Broken: The MISTAKEN Series Complete Second Season (28 page)

Ryan let out a sigh. “I should get out of here.” He motioned with his head toward the bathroom door. “Your ‘job’ is already taken care of for you in there. You’re welcome.” He gave me a tight-lipped smile. “She’s a goddamned nut case on a good day, so no one will even suspect it was anything but a suicide.” He looked up at me again, setting his jaw, the smile now gone from his face. “But you aren’t getting the kid. You’ll have to deal with the fallout from that…” He worked his jaw for a moment before he stood up, pulling the boy up to rest over his shoulder. “And Brandon, my offer is open and always will be. You need to come back to work with us. Just think about it. Think about the ramifications of working for the Davis family. It never ends well for anyone. And for the love of Christ…” He paused once more—this time, I was sure it was only for dramatic effect. “Stay the hell away from Jenna Davis. Being with her is a catastrophe waiting to happen.”

I
wasn’t
as fucked as I had thought.

Ryan flipped off the light switch and closed the door behind him. I took a seat on the couch behind the small room divider, resting my head in my hands, almost glad the only light in the room was the sliver that shone from the barely-open bathroom door. I breathed a long sigh as relief washed over me—I didn’t have to do the worst part of the job. I wouldn’t be able to deliver the kid, but the job itself was done—and I wasn’t the one who did it. I just had to get out of there. I felt more than a little guilty that a woman was dead—I was just relieved that
I
hadn’t been the one to take her life.

I looked over and saw the window was open. Ryan must have come through it, or maybe Amanda left it open. Leaving through the window was definitely the right plan. I didn’t want to face Robin—I didn’t want to face anyone. And I needed to leave before someone found the body. I damn well wasn’t going to go make sure it was really done—Ryan and I had a bond, and I knew he wouldn’t lie to me. If he said it was done—I knew it was. I just needed to get the hell out of this room without raising any suspicions or calling any attention to me.

I sat there for a moment, trying to calm myself down—trying to get my racing heart to slow just a bit. I took another deep breath, and stood up just as the door opened again and the light switched on.

I froze, my pulse racing again in my chest. Whoever had come in was going to find out. I knew that. And I was there at the scene of the crime. And fuck, I hadn’t even been the one who
did
the crime…

My chest tightened when I heard a crunch, and I remembered the glasses that had fallen off the kid’s face when Ryan pulled him onto his lap. I stood frozen at the edge of that room divider, sure that whoever it was that came around that corner was going to lose their life the same way Amanda had—sure that they were going to die at my hands. I didn’t know exactly what they would find behind the door, but I could only imagine what the scene would look like. And I didn’t want to be there when they found out. But if they walked in there and called more people in—I was a dead man for sure.

My brain was firing on all cylinders, almost too quickly to form a rational thought. I wasn’t even sure if I could do it—actually kill someone—but if I could take them by surprise, I thought it might not be too hard to snap their neck … I would do it if I had to—to protect myself, which was really to ultimately protect Jen.

I waited for the person to come into view—waited for what seemed like years as their pace slowed and they hesitated to pass by where I stood hidden behind that divider.

My chest lurched as she came into view and I saw her swing the door open. I knew who it was before it even truly registered in my brain, and I couldn’t believe I had even had a fleeting thought of killing the woman I was there to protect.

My hands were shaking, and I knew she was going to scream. I covered her mouth with my hand and felt her entire body quivering. Instinctively, protectively, I covered her eyes, not wanting her to see what was behind the door, though I was pretty sure she already had. She had opened the door and I could see Amanda’s body hanging by her neck.

I dipped my head and whispered into her ear, hoping my voice would calm her even the slightest bit. “Jen, we need to get out of here.”

My hand was wet with her tears and I could feel my own beginning to well in my eyes, knowing what she must be thinking of me. Knowing she must think that I was responsible for this. Knowing that if Ryan hadn’t done the job
I
was supposed to do, I
would have
been responsible.

