Between the Lines, Page 3

Gabe rolls away from me and sits up, taking a pillow with him. I push my fingers through my hair and roll to my side.

  “Hey, there’s dinner in the fridge.” Gabe nods toward me, but his tone was more of a warning than friendliness.

  What’s up with that? And Mateo looks surprised to see me. Of course, I have been here for a long time and he probably wasn’t expecting to find me on the floor beneath his roommate. It is a bit embarrassing.

  “I can come back,” Mateo is saying as he backs further into the foyer.

  “No need,” Gabe insists.

  I have to agree. Whatever passion was building has been thoroughly doused.

  “What was brutal?” Had he been at Baxter this entire time? Not that they know that I know that’s where he went, since he never really said. I glance at the clock. It’s nearly nine. Where did the time go?

  I know it’s a boarding school, one of the things I have been able to learn, but still, for a counselor to be there this late. What kind of problem could they have had? A kid being upset because his college admission was declined by their school of choice?

  “Paperwork,” he says and flops into a chair. “I forgot to get the reports required by the State completed.” He turns to Gabe. “Then I ran into Kian and Cole, and we talked for a while.”

  My instincts are on alert. What isn’t he saying? His voice isn’t exactly conversational, but I can’t put my finger on it. It’s as if he’s telling Gabe more than he’s actually saying. Paperwork doesn’t make sense either. Offices are closed and he could easily do that tomorrow, break or no. Damn, I wish I know what was going on at that school. Since I overheard the complaints at the hospital, I haven’t been able to learn much of anything else. Except, they do have more than their fair share of emergency calls, but since it always involves a minor, most of the information is redacted, or sealed.

  Something is not right at Baxter and something wasn’t right tonight. “Are Kian and Cole friends of yours?”

  “Yep,” Gabe answers. “Kian’s dating an art teacher and Cole is seeing another counselor.”

  Maybe I’m just letting my imagination run away with me. It sounds innocent enough, though why would he run into them at the school, at this time of night? Of course, he didn’t say that’s where he saw them. I’m just assuming, which I must stop doing. I deal in facts, not assumptions, even if they do lead to very good questions.

  There is a current running between the two men and I want to know what it’s about. They are saying a lot without saying anything.

  Gabe – 4

  Thank goodness Mateo came home when he did. It was taking every ounce of will not to slip my hands up Ellen’s shirt before removing her pants. I’m just glad she wasn’t in the skirt anymore, I’d probably would have already be inside her when Mateo walked in the door.

  I just met her. I’ve never had sex with a woman I just met, not that I didn’t want to, but you just don’t do that. But, I’m not sure I could have stopped myself if we would have remained alone.

  At least I know Ellen wanted me just as badly. Did she even realize she was pressing her pussy against my cock? Grinding against me as if she wanted the clothing between us gone as much as I did. I could have buried myself in her so easily and I know hardly anything about her. Knowing she’s from Nevada, moved to New York and went to Columbia qualifies as nothing!

  Mateo pulls himself from the chair and goes to the fridge. “I need a beer.” He opens it as Ellen searches for her shoes, finding them under a pillow, and quickly slips them on her feet.

  “What’s for dinner?”

  “The uneaten one is yours.”

  “The bottom one,” Ellen calls out.

  Mateo pulls the container and pops the lid. “Nice!” He scoops the shrimp scampi and linguini onto a plate and puts it in the microwave and presses a few buttons.

  “I should go,” Ellen whispers.

  “What are you doing tomorrow?”

  She shrugs.

  “Breakfast, lunch, dinner?”

  “Either, any or all.” She grins.

  “Give me your number.” I hand my phone over after typing in the password.

  She types it in then calls herself. “Now I have yours.”

  “I’ll call in the morning.” I pull myself up off the floor, cursing under my breath as pain shoots up my thigh and down my leg. I should regret sitting on the floor, but I don’t. I’d rather endure weeks of physical therapy again for the chance to make love to Ellen in front of the fireplace.

