Never Have I Ever (49 page)

“How unfortunate.”
It was not the tone of a man shocked to hear such news.

Howard let the remote fall from his grasp and into the gap between himself and the arm of the couch. “Noah…” He stood up and stared at him. “Where were you, exactly?”

“Just went for a walk, Howard.”

After a long moment he replied knowingly, “You reek of gasoline.”

“Best take a shower then.”

He nodded once, slowly, and with a strange mix of mortification and understanding. “Yes. Best you do.”

Imagining Noah dousing the inside of Ethan’s
Bel
Air estate with gasoline and setting it on fire struck a very specific sort of chord in me. Nobody had ever gone that far for me before. Ethan deserved nothing less after what he threatened me with. I’d even say the punishment fit the crime to the letter. The place where he kept and tortured me was gone, and hopefully the hint that he ought to never consider doing it again—to me or anyone else—was received. At the same time it frightened me Noah was capable of arson. Any evidence of my being at Ethan’s house at all was now wiped clean. Apart from the photos of my injuries and my word there was little else to convict him if it got that far; if I decided to take it that far.

Noah, how could you be so stupid!

I flung the door open and stepped into the low light of the den. “Noah, wait.”

He stopped mid-stride on the way to the bathroom to look back at me. I was somewhat pleased he acted as if nothing at all had changed in my appearance. I watched him study my face as I studied his. He didn’t appear as shocked or appalled as I expected.

Finally I broke the silence. “Was anybody hurt?”

Noah slipped his hand into his pocket as he approached me. He stopped almost too close for comfort and I started to backtrack into the haven of the guest room. His boldness, though, and sudden casualness prevented me from backing in the whole way. He took my hand in his, softer than he had ever touched me before. My fingers practically floated atop his. The heavy contents of his palm were emptied into mine.

“Not a soul.”

I felt the restraint he struggled to maintain at the same moment the full-bodied aroma of gasoline flooded my senses. He released my hand and disappeared into the bathroom.

The reporter on the scene confirmed Noah’s claim as the door clicked shut. “Miraculously, nobody was in the house when the blaze started. The owner of the home left on business mere hours before, and all staff had been sent away on leave at the beginning of the weekend.”

My breath caught in my throat when my fingers uncurled to find the tattered remains of my collar staring up at me.

***

“I knew he was mad. I guess I just didn’t expect him to go that far.”

I stared at the mangled weave of chain-link in my hands, fingers idly taking in the coolness of the metal that graced my neck for less than a day before it was forcibly removed. Charlie sat beside me on the bed. Even though the doors from both the bathroom and the den remained unlocked, neither Noah nor Howard let themselves in at any point. They allowed me to have my space and talk with Charlie as if we’d been long-time friends.

“It was my fault,” she said.
“Has to be.”

I shot her an incredulous glance. “In what way was any of that your fault?”

Charlie sighed and timidly tucked a piece of hair behind her ear before she looked up at me again. “Noah asked me to show him the pictures before I went to bed. I warned him, but he insisted. So I did.”

“What did he say?” I asked at length.

“It’s not so much what he said as it is what he did. The photos hit him pretty hard. He excused himself to the back garden for some air, and proceeded to get sick.”

That explained why he wasn’t full of shock and horror earlier that morning after I came out of the room. He’d already had his own form of freak-out. Noah’s adequate and rather expected revulsion to the images still hurt. The wounds must have been as ugly as they felt.

When I didn’t respond Charlie made an effort to justify it. “He hates himself for what’s happened. I suppose that’s why he decided to get even with Ethan.”

I shrugged, unsure of exactly how I was supposed to react.
“Maybe.”

She nudged my arm. “For what it’s worth I’d be flattered if someone burned down a house for my honor.”

“It’s not about honor. Well, it is. But it’s not. If—no, not if, when. When the cops figure out it was arson there will be an investigation. I’ll have to tell them what Ethan did if it leads here.”

“And, if there’s any justice in the world, they’ll give Noah a metal for only committing arson and not out-right murdering him.”

I admired her optimism. “If only.”

“If the cops come snooping around we’ll give Noah an alibi. I’m not above lying to the police for you both, especially when Ethan deserved it.”

“Thank you, Charlie. Do you know if he happened to get in touch with Anya or Declan about stopping by my place?”

She nodded. “Anya’s going over today to take care of your cat. She also wanted to come over here and see if she could offer her services, whatever that means.”

A little knot of uncertainty tightened in my stomach. Of course Anya offered her services. Such was her profession and practically ingrained in her blood. I clarified it for Charlie. “It means she wants to play therapist.”

“May not be a bad idea. While I’m happy to be an ear for you, I’m not exactly proficiently qualified for this sort of thing. My talents stop at listening. There’s no advice I can give you that’d be worth a damn.”

“You’ve done more than you know.”

She plucked a pen from the nightstand and pulled a notepad out of the drawer. As she handed them to me she said, “Write down Anya’s number. I’ll give her a call.”

***

Anya arrived two days later with Declan in tow. My plan to not see anyone for the duration of my recovery appeared to be thwarted at every turn. They meant well, that much was true. While Anya came up to see me, Declan busied Noah downstairs. Anya smiled at me the way she always did as if nothing about me had changed.

“Hey lady, I come bearing supplies,” she said as she shut the door behind her.