I turned our bodies around and let go of her eyes, freeing my hand. I covered my hand with my shirt sleeve before pulling the knob to close the bathroom door. I wrapped my arm around her waist and pulled her into me, my other hand still holding her mouth. I bent down to whisper to her again. “Don’t. Scream.”

She nodded and I released my tear-soaked hand from her mouth.

She turned to face me, looking up into my eyes. What I could read in her gaze almost made my knees buckle under me. Horror. Fear. Disgust. She looked at me as though she was facing a monster, her entire body shaking almost uncontrollably.

I motioned to the window, thinking that would be the best escape route. If anyone saw the two of us leaving the room, it might raise suspicions, and I couldn’t have that. “We need to go.”

Her gaze was fixed on mine with her mouth slightly open. She nodded again, but her body didn’t move and she didn’t make a sound.

My heart was cracking open in my chest seeing the tears stream down her face, but we didn’t have time for me to console her, as much as I might have wanted to. I took her hand in mine and pulled her to the window.

I thought she was close to being catatonic, her movements almost wooden as I helped her through the open window. I climbed through after her, thankful that the room was on the ground floor and that we didn’t have too far to drop to reach the ground. I pulled my sleeves over my hands and closed the window, careful not to leave any fingerprints. If I had learned anything in my years of working with Ryan, it was to never leave a trace of the fact that I had been anywhere near the scene of a crime.

Jen stood in the bark-filled flower bed, motionless, her glassy gaze fixed in front of her on what seemed like nothing in particular. I knew she’d had problems in the past—knew she had once attempted suicide. I prayed that my actions that evening hadn’t sent her over the edge once again. She wasn’t that woman anymore—the woman who had been so devastated by the loss of her fiancé that she felt like she didn’t deserve to live. Even if she couldn’t forgive me for this—I knew she wasn’t that woman anymore. She was strong—she could deal with this. Make it through. She didn’t understand what was going on, and I didn’t have time at that moment to explain it to her—I just knew we needed to get as far away from that house as possible. It could all be explained later.

“Jen, do you have that bag that I asked you to pack?”

She didn’t even flinch, her eyes not moving from whatever it was she was staring at across the large back yard.

“Jen, the bag? Did you pack it? Did you put it in your car?”

Nothing but silence.

Shit. We didn’t have time for this. It was all happening faster than I had planned and I wasn’t prepared. We’d have to go now, with or without her stuff. She wouldn’t die without her fancy hair stuff—I knew that—I just wanted it to be as comfortable as possible for her. It was going to be so hard to explain, but everything was for her. To keep her safe.

I pulled on her arm and she came with me willingly. I led her around the house to the driveway that was packed with cars. The party was still going in full force with people now spilling onto the front lawn. No one seemed to notice us, and I didn’t recognize anyone in particular as I led her down the sidewalk to where I had parked.

We walked in silence. I held her wrist—her hand didn’t seem to want to hold onto mine, and I knew if I wasn’t pulling her forward, she wouldn’t be moving at all. Her gaze was still fixed in front of her—definitely catatonic. She would snap out of it—I was sure—and I knew when she did, there was going to be hell to pay. It was going to take the entire trip to wherever we decided to go to get her to understand, but by the time we arrived, she would understand. She would see that everything I had done was all for her. We just needed to get out of there. Out of the country.

We finally arrived at my car and I opened the passenger door. I wasn’t even sure how I was going to get her to sit down—she was so stiff.

Before I could ask her to get in—before I could say anything—her gaze finally met mine, her mouth closing. And before I knew what was happening, her arm pulled back.

My head spun to the side after she slapped me as hard as I had ever been hit, the sound crashing in my ear and the pain burning through my cheek.

I watched her turn on her heel and begin to almost run down the sidewalk.