  I grab my cane and walk her to the door. “I can see you upstairs.”

  She rolls her eyes. “I’ll be fine.” With that she goes up on her tiptoes and gives me a quick kiss. “See you tomorrow.”

  I watch her go up the stairs and wait until I hear her door open and close before returning inside to my own apartment. “So, what happened at Baxter?” I ask Mateo before he can question me about Ellen. I’m not sure why things moved so quickly between us, and I’m sure as hell not ready to talk about it. Mateo may be one of my best friends, even if I have only known him less than a year, but some things you don’t discuss, even with your best buds.

  “Evan Danes broke into the infirmary,” he says before taking a bite of the linguini.

  I wait for him to finish chewing and swallowing. I know who Evan is. He’s in my second hour English class. An artist and musician.

  “He cut up his arms pretty bad on the glass, trying to get to the meds.” That explains why Cole and Kian were there. Kian O’Brien is a county deputy and the school liaison. He shows up whenever anything happens at Baxter, good or bad. Cole Harper is with the fire department and moonlights as an EMT on his days off.

  “He was after the meds?” This shouldn’t be a surprise, but it is.

  “He just wants to sleep. He can’t take the nightmares.”

  “Is he one of yours?” Mateo is one of a dozen therapists at Baxter who work with the troubled youth. Baxter could probably double that staff and they’d still all be busy.

  “Yeah, and I so did not see this coming.” He sets the plate aside. “I saw the kid on Friday and he didn’t once mention fucking dreams, nightmares or not sleeping. If he had, he wouldn’t be in General right now being monitored.” He picks his plate back up and starts twirling the pasta around his fork. “His psychiatrist is going to do a drug screen and possibly alter the amounts. The kid has been losing weight, which I reported like three weeks ago but nothing was done about it. All I can do is listen and help. When a kid’s weight starts changing then the doc has to double check the meds, which apparently he didn’t do.”

  Mateo is telling me more than he should, but he knows I’m not going to say anything and I can feel his frustration. It isn’t like I don’t already know that Baxter is a special school, filled with kids who have all kinds of emotional and mental issues they are trying to overcome or at least try to have some control over.

  “Has anyone tried to break in there before?” There are a lot of drugs on Baxter’s campus. All locked away, but needed for each kid’s specific condition. A nurse oversees the dosage, but it is up to each student to report for their medication. If they don’t, a note is sent to the therapist. They want each kid to start being responsible for their own care, at least with the juniors and seniors. They’ll have to be responsible for their own meds once they graduate anyway, and this is the next step in that independence, trust and responsibility.

  “Mag says there’re usually one or two, but nobody’s broken the glass before. She’s going to ask the board about a full-time nursing staff around the clock.”

  They only have one full-time and one part-time nurse at Baxter. The full-timer is there Monday through Friday, eight until five, to treat any illness or minor injury a kid may have. And, she monitors the meds. The part-timer works on the weekends and when there’s a full moon. Yep, it’s a real thing. The full-moon does weird shit to people.

  “She wants someone twenty-four seven for incidents like this.”

  �
�What could a nurse have done?” It isn’t like the nurse can make the decision herself to give a kid extra meds. She’s not the doctor.

  “If a kid comes in troubled, she can call his therapist or psychiatrist and explain the situation. Sometimes a kid needs a little adjustment in the meds if they aren’t working the way they should. This way, the kid doesn’t have to wait for their next scheduled session, if things are really bad. Otherwise, they need to be taken into the ER, where the staff knows little to nothing about the condition and just drug them up to get them calm.”

  Mateo takes a big bite of the linguine, groaning.

  “What do you think will happen to Evan?”

  Mateo shrugs. “He’ll be monitored, meds probably adjusted, have sessions with his psychiatrist and then sent back.”

  “Do they ever not send a kid back?”

