Under Currents Page 5

  No reason not to play it up, Graham thought, and bent over, bracing his hands on his knees as if catching his breath.

  “My God, Graham. What the hell happened? Your family—”

  “Tom, oh my God, Tom. We need an ambulance.”

  “On the way.”

  “Zane … I don’t—I can’t—He attacked his mother. He struck her, Tom, with fists. Then our little Britt. I rushed upstairs to stop him. We fought. We fought. He fell down the steps. I had to give Britt a sedative. My boy’s hurt, Tom. He’s hurt. And I think he lost his mind.”

  “Hold on. Stay right here.” He signaled to one of his officers.

  Yes, indeed, a nine-one-one from the Bigelows brought out the force, Graham thought as he shook his head, and limped after Tom toward the house.

  “Tom, Tom.” At the top of the stairs, Eliza held a limp Britt in her arms. “We need an ambulance. My baby. My baby girl!”

  “Coming now. Jesus, Zane.” Tom crouched down. “What got into you? You on drugs?”

  “No. No. He was hitting her again, and then he went after Britt. I tried to stop him.”

  “How can you say such a thing?” Weeping now, Eliza rocked Britt. “Graham’s never lifted a hand to me or either of the children in his life! Oh dear God, Zane, what have you done?”

  Stunned, Zane could only stare. “She’s lying. She’s lying for him.”

  “He came home from the school dance. I’d waited up—Britt was sick, throwing up. I was trying to take care of her, and told him I couldn’t talk to him right now. He just … he flew into a rage. He hit me.” She brought a trembling hand to her face.

  Cradling his wounded arm, Zane felt something inside him die.

  “What are you? What kind of a mother are you?”

  “He’s always been jealous of Britt, but I had no idea…” Eliza gathered Britt closer, began to sob.

  A pair of EMTs rushed in.

  “Look after them first.” Tom pointed up.

  Graham picked up his medical bag. “I want them transported to the hospital.”

  “And you with them,” Tom said.

  Graham nodded. “I need to talk to you, Tom. Outside. He says he hasn’t taken any drugs, any alcohol,” Graham told the EMTs. “I can’t be sure. He has before.”

  “That’s a lie!”

  “Easy now, Zane.”

  Zane recognized the EMT—Nate, a friend of Dave’s. “I didn’t do this. I swear to God I didn’t do this.”

  “Okay, son, we’re going to take care of you now.”

  Zane just closed his eyes. “I didn’t do this.”

  “You’re not authorized to administer any pain medication,” Graham said as he walked out with Tom. “You need to do a tox screen. He can’t be trusted.”

  “I don’t do drugs.” No tears now, only hopeless fatigue. “I don’t drink. You’re off the team if you do drugs or alcohol. We’re going to States.”

  It hurt, all over again it hurt, so he was thrown back to December 23. But he got some relief when they stabilized his arm, his ankle.

  They got him on the gurney, started to roll him out. Tom came back in, face grim. “I need to cuff him.”

  “Jesus, Chief.” Nate laid a hand on Zane’s good shoulder. “He’s got a broken arm, maybe a shattered elbow. His ankle may have a hairline fracture. Even if not, it’s a major sprain. He couldn’t put weight on it. He’s concussed, he’s shocky. Where the hell is he going to go?”

  “It’s procedure.” With that, Bost stuck out his chin. “He’s charged with assault, three counts.”

  Zane stared into Tom’s eyes as Tom cuffed his wrist to the gurney. He saw no mercy there, no shade of doubt. Just as his father had always told him.

  Still, he tried. “I didn’t do this.”

  “Zane, both your parents tell me the same story. Your sister’s sedated, but I’ll be talking to her tomorrow.” Bost closed a hand over Zane’s as if that would comfort or reassure. “We’re going to get you the help you need.”

  They rolled him outside. Neighbors everywhere—he could hear them. Who would believe him? None of them. No one.

  He looked up at the sky. The same stars he’d seen with Ashley. But nothing was the same as it had been. Nothing would be the same now.

  He heard running feet, started to cringe. His father, coming back to finish him.

  No one would stop him.

  But it was Dave who gripped his hand.

  “Zane. It’s going to be okay.”

  “I didn’t hit Britt. I didn’t hurt our mother.”

  “Of course you didn’t. Why the hell is he cuffed?”

  “You need to step back, Dave.”

  “What the hell, Chief? I dropped this kid off not a half hour ago. He and my boy went to the dance at the high school. They had a good time. How’d you get hurt, Zane?”

  “He was hitting her again. He started on me first, then he started on her. And this time, he hit Britt. I couldn’t let him. I tried to stop him.”