E
ighteen Months
Earlier - Jenna

I
woke
up in my childhood bed, unsure of how I had come to be there. My room was exactly the same as it had always been—the four-poster bed on one side of the room with a little sitting area, complete with a baby grand piano on the other. My room was on the opposite side of the house as my parents’—my mother had always said my “banging” on the piano gave her a headache, so the farther away I was from her when I practiced, the better. It was only on special occasions—and the frequent occasions when she wasn’t there—that I was allowed to play on the full-size grand piano in the main living room. I knew she didn’t understand why I loved to play on that piano—she didn’t understand much about me, anyway. But the sound it made when I played was so much better than playing on anything else…

But I wasn’t back in Virginia to play the piano. The memory of exactly
why
I was there came flooding back to me and the tears began streaming down my face again. My eyes were so swollen from crying that I couldn’t really believe any more tears could actually flow from them. I must have already cried an ocean—my lips were so parched from dehydration that it was a good thing that I was pretty sure I would never smile again or they would have cracked into bits.

Daniel was dead. And even though the weather had sucked that night, even though the streets were icy with freezing rain—it wasn’t an accident. That was one of the first things they had said. The police looked through our house for a note—for any indication that he had been planning to commit suicide. They had looked through his office, his campaign bus…

There was nothing. They had spoken to me several times in the past few days, but I had very little memory of any of the actual conversations, other than my telling them I thought it was my fault. If I hadn’t been such a bitch … if I hadn’t tried to be the one with the control … none of this would have happened. He had to have found out about San Francisco—about my auditions and my offer to go to school there. He had to have found out I was leaving. It was the only explanation that made any sense. Daniel hadn’t been depressed. The only explanation that was even possible was that he had found out what I had done—that I had gone behind his back and was planning to leave him.

My father must have brought me back here yesterday after the latest round of questioning by the Baltimore police. I knew he thought it was better for me to be away from the memories—away from the home Daniel and I had shared for the past year. But being back here wasn’t all that great, either. There were plenty of bad memories here, too.

I stood up and pulled a pair of pajama pants from the dresser drawer, putting them on. I didn’t remember getting undressed last night—didn’t remember coming here at all—but I knew I must have been the one who dressed myself. There was no way either of my parents would have allowed me to sleep in my yellow Hoyas t-shirt, but that was what I was wearing.

I sat on the edge of my bed, wondering what I was supposed to do now. How I was supposed to pull myself together to face this. I didn’t even know what was supposed to happen next or what was really happening at all. Just thinking about any of it made the tears start to flow again, and I was sure that I would never be able to stop crying. I would never be able to forgive myself for pushing a man to take his own life, no matter how I had felt about him in the days leading up to the accident.

I was a horrible person. I might as well have murdered him myself—I was that horrible. Selfish and horrible.

I heard a knock on the door and assumed it would be one of the household staff there to bring me breakfast. I thought it was breakfast-time, though I wasn’t really sure what time it was. I wasn’t hungry, anyway, but I knew my parents would insist that I eat.

I walked over to the door and opened it to find a man standing there who I didn’t recognize. He wore a suit with no tie, the top button of his dress shirt undone. He was dressed too casually to be one of my father’s people—I automatically figured he was another police officer. A detective, maybe. I didn’t even bother forcing a smile. “Yes?”

He
was
able to force a smile. I could tell it was phony—almost as good as the one my mother was so good at producing. “Jenna? Can I come in?”

My brow furrowed. I was dressed in nothing but a skimpy t-shirt and pajama pants, and a man I didn’t know really wanted in my room? There was something off about him, but I didn’t know what it was. “Uh, no.”

He smiled again and extended his hand. “I guess I should have introduced myself. I’m Dr. Johnson. Your parents asked me to come talk to you about what’s been going on.”

It took me a few moments to realize exactly what was happening—my parents had sent me a shrink. I stepped to the side to allow him through the door, closing it behind him. I had been seeing psychiatrists off and on since I was eleven—my father said it helped me with my piano performances. I didn’t know if it helped with that or not—I only knew that I had never found any of them particularly helpful for
anything
.

