Read Blind Rage: Team Red, Book 4 Online
Authors: T. Hammond
Blind Rage: Team Red, Book 4 (23 page)
“Instead of cowering backed against the foyer wall, waiting for Devon to attack again, these dreams are stifling. I can’t move, or talk—like I’m encased in a cocoon or something. And cold, I’m freezing, but I’m not in ice. Before, I anticipated a fight to survive. Now, my fear is I’m helpless. I feel like a victim. I can’t break free…” My breathing was becoming labored, my words too fast, building in volume and intensity with my fright.
“Breathe, Babe. I’ve got you. Not letting you go. Ever.” Bastian held me quietly, making shushing noises to keep me grounded. “During most of your captivity, your arms were bound, your ankles tied together, and you were left bare on a concrete slab. Sound familiar? Fuck, sweetheart, it’s no wonder you added new elements to your nightmares. You hate being powerless.”
That’s my Bas, summing it all up in a nutshell. My greatest fear was helplessness. What could possibly be worse than the inability to fight back?
Jim spoke with both of us, in depth, regarding triggers and coping strategies. I’ll admit, with Jim’s assistance, I felt more in control. I had labels to identify my problems, and a new arsenal of tactics to face the anticipated panic attacks, and depression. I could do this. We, Bas and I together, could do this.
My favorite guards, Frost and Dex (they returned to the house after Bastian joined our conversation), saved us some generous helpings of lasagna. When Jim, Bastian, and I entered through the sliding door, the aroma of Italian sauces and garlic bread immediately started my stomach rumbling. The men reported dirty pans piled high in the sink, I was sure we’d missed out and would be reduced to eating roughage. There’s nothing worse than munching salad in a house smelling of pasta sauce.
From the oven, Dexter pulled out three generous helpings they’d put aside when it was evident the locusts of Wild Horse were bent on consuming every scrap of food in their path. Oh man, it was delicious. Bastian returned to the Cave, and Jim was in Marcia’s room, when David came through the pantry door.
“Hey, Beautiful,” he greeted with old familiarity. I finished rinsing my plate and pulled a bottle of water for each of us, out of the fridge.
“Hi, David. Ready to head upstairs?” Without waiting for an answer, I handed him a water and led the way to the office.
I knew the layout of the room, and chose Bastian’s chair, a comfortable high-backed leather monstrosity more reminiscent of a throne than a mere piece of furniture. David’s was the same style, except Bas removed the adjustable arm rests on his, hating to be boxed in.
The creak of springs told me David had relaxed back into his seat. Let the games begin…
“First, I want to apologize,” he started. “I had no idea of the extent of your injuries until I viewed the video. I wouldn’t have been so careless if I’d realized how badly you’d been hurt. Bastian told me you’d been taken, but it didn’t register what kidnapping really meant. I’ll admit to being self-absorbed in Marcia and Wes’ issues. Until I sat through those recordings and saw how you were treated.” David hesitated, searching for the correct words. “I wish I’d been here for you, but I’m glad you had Bastian. He’s relentless. He would never have stopped looking.”
“David, I understand my being abducted may have seemed surreal until you saw for yourself, which was probably why Bas and Frost were so determined you watch the tapes. I’m also sure, they probably didn’t explain I’d been assaulted. It was a horrible, frightening experience, and I’ll likely be having nightmares for a while as my mind works through the trauma.” A little gem I picked up from Jim. Thanks, Doc.
“Frost also told me you’ve had nightmares, almost nightly, since Carpenter attacked you. Why didn’t you tell me, Teresa? It breaks my heart you kept something so important from me.”
“David, it doesn’t matter that I’ve kept
anything
from you. It’s in the past. Nothing trumps the marriage deception, and I refuse to defend myself to you when our relationship should never have gotten to a point where we slept side by side in a bed every night. Imagine my heartbreak to hear your wife called to inform you that your son was in the hospital. It no longer matters what we were to each other. What matters is what we become. I invited you, Marcia, and Wesley to stay here because we’re friends. I want to retain that part of our relationship.”