  In Dave’s eyes he saw what he hadn’t seen in Chief Bost’s. He saw belief.

  “Where the hell is Graham Bigelow?”

  “On his way to the hospital, along with his wife, and his daughter. I don’t like this any more than you, Dave, but Zane’s charged with assault. He’s going to get medical attention, then he’s going to Buncombe.”

  “Good Christ, Tom, you know this kid.”

  Bost stood his ground. “I know his parents, too, and both of them gave statements. I’ve got no choice, Dave. He’s charged, and Judge Wallace put through the order. You have to step aside.”

  “Hell I do. I’m an EMT. I’m going with him. Somebody’s going to stand for this boy.” Dave climbed in the back of the ambulance, helped load the gurney. “Give me his status, Nate.”

  Zane fumbled for Dave’s hand. “He’s a monster,” he managed as the doors shut.

  “Who is, champ?”

  “Graham Bigelow. He’s a monster. Eliza, too. Monsters. Don’t let them hurt my sister.”

  “Don’t you worry. You take it easy now. Let us take care of things.”

  “Emily.” Someone believed him, Zane thought and closed his eyes again. Someone. It brought him a ray of hope that hurt almost as much as his arm.

  “You need to tell Emily. You need to call Emily and tell her what happened. Please.”

  “I will. Don’t worry now.”

  “She has to take care of Britt. I won’t be able to protect her now.”

  He felt tears rising when Dave stroked his head, so turned his face away and let himself drift.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Everything blurred. Sirens and lights, voices.

  He kept his eyes closed; it hurt less somehow with his eyes closed.

  More voices, talking fast, when they took him out of the ambulance, rolled him into the ER. He heard Dave’s voice—Dave stayed with him—rattling off his BP and stuff.

  He couldn’t bring himself to care.

  Man, he was cold. How did it get so cold?

  He just wanted to sleep. He wished he had his baseball. Just something to hold on to.

  They’d lied, his parents, the people who were supposed to love him, supposed to look out for him, had lied. He didn’t even know where they’d gone. Maybe they were here, at the hospital—but not handcuffed to a gurney.

  Maybe they’d come here because, for the first time in his memory, Graham had struck Eliza in the face. And Zane knew why. He’d hit her where it showed because he’d lie. They’d lie and say Zane had hit his own mother.

  And Britt.

  His eyes flashed open. His cuffs rattled as he tried to sit up. “Britt. He hurt Britt.”

  “Take it easy, Zane.” To reassure, to monitor his pulse, Dave put a hand on his wrist. “We need to get you into X-ray.”

  “He hit her, he hit her. She called for help. I heard her, and tried to stop him. He knocked me down the stairs, then he dragged her out, gave her something. You have to find out how bad he hurt her. Where is she
?”

  “I’ll find out,” Dave promised. “I got a hold of Emily, called her on the way in like you asked. She’s coming. And I called in a favor. We’re going to have Dr. Marshall take care of your arm, your ankle. She’s a hell of a bone doc. She’s the best.”

  “We’re going to States. He said I was four minutes late coming home from the dance. Grounded. No baseball.”

  “Oh, for Christ’s sake.” Dave scrubbed his hands over his face, took a long breath. “You have to tell the police everything you’ve told me.”

  “I tried. They don’t believe me. Just like he said. He’s important. I’m nothing.”

  “I don’t want to hear that bullshit out of you.” Dave leaned down so their faces were close. “You stay tough, Zane. You stay strong. Look at my face, look in my eyes. I believe you, and I’m going to do everything I can for you. First, we’re going to deal with what we’ve got. We’re going to get you fixed up.”

  “They’re going to put me in jail. You have to look out for Britt. She won’t have anybody but Emily. And they don’t let her come around much.”

  “I’m on it.”

  Zane looked around the room, just a curtain to block it off, all the sounds of the ER outside. He kept his voice low. “You have to get into my house when they’re not there. Take my house key. It’s in my pocket.”

  “Why?”

  “I wrote it all down. I’ve been writing it down for a long time. In notebooks. They’re behind the vent over my desk. Maybe they’ll believe it if it’s all written down.”

  “How long has—” Dave cut himself off as the curtain was pulled back. “Looks like it’s picture-taking time.” But he slid a hand in the pocket of Zane’s suit pants, palmed the key.

  They took him to X-ray—with one of the officers lingering.

  Afterward, they wheeled him back, but this time to a treatment room with a door. And the officer right outside.

  The doctor came in. She made Zane think of a barrel—short, stocky. She had her hair, a lot of gray in it, tied back in a braid.