He motioned for me to sit down and I took a seat in one of the chairs. He sat across from me, still smiling broadly.

He was starting to creep me out. “What is this about?”

He clasped his hands in his lap and tilted his head. “Your parents wanted me to evaluate you. They want to make this as easy of a transition for you as possible.”

Transition?
“From what to what?”

The phony grin finally fell from his face. “How are you feeling about what’s happened?”

Was he serious? What the hell kind of shrink asks that of someone three days after their fiancé died? “Like shit. How else would I feel?”

He chuckled and leaned back in the chair. “Are you able to cry?”

I could tell just by the way my face felt that my eyes were almost swollen shut. I didn’t need to look in a mirror to confirm that I must look like hell—
of course I was crying
. “Are you blind?”

His eyes narrowed just a bit, and it almost looked like he was
amused
. He was fucking amused by my sorrow. “Are you going to answer all my questions tonight with other questions?”

Tonight?
I must have lost a lot more time than I thought I had—I had been sure it was morning. “That depends. Are you going to keep asking me stupid questions?”

He chuckled again and tilted his head. “Let’s try something else. Tell me about Daniel.”

I leaned back into my chair, my shoulders dropping as I let out a long sigh. “What about him?”

“You’re still doing it—answering with questions. Just say whatever comes to mind.”

“Why did my parents send you here?”

He shook his head. “That’s another question, Jenna. How about you answer what I’m asking, then when we’re done, you can ask me whatever you like. Sound like a plan?”

It sounds like you’re an asshole
. I hated psychiatrists and the way they always seemed to be so damned condescending with me. I knew there was nothing I could do, though. If my parents wanted him here, I knew I wasn’t going to get out of talking to him. “Fine.”

He nodded. “Good.” He leaned back again. “So, tell me about your fiancé.”

“What about him?”

He breathed out a long sigh. “Jenna, I need to evaluate how you’re dealing with your grief. I understand that you’re hurting, but I’m here to help you, not to do battle with you…”

I shook my head. Only
I
could get into trouble with a psychiatrist. I wasn’t trying to purposely be evasive, I just didn’t know what to say. I didn’t know what he wanted to hear, and I didn’t know for sure what I was feeling at all. I only knew that it seemed impossible for me to cry any more, but every time he said the word “Daniel” I could feel the tears welling behind my eyes.

“It’s my understanding that you don’t have many people you feel you can trust…”

“And who said that? And I’m supposed to just trust
you
? You walk into my bedroom—I’ve never seen you before in my life, and you just walk in and I’m supposed to just trust you?” I shook my head, willing the tears to stay in my eyes. “What the hell kind of psychiatrist are you? Don’t you need to establish some kind of relationship with me before I just pour my heart out to you?”

His eyes narrowed with concern. “Normally, Jenna, yes. I would spend weeks building a rapport with you. But your parents are concerned that you aren’t dealing effectively with your grief. This is more of a crisis intervention than me trying to establish a therapeutic relationship with you. Do you think you’re dealing with your grief effectively?”

“What the hell does that mean?” I didn’t feel so much shock and despair anymore. The fact that this person—whoever he was—was trying to pry into my personal life and into my feelings was pissing me off. “What do you want me to tell you?”

He didn’t speak for a long moment, probably trying to allow me a moment myself to calm down. When he finally spoke, his voice was calm, not demeaning anymore—just calm. “Jenna, is it fair to say that this event was shocking?”

Um, duh
. I set my jaw. “Yes, doctor. That would be fair to say.” I felt like I was on trial—his questions were just that ridiculous.

“And what about the event makes it shocking?”