“I want another chance, Teresa. I made a mistake—let me fix it. I handled things all wrong, I realize that, but I love you, you love me. We can get back to where we were.”
I was shaking my head, even as I replied, “We can’t go back, David. There’s no magic which erases the lies. And, yes, I love you, but I’m no longer
in
love with you. Love doesn’t simply disappear when we’re disappointed in someone, but it can reshape itself. Love is like a living thing, it can become more, or less, or different altogether. Your perfidy, and Bastian’s steadfast loyalty, have changed my perspective regarding each of you. I love you, David, and I’ll always be your friend, but we are no longer a couple, and we will never be. My future is with Bastian.”
“You don’t know that. You’re not even having sex with him. I know you’ve never had a high opinion of his standards, and you’ve been intimidated by that monster cock of his. We share an intimacy, Teresa, one you’ll never have with Bas.”
“Sadly, even though we have put off making love, Bas and I share more intimacy now than you and I ever did, David. And yes, there is still some apprehension regarding Bastian’s above-average proportions, but that’s not the reason we haven’t had sex. It was important to talk with you first—not because I have doubts about Bas, but because I wanted a clean break with you. I believe Bastian loves me; he has proven it a thousand times over. And, more importantly, I’ve finally seen him for the man he is. Bastian treats me as an equal, David. He respects my opinions.”
“I respect you, Teresa. I’ve always treated you as an equal, I have never been condescending to you,” David defended in a startlingly ugly tone. Again I was surprised by the clarity in how well you can see a person once you discover what’s inside. Eye-catching packaging is only a small portion of attractiveness.
“You disrespected me when you dated me and didn’t disclose you were married, regardless of the nature of your agreement with Marcia. And again, when you presented a ring to me and proposed despite not being free to do so. And again, when you didn’t tell me you had a son, who knows you well enough he’s always referred to you as ‘dad.’ And yet again, when you hid the phone you used to contact this other family on a regular basis.”
“It was stupid, but I didn’t mean any disrespect. I don’t even consider myself married. My intent was not to lie. I only wanted to spare you these details, especially since I would have been free to marry you after the divorce went through,” David protested, obviously not getting the point. Or, maybe willfully ignoring it?
“And how is the divorce working out for you, David?” We’d had almost this same argument before, over the phone. I really didn’t want to rehash it again.
“It’s not my fault she got cancer,” he snapped. “She would have signed the divorce papers otherwise, per our agreement.” I understood a little of his anger and fear. He was a helpless spectator as the life he envisioned slipped away, inch by inch, day by day.
“She’s in love with you, you know. She may have contrived a different excuse to delay things. But,” I cut him off, as he tried to address my observations, “…regardless of what she may or may not have done. Bottom line, David, you were not a free man. You had no right to pursue me without disclosing your status.”
“We’re merely friends,” David dismissed. “I like her, but there’s no relationship. She would have signed the papers.”
“Not the point David. The point is you lied, and I’ve lost faith in you. There can be no intimacy without trust.” Frustrated, I almost growled my exasperation. “We need to get beyond this. I love your son, he’s wonderful. I want to help you with Marcia; the next few months will be so stressful for all of you. But I’m here as your friend only, David. We will
never
be lovers again. I’ve moved on—you need to move on too. Strengthen your personal and professional relationship with Bas, you guys have been friends for years. We need to build a different kind of friendship. Let go, David. I’m not yours. Never was, never will be.”
The leather of David’s chair creaked, a signal he was now standing. Gently, he swung my chair around to face him, while he dropped to his knees, not in supplication, but to place us at eye-level. “I’m sorry for misleading you.” His hand caressed the side of my face, traced the scar on my cheek. My confusion at his intent, kept me motionless as I waited to see what he would do next. “I only ever wanted to love you, and build a life together. I screwed up, and it shreds my heart to have known your love and lost it through carelessness. I love you, Teresa March.” His voice was so broken, I felt answering tears gather in my eyes. “I want the friendship. I want to regain your trust again, and I realize it will take time.”