She dropped a duffle bag on the bed beside me and started sifting through its contents. Fresh underwear and lightweight shirts from my wardrobe were among the much-welcomed contents. So was my laptop. At least I could contact Dr. Fairbanks and inform him I wasn’t dead. This wasn’t exactly what I pictured my first week as a Team Lead being like. Anya also pulled out the comfort food to end all comfort foods for anyone of the female persuasion: chocolate.
Lindt
milk chocolate to be precise.
My Anya knew me well.

“You’re a savior, Anya.”

She gave a little theatrical shrug complete with faux modesty. “I do what I can. You look better than I thought. How are you holding up?”

“About as well as you’d expect.”

“Fair enough,” she said with a terse nod. She climbed up on the bed and sat with her legs folded up under her beside me. “What’s your plan of action?”

I gave a melancholy laugh.
“Apart from licking my wounds and trying to sort my life out?”

“I’ll clarify: What are we going to do about Ethan?”

“For a psychologist you sure don’t beat around the bush. Do you normally just dive right in?”

“You’re smart enough to see through my thinly veiled bullshit so I figured I wouldn’t patronize you with it. I save that for the kids.”

“The lack of bullshit is appreciated.” I sort of smiled and tried to find a comfortable position in which to sit. I finally settled for Indian style with my arms wrapped around a fluffy pillow in my lap before I added, “I just want to put it behind me. Is that so much to ask?”

“Not at all.
But you know putting it behind you includes, but is not limited to, confronting the person who did this to you and letting them see their feeble attempt at destroying you failed miserably.”

“How much do you know?”

“Not as much as I should if you want to begin the healing process right.”

“How much psychobabble would you give me if I told you I didn’t want to talk about it?”

Anya leaned back on her hands and took a moment to consider.
“None.
To be honest I’m far too close to you to handle your case professionally. I’m here as your friend, not as a therapist. Check the front pocket of the duffle.”

I reached over to unzip the pocket. Inside was a folded slip of paper from a small notepad which contained a list of five names and phone numbers. “What’s this?”

“Five people in my line of work I would trust with my life. One’s a psychiatrist and not a psychologist, but I don’t hold that against her. My hope, dearest nerd, is that you might see fit to trust one of them too.”

I stared at the paper a while longer. “I can’t even talk to my friends about this. What makes you think I’ll open up to a stranger?”

“They never knew you before this so you don’t have to fear them treating you any differently because of it. They won’t tiptoe around you either.”

I always hated therapists, psychologists, shrinks, or whatever the preferred nomenclature-of-the-day happened to be for the people who got into your head and fucked with it. I had enough of those sorts after my mother died. “Trust them with your life, huh?”

Anya brimmed with certainty.
“Without reservation and to the ends of the Earth.”

I folded the paper up and returned it to the pocket. “I’ll think about it.”

She smiled as if she had just won a massive victory. “
Which is all I ask.
Now that that’s out of the way I can focus on doing the friend thing. What’ll it be,” she lunged for the duffle once more and dug to the bottom of it where she retrieved my apparent two options in DVD box set format.
“Babylon 5 or Deep Space 9?”

For the first time in three days I broke out into an unabashed laugh. It hurt to laugh. Anya hated most science fiction for reasons which eluded me. Yet there she was, offering up two of my favorites as welcomed distraction. The pain of laughing was worth it.

The two of us spent the next several hours commandeering the den just outside my room, engrossed in DS9 and all the pitfalls and thrills of the practical application of science fiction in general. Anya had shuffled the boys out of the house so they would both stop pacing at the base of the stairs while we got lost in another universe where the only threats came in the form of epic space battles and shaky politics with alien cultures. In those hours I forgot the pain of the past few days long enough to point out the flaws in logic and my wish to be alive when certain, more attainable, technology came into existence.

I fell asleep on the sofa somewhere in the middle of an episode where a particular omnipotent pain in the ass made his first appearance. I slept more often than not now; a combination of my body’s attempts to heal and the pain killers I received, which always found a way to knock me out in the best way possible despite its mediocre ability to actually kill the pain. Thank Christ for modern medicine. When I woke up the main menu of the DVD was looping and the clock on the cable box said 8:27pm. Anya was nowhere in the den. I had a mini panic attack until I heard the kitchen sink running and the dishwasher starting up. It muffled a newly arising conversation downstairs.

At first I felt it might be safer to just go to bed. Hearing my name, however, piqued my curiosity enough to brave the steps for the first time in days.

“We went over to
Sunny’s
for some shots,” Declan was explaining to someone. “Lot of good it did, though. I’m still sober. You still sober?”

“I’m still sober,” Noah confirmed.

“They’re notorious for their light-handed pours,” Howard said. As I reached the bottom of the stairs I watched him settle at the head of the recently cleaned dining room table. Charlie brought him a fresh glass of what looked like brandy.

“Don’t worry, I thought about you today when I went shopping,” Charlie teased. She went for the fridge and procured a pint of Guinness from the door.

“Saint Charlotte to the rescue,” Noah replied after the handoff.

Declan shook his head and sighed. “I imagine this is just as hard on you as it is on her, man.”

“No doubt,” said Anya. She was sitting at the kitchen table as well.

I stopped near the bottom of the stairs in the darkness of the entry way, mostly out of sight.

Declan folded his arms across his chest. “Here’s a thought: let me alphabetize his organs with the bowie knife in my truck.”

“Thought’s crossed my mind,” seconded Noah as he cracked the beer can.

Anya rolled her eyes. “You don’t even know the names of all the organs in the human body.”

“So it’ll take longer,” encouraged Declan. “More fun for me.”

“Can we do something involving a little less bloodshed?”

“All right, killer of buzzes, if she won’t go to the police then we’ll bring the police to her.”