I took a deep breath. I was not going to let him see me cry. “Why should I trust you? How do I know you aren’t an intern in my father’s office? How do I know you won’t go report everything I say to him?” Because that was my concern, really. Not that he wasn’t really a psychiatrist—it was pretty obvious from his demeanor that he
was
. I was more concerned—convinced, even—that he was recording the session, preparing my statements to be delivered to my father.

He didn’t even flinch. “I take my job seriously and I abide by the rules of doctor-patient confidentiality. Anything you say to me doesn’t leave this room.”

I looked in his eyes, trying to see if there was even a hint of a lie in them. He was either telling the truth or he was a very good liar. “Fine.”

He nodded. “Can you tell me what it was about what happened that you found most shocking?”

I shook my head, feeling the tears coming back to my eyes. I may not have had any type of trusting relationship with this man, but he was right about one thing—I didn’t have anyone to talk to. I had tried to phone Mel, but she was busy with her new job at her dad’s office and couldn’t talk. She had never even liked Daniel, anyway, so I knew I wouldn’t get the support I was in desperate need of from her. “I didn’t think he knew.”

He nodded again, touching his chin. “What didn’t he know about?”

I let out a shaky sigh, trying once again to hold back the tears that were threatening to flow. “That I was leaving.”

“You were leaving?”

I nodded. “Four months ago, I told him I was staying after school to work on a project. But I wasn’t. I booked a recording studio and I spent almost all night there recording different pieces.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Pieces?”

I motioned with my head toward the piano. “I hadn’t played seriously in a few years. Nothing sounded right when I went in to record my audition pieces. I recorded every piece I knew and I chose the best ones to send in.”

He nodded again, just like the good little psychiatrist he was trying to get me to believe he was. “Send in?”

“I sent audition recordings to four schools. For master’s programs.”

“For the piano.” He motioned with this head toward the baby grand next to us, not really asking, just restating. “How long have you played?”

I shrugged. “For as long as I can remember. Twenty years or so.” I fixed my gaze on the wall behind him, sure if I made eye contact, I would start sobbing again. “Two of the schools asked me to come in to audition in front of their admissions committee. I told Daniel I was going to New York for the day to go shopping when I flew to Cleveland. I told him I was going to visit Melissa for the weekend when I flew to San Francisco.”

He nodded again. “So you were planning to go to music school, and Daniel didn’t know. What were you planning to do if you got in?”

I felt a tear slide down my cheek, then another and another. Before I knew it, I had my knees pulled up to my chest and was sobbing into my lap. This was my fault. I had lied to Daniel and he had found out. I didn’t know why he didn’t feel like he couldn’t talk to me about it—why he felt like he needed to wrap his car around a tree instead—but I knew that what he had done, he had done because of me. Because I was a selfish liar who didn’t deserve to be loved.

I sobbed into my lap for a long time—probably too long. But the doctor just sat there with me, not interrupting and not saying a word, even in condolence. When the waves of grief abated, I looked up. He was still watching me in silence. It was weird and almost a little creepy that he just sat there and watched me cry my heart out without saying anything.

“Which did you choose?”

I sniffled a little. “What?”

“Which school are you going to? Cleveland or San Francisco?”

I could feel the tears welling again and I couldn’t believe that there could actually be any more to cry. I somehow managed to force down the lump that had formed in my throat, willing away the new tears—at least for the moment. “When I went to San Francisco, I felt like I belonged there. It felt like I was meant to be there—that there was something there for me. I’d never felt anything like it. And it wasn’t just the school—it was
everything
. Melissa was there, but it was more than that. The people, the smell of the salt water in the air. It felt right. It was the first time anything felt
right
.”

He nodded and stood up, walking over to give my shoulder a pat. “I’m very sorry for your loss, Jenna. I do think you would benefit from talking with someone—probably frequently for the next few weeks—but I think you are processing your grief appropriately. I don’t think you need any medication right now.”

I looked up at him, almost incredulous. “
That’s
what this was about? My parents thought I needed medication?”