David leaned forward to place a soft, chaste kiss against my mouth. It was filled with regret, and love. I felt tears spill down my cheeks, and he brushed them away with gentle swipes of his thumbs. David willingly, finally, let me go.
The tears were still falling when Bastian found me in my room, shortly after I hugged David and we parted ways.
“My heart is bruised,” I whispered sadly.
“I’ll kiss it, make it better,” Bas promised, enfolding me in healing arms.
** 21:20, Monday - January 21
st
**
“Why am I so angry, Jim? I’ve been rescued. The bad guys are dead or in jail. I’m relatively safe and unharmed, except for an assortment of bumps and bruises. Yet, I feel this buildup of… I don’t know, rage? I want to lash out and hurt something. Someone. But, not really.” I glanced, unseeing, in his direction, confused by all these contrary emotions. “I’m not a violent person. Things normally roll right over me, then I carry on with my day. I don’t understand why I can’t get past this. I can’t sleep; when I do, I have nightmares. I’m restless and irritable, snapping at everyone for no reason.”
Jim placed a soothing hand over my fist, clenched on the table between us. He gently pried my fingers open, smoothing my hand face down on the tabletop, pressing my palm flat with his own. His simple action seemed to drain some of the tension away.
“First off, it’s only been eight days, barely a week, since you were found. That’s not enough time for your mind to process what happened to you.” He squeezed my hand consolingly. “Secondly, you were kidnapped. This wasn’t someone cutting in front of you in line, or a person stealing your parking spot. Those are things you normally shrug off. You were terrorized: drugged, beaten, and threatened. You were brutally taken from the safety of your home, a place you felt secure and confident. Teresa, you have a right to be furious. At this point, your feelings of vulnerability and rage are appropriate for what you’ve been through. And, lastly, this is not the first time you’ve been a victim of violence. A few months ago, you were attacked in your own kitchen, by someone you’d once trusted enough to sleep with.”
I took a deep breath, weighing his words and relaxing as they made some sense of what I was feeling.
“I’m going to take a wild guess and say you were probably experiencing some insomnia and bad dreams for more than the last few months, maybe since the accident that blinded you?” Jim suggested. “It’s still too early to make an official diagnosis of PTSD, but you’re displaying many of the symptoms.”
“Yeah,” I admitted, quietly, and a little self-conscious. “When I was still in the hospital, I used to wake up in cold sweats most nights, petrified because my eyes were open, but couldn’t see. I’ve had the insomnia for over a year, but only the occasional nightmare after the accident—focused around Janey being injured instead of me. But now, it’s embarrassing, Jim. Instead of making progress, I feel as if I’m losing ground. It seems silly to be so jumpy if I hear a weird sound. I’ve been rechecking locks, even when I’m sure the guys checked them already. You warned me about hyper-vigilance, yet even recognizing it for what it is, I can’t help myself from feeling the paranoia. I can’t relax until I check the doors and locks one more time. Bastian, bless his heart, gets up with me in the middle of the night, when I have an impulse to recheck everything again. I expect him to rant or lose patience, but he patiently takes my hand and walks through the house with me as I rattle doorknobs.” I sighed in frustration, “And then, to make matters worse? I get mad because he’s not angry I’m acting irrationally. How’s that for screwed up logic?”
