Michael rocked back on his heels, then stood. His brother’s eyes were closed now, but what Michael had seen of them hinted at insanity. They’d been dilated, shot with red and the kind of wild, raw panic he’d not seen since the worst moments of childhood.
“What did he say to you?”
That was Jessup Falls. He stood in the door, an armed guard in the hall behind him. The guard was like the ones at the gate, competent but detached. Professional. Michael gave Falls a single glance, and then shook his head. There’d been a second of awareness when Michael took Julian’s shoulders, one instant of clarity and recognition as they leaned close. He’d whispered something so quietly only Michael could hear. The madness had stilled-understanding between brothers-then, somebody pulled the drain and Julian was gone.
“I’m going to have to ask again.” Falls started to cross the room, but Abigail stopped him with a hand.
“Please,” she said. “He’s not spoken for three days. Tell us what he said.”
“It was nothing,” Michael lied. “Something from childhood. Gibberish.” He squatted again and lifted one of his brother’s arms and then the other. Julian remained unresponsive, even as Michael pulled up his sleeves, checked the skin for needle tracks.
“There’s no sign of intravenous drug use.” The doctor pointed. “I checked between his toes, the backs of his legs. All the usual places.”
Michael rose. “May I see the other room?”
Dr. Cloverdale shot a glance at Abigail, who nodded. They’d moved Julian out of the bloodstained room, but the walls had yet to be cleaned. Together, they left Julian’s room and crossed the hall. The guard stepped back to make room.
“You can see why I hesitated.” Abigail stopped in the door, as if unwilling to commit.
Michael studied the room. “When did you move him?”
“Just this morning.”
“And this started three days ago?”
Abigail walked him through it again: Julian’s absence, how she found him in the garage and how he beat his hands bloody. “Have you ever seen anything like this?”
Michael touched a dark crescent of dried blood, put a palm flat on one of the drawn doors. “Something smaller, maybe. A long time ago.” He pictured Julian in the boiler room at Iron House, the glazed eyes and bloody knuckles. He touched the second door. It, too, was scratched through to plaster. “If things got bad, Julian went deep. Basements, caves. If he couldn’t get deep enough in the world, he went deep in his mind. It happened a lot when we were young. If something bad happened, he checked out. Minutes. A few hours. Never this long.”
“What about the doors?” Abigail gestured at the drawings.
“An old man told him once that there were magic doors hidden in the walls. Doors to better places, a different life. Tap them right and they open up. All Julian had to do was find them.”
“His poor hands,” Elena said.
Michael stopped by the bed. The sheets had been stripped. “Something bad happened three days ago.”
“You can’t be sure of that,” Falls said.
“I’m sure.”
“It’s been twenty-three years. He’s not the boy he was. You don’t know him anymore. You can’t.”
Michael cataloged the distrust in Jessup Falls’s face, the wrinkled skin, and folds of flesh at the corners of his eyes. The man was tense in his bones, and Michael bridled at the doubt. He looked at the blood- smeared walls, and he felt anger spark in the normally frozen place behind his eyes. Julian was his brother, and they’d allowed him to come to this.
Them.
Not Michael.
The old protectiveness rose as if it had never slept. Twenty-three years of suppressed worry, fear and doubt boiled into anger so immediate and hot that part of Michael knew he was off the rails. But he didn’t care. He pushed close to Falls and to Abigail Vane. He ignored the guard in the hall, the blunt, square-faced man who rose up on his toes and slipped one hand under his coat to touch the weapon there. “Do you have any idea what my brother endured as a child? The torment and abuse? The callousness and unconcern of people paid to care for his most basic needs?”
“No, I-”
“That’s right.” His gaze landed on Abigail Vane. “You don’t. None of you. Not how he hurt or how often he broke. You don’t know what it took to pick him up day after day, to put him back on his feet, to hold him together. You weren’t there and you can’t imagine. He was beaten, abused, ignored…”
Michael saw red as a day from childhood flashed into his mind with such clarity it was physical. Julian was eight and had been missing for an hour when Michael finally found him in the same bathroom where Hennessey would later die with a rusted blade in his neck. It was the screaming that led him there. They had Julian naked on the cold, tile floor, one boy on each arm and leg. Julian was still wet from the shower, thrashing, begging. Hennessey had a knife against Julian’s hairless prick, laughing as he threatened to cut it off.
“Julian doesn’t like to talk about his childhood.” Abigail put herself in front of Michael.
“That’s because nightmares are personal.”
“We can’t possibly understand what you boys went through at that terrible place, but we’ve tried.” Abigail looked down, sad. “This has been so hard.”
“Don’t talk to me about
Michael felt the stillness in the room, the way Elena stared at him. She’d never seen him raise his voice, never seen him angry.
“No one meant any disrespect,” Abigail said. “We understand your connection to Julian. We welcome it. Please, don’t be angry.”
Yet. Michael was. He was angry at the world, and he was angry with himself. Stepping into the hall, he pointed at the guard. “You. What’s your name?”
“Richard Gale.”
“Are you any good with that?” Michael nodded at the weapon on Gale’s belt.
“Michael, what are you doing?”
Abigail came out behind him, worried. She caught his arm, and Michael pulled it free. He studied Richard Gale and liked what he saw. Assurance that bordered on eagerness. An utter lack of fear or doubt as he sized Michael up. “Try me,” he said.
And that moment told Michael everything he needed to know. He took Elena’s hand, and turned. “We’re leaving.” He led her down the long hall and onto the sweeping staircase. Behind them, Abigail followed, Jessup Falls two steps behind the hem of her skirt.
“Michael, please…”
He was resolute, but she caught him at the front door. “Why are you leaving?”
“I came to make sure my brother was safe. He’s safe.”
“What do you mean?”
“I’ve counted six guards since I got here. There’s probably more, all of them well armed and professional. The property is gated and walled. Video surveillance. Electronic countermeasures.” Michael shook his head. “Julian doesn’t need me.”
“But he does. You can’t just show up and then leave. He needs you. I need you.”
