Wicked Burn(48)
Author: Beth Kery

“Mr. Savian,” Alexis said with a cool nod. “I’m afraid I need to speak with my daughter privately.”

“Mom . . .” Niall interrupted, obviously uncomfortable with her mother’s brusque dismissal.

“It’s okay, Niall,” Vic said quietly. He crossed his arms under his chest and met Alexis Chandler’s stare calmly. He didn’t want to make things difficult for Niall, but he didn’t care for her mother’s bitchy attitude, nor did he appreciate the way her presence made Niall’s face rigid with anxiety. He wasn’t going to throw Niall to the sharks so easily this time.

“Your mother hasn’t been caught up on things. She just doesn’t realize that whatever she needs to say, she can say in front of me.”

Alexis’s eyebrows rose slightly in surprise at his challenge. Her glittering blue eyes moved over him rapidly, as though she was taking his measure.

“Is that true, Niall?” Alexis asked. Vic cringed inwardly when he saw Niall’s face. It looked like it’d been bleached. Even her lips were tinged with white. He opened his mouth to apologize then and there for his cockiness. It obviously wasn’t helping Niall any—

“If it’s true that you want this man to hear about what’s happened with Stephen, then I’ll respect your wishes,” Alexis Chandler continued.

“Who’s Stephen?” Vic asked.

Alexis Chandler laughed shortly. “Niall’s husband, of course.”

Vic squinted at the woman who stood just feet away from him, as though he couldn’t quite bring her into focus.

“Niall’s husband,” he repeated flatly. He glanced over at Niall, a grin of disbelief starting to curve his lips.

His smile was aborted when he met Niall’s eyes.

“I was . . . I was going to tell you . . .” she whispered.

He felt as if he hadn’t quite heard her because of the strange noise in his ears like rapidly rushing air. “You were going to tell me what?”

He saw her throat convulse with difficulty as she swallowed. “About Stephen,” she tried to continue in a choked voice.

“He’s been very ill,” Alexis stated bluntly. “That’s why I came by tonight. I got a call from Evergreen Park just an hour ago. Get your things quickly, Niall.” Alexis’s brilliant smile at her daughter pierced the daze of Vic’s shock. “It’s nothing less than a miracle. Your husband has recovered, darling. And he’s asking for you.”

Vic put up both his hands at once before he pointed at Alexis Chandler. “Can you be quiet for a second, please?” He focused on Niall. “What the hell is she talking about?” he demanded. Surely Alexis Chandler was batty or something. Niall couldn’t be married.

She would have told him. He knew she would have. That wasn’t something you just forgot to mention when you were in a relationship with someone.

Unless you were purposefully trying to keep it secret, of course . . .

He noticed that Niall seemed to be searching his face for answers just as desperately as he sought them in hers.

“You can’t be married,” Vic declared in a harsh voice.

Niall’s expression sagged. Her posture wilted, as well. She lowered her gaze from his. The gesture was silent, of course, but Vic felt like a door had just been resoundingly slammed shut in his face.

“I am,” she said blankly. “Let me get my purse and coat, Mom, and I’ll be ready to go see Stephen.”

THIRTEEN

Niall stared at the fake Christmas tree in the large, airy day room. A Christmas tree that was still up during the third week of January was always a bit depressing, but combined with the fact that this particular one was in a mental institution, the sight turned downright gloomy. All of the ornaments were made of paper, of course, no sharp edges that could be put to a harmful use. Niall actually recognized some of the ornaments from the two previous Christmases that she’d sat in this room . . . and that only added to her sense of gloom.

The day room might have been more aptly a day arena, as wide open and large as it was. Evergreen Park had been built in the 1970s, during the height of a period of psychiatric optimism. Niall thought that the original impetus behind building facilities like Evergreen Park had probably been good. But the promise of medical “cures” for such virulent conditions as schizophrenia and manic depression had fallen somewhat short of their expected glorious apex. Government funding for such facilities waned as more and more of the mentally ill were farmed out to less expensive nursing and group homes. Niall doubted that anything in the décor of the day room at Evergreen Park had been altered one bit since the 1970s, except for perhaps the new coats of paint that were likely mandated by the health code.

She sat up straighter when she heard the buzz of the electronic lock on the door that led to the patients’ residential wing. A young male attendant entered the room, followed by Stephen. Despite Stephen’s vast improvements over the past four weeks, it pained Niall to see him shuffle after the younger man like an obedient dog. One thing that had not improved with Stephen’s new medication regimen was his appetite. His clothing hung loosely on his gaunt, stooped frame.

“Good morning, Eli,” Niall greeted the attendant as they approached her. “Good morning, Stephen. How are you feeling today?”

“Okay,” Stephen mumbled.

“He just got a haircut,” Eli said with a smile. “Looking pretty spiffy.”

“It looks nice, Stephen,” Niall agreed.

As usual, Stephen didn’t meet her eyes but stared at the floor. He grimaced as he ran his hand over his burr haircut. The color of it—a rich, golden brown—had once nearly perfectly matched Michael’s hue. Niall saw that a good deal of gray was mixed with the brown now.

Eli laughed at his ward’s distasteful expression over his haircut. “So I guess Rose told you that Stephen wanted to talk to you, right?” Eli asked brightly.

Niall nodded.

“Okay. I’ll give you two some privacy, then. I’ll just be over on the other side of the day room,” he told Niall, giving her a significant look. Dr. Fardesh had taken Stephen off his one-to-one status, whereby an attendant was required to be in close proximity to him twenty-four hours a day due to possible suicide attempts or violence toward others. Nevertheless, Stephen was still very vulnerable to stressors of any kind, easily becoming anxious and erratic in his behavior if his daily routine was altered in the slightest.