  “There have been a few.” Mateo frowns. “Those who need more intense therapy and intervention than we could ever provide, but didn’t realize it until they are living on campus among the other students. There are some scary psychoses out there, and those kids need to be kept in a place where they can’t hurt themselves or others.” He’s shaking his head. “I hate that kids need to be sent to a mental facility, but sometimes, that’s the only choice we have.”

  “At least it’s not a juvenile prison,” I offer hopefully.

  Mateo narrows his eyes and his mouth hardens in anger before taking a swig of beer. “If those kids would have gotten the help they needed at lot of them wouldn’t be behind bars. My brother included. But, we live in a country that think it’s best to just charge them as adults and lock them up for good than to try to rehabilitate or find out what’s really going on.”

  Shit, I probably should have kept my mouth shut. Mateo’s anger is growing and, if there is one thing he is passionate about, it is the juvenile justice system, which in his mind, has no justice.

  I didn’t really appreciate what I was getting myself into when I went to work at Baxter, but I’ve learned a hell of a lot in the past ten months. It’s a good place, full of good people, and kids that just want a decent chance.

  Ellen

  What the hell was that? I lean back against my door. If Mateo would not have walked in when he did, I’d probably be naked, going at it with Gabe in the middle of his living room floor right now. I just met the guy and I just don’t do that.

  I blow out a breath and lock my door.

  What got into me?

  I grab a bottle of water and wander back to my bedroom.

  It’s not like I haven’t had sex before, but usually that happened in a relationship, after I’d gotten time to know the guy. Hell, I’m not even sure I’ve ever kissed on a first date, but I was more than willing to let Gabe rock my world within a few hours of an introduction.

  Thank God Mateo returned when he did or I might have woke up tomorrow to a world of regret. Worse, I could have been doing the walk of shame up the stairs into my apartment tomorrow morning.

  Yet, would it have been regret? I’ve never wanted a guy like I wanted Gabe, but it’s way too soon. What do I even know about him?

  Will he even bother to call? And, if he does, will it be because he wants to get to know me better or just to finish what we started before moving one?

  One thing, if he does call, I’m putting the skids on the physical, at least until I know more. Yet, that doesn’t exactly cure my current need. My clit’s throbbing and I’m not sure it’s going to die down without a little assistance.

  It’s not like I haven’t taken care of myself in the past, when the need arose, but I don’t make a habit of it. But, I’m really going to need something tonight, or I’ll be jumping Gabe the first moment I see him.

  Okay, maybe not, but I’ll want to.

  Quickly I change out of my clothes and into a comfortable, long nightshirt before opening the top drawer of my nightstand. The little lipstick friend is right there. I reach for it when I realize the light on the burner phone is blinking at me.

  My blood runs cold and any need for the vibrator disappears. My hands are shaking before I can even grab the phone. I press the button to see who called. I know the number too well. It’s been memorized for at least six years. I type in the password and click on the voicemail. “Shit!” It was sent ten hours ago.

  “The judge has allowed Victor Krestyanov to be retried. There is talk about more motions regarding yours, and others, testimony from the last trial, and wanting you to appear. We’ll fight it but I wanted to give you a heads up.” The phone goes dead and I delete the message.

  “Shit!” I say again, and my shaking increases.

  I turn off the phone, debating on where I should dump it, but it’s getting late, and I did have three glasses of wine. I’ll do it first thing tomorrow and pray to God they’ve given up trying to find me.

  Shutting the drawer I go to the closet and grab the box off the top shelf and remove the next phone and plug it into the charger. They are numbered so I know which one is next. All burners, purchased from different stores in Nevada six years ago. I usually keep the active one with me, but today I left it in the drawer. I’ve gotten lax over the years, when nobody came after me. I’m not about to make the same mistake again.

  Grabbing my thick robe, I put it on as I slip my feet into the warm slippers and then check the locks on every window in the apartment. I check the door again, making sure the deadbolt and the chain are set.

