find out about Violet and your discharge.”
“I’ll find out about discharge,” Mom snaps.
“Fine with me, but he’s coming home with us.” Cyrus leaves and my mother goes from exhausted gray to red.