“David and Bas tell me you’re a straight-forward woman—you don’t need things sugar-coated, so I’ll be frank. This may come as a shock to you, but you’re blind.” I could hear a teasing smile in his voice before he continued more soberly. “I can’t imagine how disorienting this whole series of events has been for you. Some of our team members’ training has involved blindfolds to desensitize soldiers to working in total darkness. Each of those men understands personally how lack of sight compounds the fear and helplessness you must have felt. I can’t name names, of course, but I’ve had quite a few of the men tell me they were very affected by living this experience with you, through the videos. One of the guys told me he cringed every time you took a hit; he remembers being a blindfolded hostage and bracing for blows, not knowing when or how they would come. It was terrifying for him—and he was terrified for you. But no matter how sympathetic their pain, Teresa,
you
are the one who felt each blow. You are the one who fought back, knowing it could bring further punishment. Believe me, your rage is justified.”
The last five days had been horrible. Sometime Wednesday night, something inside me seemed to snap. Feelings of depression, and apathy, warred alternately with cold fury and paranoia. I attempted to push Bastian away, wanting to protect him from this unreasonable crazy woman who inhabited my body, but he pushed back, refusing to leave my side. Challenging me to overcome the mood swings; cuddling me close when the fear or panic took my breath away; teasing me through the depression episodes; training me in ju-jitsu to channel the anger and feel empowered. He was my rock, unflinching in the face of my body’s otherworldly possession by an irrational demon.
“We’re here for you, so pick your sounding boards and express your fury, and guilt, and your feelings of helplessness. We can take whatever you throw at us.” I could feel his determination, but no matter how he tried to turn this into a pep talk, he was also trying to prepare me for a long haul. Crap!
“Bastian and Russ refer to you as a warrior,” Doc continued. “They consider you one of the strongest people they know—man or woman. We have faith you’ll muscle through this.”
Warrior? Really? Red used the term when he was speaking for Bas, but I thought it was meant to be encouraging, not a statement of the image he held of me.
“Warrior is the furthest from what I am. I feel weak and confused, Jim. My actions make no sense to me. You’ve patiently explained PTSD and other similar traumas. You were clear about the symptoms; it aggravates the hell out of me I’ve turned obsessive anyway. I feel controlled by impulses.” I turned my face toward him, and mock-seriously stated, “Just kill me now. It’s only a matter of time before Bastian pushes me in front of a moving train. Let’s save him the trial and the guilt.”
“Teresa, there’s nothing wrong with hyper-vigilance so soon after your abduction. If it makes you feel better to check your locks and windows a dozen times, then do it. Don’t create stress for yourself, laying there imagining the worst. Bastian understands what’s happening and will gladly get up with you a couple times a night if it eases your mind. Be patient; it won’t be long before you’ll start sleeping more than three or four hours at a time, and the urgency to double check your latches will lessen.”
“The poor man hasn’t had a full night’s rest in almost a week, Jim,” I shared, worried.
“Let me point out the obvious,” Jim sighed. “What if this were Sebastian? What if he’d come back from a bad mission and was exhibiting these same symptoms? Would you expect him to sleep on the couch? Would you resent each time he woke you, needing to check home security? Would you be impatient and tell him to ‘get over it already’?”
“Of course not!” I glared toward him, offended, even as I realized what he was trying to illustrate. “I’d be pretty pissed off if he tried to go through this whirlwind of anxiety alone.”
“Mm hum. My point, exactly,” Jim confirmed. “Don’t be so hard on yourself. And, don’t deny Sebastian this opportunity to be needed. You’re independent, and won’t allow him many chances to take care of you. He not only wants to be there, he needs to be—the same as you’d need to be there for him if the tables were turned. In sickness, and in health, Teresa.”
Yeah, we weren’t married, so the vows didn’t technically apply. But, he had successfully made his argument. Bastian and I were in this relationship for the long haul, including the good times and the bad. I’d insist on being there to support him. Could I be so selfish to deny him the opportunity to lend his strength to me?
I sighed in defeat, fairly certain the score was Teresa: 0, Annoying Shrink: 1001. Not that I’m counting.
“I’m glad you’re here, Jim. I’ve never been a believer in professional analysis—seemed like a lot of wasted money to talk to someone and have them ‘Mm hum’ back at you. But even as informal as we’ve been, the talking has helped me work through a lot of my confusion. Thank you,” I said earnestly.