  My hands will not stop shaking and I’m freezing. It isn’t cold in here, but I’m chilled to the bone. And scared. My chest feels like there’s a vise around it, but I know the pain isn’t from a heart attack, but panic. Taking deep breaths I stretch and go through my routine of reaching up to the sky then to the floor. Anxiety meds are in my purse and I haven’t had to take them in a long time. I need one now but can’t. Not after three glasses of wine. The combination wouldn’t kill me, but it will knock me out and I can’t afford a deep sleep. Not right now at least. But, I can’t pace and stretch in my apartment all night either. I’ve got to relax.

  Just because Victor, or his attorneys want me to testify in person doesn’t mean the courts will make me. They already have my testimony. A very thorough testimony. It was used before and can be used again.

  “I’m not going to let some little girl ruin my business and my life,” Victor hissed at me the one time I encountered him at the courthouse. Victor and my father had been friends and business associates. I called him Uncle Victor for as long as I can remember. Until I learned the truth.

  No, I mustn’t think about them, ever. It is the past. They can’t touch me now. They don’t even know where I am.

  I glance at my laptop sitting on the counter. “Work!” I need to work. That’ll get my mind off of everything. As long as I focus on the task at hand, which is presently Baxter Academy of Arts, I’ll be fine. Work has always pulled me back from the ledge of an anxiety attack before and it will tonight.

  Before I begin my research, I plug my ear buds in and click on Sergei Prokofiev’s Cinderella. If the research doesn’t calm me, then the ballet will.

  I open my notes and read from the beginning, so I can jot down any additional questions I may be able to ask Gabe.

  Baxter first came to my attention while I was sitting in the ER at Bellevue last November after the cab I was in was rear-ended. I wasn’t exactly hurt, thank goodness, just being checked out because we had been slammed pretty good. I was about to leave, out of patience for having to wait so long when they put a young woman in the room next to mine. They may have walls and glass doors, but I would have been able to hear her through cement. Luckily I had my recorder with me and taped everything that was said. It was wrong, and probably illegal, but it isn’t like I’m going to publish the transcript. This was simply for research purposes.

  I click on the file and read it once again.

  “It says here you graduated from Baxter Academy of Arts last summer,” a social worker is saying.

  “A hell of
a lot of good that did. And, I didn’t fucking graduate. They kicked me out because I wouldn’t get with the program.”

  “What happened?”

  “I was the best fucking artist they had. The rest are just little robots playing at art.”

  “Okay.”

  “Taking their drugs like good little kids.”

  “And you didn’t?”

  “Hell no. I’m not going to become one of their robots to be controlled.”

  “I don’t think it was about control.”

  “What the fuck do you know about it? That place is fucking messed up. Drugs and punishments. Nobody tells you about that, ever.”

  “What kind of punishments?” the social worker asks with concern.

  The girl snorts. “You don’t want to know.”

  “Yes, I do.”

  “Why,” she screams. “You wouldn’t believe me. Nobody does. They just want everyone to believe the school is for gifted artists and that’s it. The place is fucked up. They aren’t helping a damn person. They’re fucking them up. Do you understand?”

  “How?”

  “How?” the girl screeches. “The drugs, the meals, if that’s that you want to call it, rooms that are no more than cells. It’s like being in prison.”

  “Is there any specific person you hold responsible at Baxter?”

  “The nurse.”

  “School nurse?”

  “She’s the most evil of them all.”

  “What about the teachers?”

  “Not so bad, they weren’t the ones messing with our heads and other stuff. Hell, I don’t think they have a clue what was happening after they left for the day.”

  The recording ended there because a tech came to get me for x-ray. When I came back, the girl was gone. I don’t know where she went and I couldn’t learn who she was to find out more.

  And I just made out with a teacher from Baxter. What the hell was I thinking?

  I know it’s only one person’s accusations, but that is all I need. Sometimes there is only one who is willing to speak out and I owe it to that anonymous girl to figure out if there are evils at Baxter. If it means I need to get close to Gabe, I will. I just hope he isn’t guilty of the abuse