“My job is done,” Jim replied with a touch of smugness. “I’m glad to be here, Teresa. It was a good call on Russ’ part to bring me up here, not only for you, Marcia, and Wesley, but also for the benefit of a few of the men, who were incidentally impacted by the kidnapping.”
Yes, there is such a thing as doctor-patient confidentiality, but it’s impossible to keep secrets in this house of twenty-plus people. We were a close-knit group, all the stronger for the intense, shared experiences between us. As a medical doctor, Jim could follow the progression of Marcia’s cancer, and monitor Wes’ recent skull fracture and broken arm, as well as seeing to their mental health, and mine. I know Bas has taken a walk or two in the woods with the doc, coming back more relaxed. Although he tried to give me space, a few of my sessions had turned into couples counseling when Bas asked to join in.
Out of curiosity, I asked, “And who do
you
talk to, Jim? Does a therapist therap-alyze himself? Or do you have a family member you talk to?”
“Therap-alyze? I’ll have to remember that,” Jim chuckled. “I have a colleague who meets me for coffee a few times per month when I’m in town. She and I discuss cases, as well as our own personal challenges. Everyone needs someone who’ll listen without judgment, offering helpful suggestions, rather than criticism—even me.”
“Especially you, Jim,” I guessed. “It must be draining to listen to all our emotional baggage. A couple times a week, while you’re here, we’ll have to take walks with Red. I’ll translate for you. There is nothing more light-hearted than the unfiltered, happy observations of fifteen-month old puppy. Red is smart, and above average for a dog, but he’s still a dog. It’s a wonderful thing to see the world through his eyes. Literally and figuratively,” I added with a smile, once I realized what I’d said.
****************
** 08:35, Thursday - Jan 24
th
**
“… and then Ralph told Double D, he needed to keep his pecker in his pants or it would fall off.”
Jim and I were bent over in hysterics at Red’s latest gossip. He’d been going non-stop since we invited him along for a walk this morning.
“It wouldn’t really fall off, would it, Teresa?”
I will have to remind Russ, again, to caution the guys to be careful what they say around Red. The dog really
does
repeat everything.
“No,” I answered, after sharing the latest tidbit with the doc, “penises don’t fall off from too much sex.”
“Well, good to know. I may find a nice bitch and want to settle down and have puppies one day. If there’s a pecker expiration period, I’d need to know that,”
my dog replied in all seriousness.
“Oh, and did you know Wes gets his cast off in 10 days? He’s glad to have it off in time for his birthday, because he wants to play laser tag, and the cast is on his gun arm. My boy will be ten years old on February 10
th
.”
“Are you taking Wesley’s cast off, Jim? Red says it will be soon.”
Before Jim could answer, Red informed me,
“No, Brain said he can do it with a dumb-hell tool.”
“Oh no, he won’t,” I stated, and clarified, “A medical doctor will remove his cast, not a software engineer with a Dremel.” To the real doctor, I tattled Brain’s intentions, and was assured the cast removal conspiracy would be nipped in the bud.
Maybe I wouldn’t remind Russ about gossip in front of Red. His reconnaissance was proving to be enlightening.
“David is finally talking to Bas again,”
my dog informed me, in a complete change of subject.
“They’ve been talking for the last week, Red.”
“They were talking at each other before. Now they are com-mun-i-cating,”
he enunciated.
“Their body language is more relaxed, and David’s smile is real now, instead of gritting his teeth.”
Red paused before asking,
“People aren’t so dumb as to believe those are real smiles, are they?”
“It depends on how aware people are. You already know, some people can’t read body language very well. Sometimes, people find it easier to pretend it’s a real smile. It’s kinda complicated, Red. But I’m glad David and Bastian are trying to be friends again.”
Picking up the change of topic, Jim concurred, “I’ve noticed their smiles are natural now, too. The two are getting along better.”