  “Hey, Zane. I’m Dr. Marshall.” She picked up his chart. “Let’s have a look at things.” Her eyes, dark as a crow’s, narrowed, then she flicked them at Dave. “Do you know why Zane hasn’t been given any pain medication?”

  “His father said he might be on drugs. He’s not, but they won’t give him anything until they get the tox back.”

  “I’ve just looked at it. He’s clean. Goddamn it—Sorry, kid.”

  She slapped open the door again, yelled for a nurse, started barking out orders like a general. General Barrel.

  And in a few minutes, everything went light and easy.

  “His fingers are numb,” Dave murmured. “The skin at the elbow’s cold.”

  “I’m reading the chart, Dave. Okay, Zane, here’s the good news. Your ankle’s not broken. You’ve got a nasty sprain, some torn ligaments. We’re going to keep treating that with ice, rest, elevation, give you a nice boot for compression. I’m going to give you a list of what to do, how to do it. In a few days, we’ll start some PT.”

  Floating on the painkiller, he smiled at her. “What’s the bad news?”

  “You’ve got three bones in your arm, and you hit the triple play. You’ve got yourself a broken elbow, kid. I’m going to splint it, and that’s going to help with the pain, help keep it stable. You’re going to keep it elevated over your heart as much as you can. In a few days, when the swelling’s gone down, we’ll hit those bones with sound waves, get you a cool cast. It may be you’re going to need the extra cool pins and screws, but I’m going to take another look when you come back.”

  Floating, hazy, he smiled at her. “Doesn’t sound so bad.”

  “That’s the spirit! If you need surgery, well, I’m damn good. Plus, you’re young and handsome, and got some really nice muscle tone going. We’ll get you back in shape. Got it?”

  “Yeah, okay. Will they let me out of jail for it?”

  The smile in her eyes faded. “Doctor’s orders. I’m just going to give you a going-over first. That handsome face needs a little help, too, right?”

  “He didn’t break my nose this time. I know how it feels.”

  Those crow’s eyes went extra bright like, to Zane’s thinking, a fire had blown up behind them.

  “There’s good news. So any double vision?” she began, and her hands, gentle as butterflies, moved to his face.

  He heard shouting—Emily—and tried to get up.

  “Stay down,” Dave ordered. “Let the doctor do what she does. I’ll be right outside.”

  “Tell her about Britt.” Through the haze, it all tumbled back. “You have to find out about Britt. He hurt her. I tried to stop him. I’m stronger than I was, but he’s still stronger.”

  “Who hurt her?” As she worked, Dr. Marshall signaled to Dave to go.

  “Graham. That’s what I call him in my head. Since December twenty-third. Not the last one, the one before, when he broke my nose and stuff.”

  Dave stepped out, found Emily shouting at the officer.

  “Come on, Jim. You know Emily. She’s Zane’s aunt.”

  “I’m just following orders. I got orders nobody but medical personnel goes in. What am I supposed to do?”

  Dave only shook his head, took Emily’s arm. “Let’s talk.”

  “What the hell is going on? How bad is Zane hurt? They wouldn’t even let me see Britt.”

  “I’m going to tell you what I know. I’m going to tell you what your sister and brother-in-law told the cops, and what Zane told me. And I’m telling you I believe Zane.”

  He laid it out, no sugarcoating, watched her brace herself against the wall, go pale.

  “I should’ve known. How could I not have known? My God, they’re just kids. How long has—”

  “I don’t know. You don’t doubt what Zane says?”

  However pale her face, the eyes in it went ferocious. “Not for one damn minute.”

  “They’re sending him to Buncombe, the detention center here in Asheville, after he’s treated.”

  “They can’t just—It’s Graham.” She set her teeth, breathed through them. “He’d make that happen, he’d find the strings to pull. Can I post bail?”

  “I don’t know. Em, Zane gave me his house key. He asked me to get into the house, to get notebooks he’s got hidden. He’s been writing it down. I don’t know if it’ll help, but I’m going to find a way to get them.”

  “Can you—It’s a lot to ask.”

  “He’s depending on me. He’s a good kid, Emily. He’s a good friend to my boy, and the way I see it, he’s been kicked around by that son of a bitch for years.”

  She swiped at her face, stared down at the wet of tears. How could there be tears, she wondered, when she felt such rage?

  “And Britt?”

  “I don’t know, but my impression is this might be the first time Graham went after her.”

  “They won’t let me see her, won’t tell me anything, not even her room number. Dr. Bigelow’s orders. No visitors.”

  “Mild concussion, bruised cheekbone, a lot of bruising. I’m sorry,” he said when Emily’s eyes filled again. “He sedated her at the house. I know a lot of the nurses, and got the update on her. She’s resting comfortably. Sleeping.”

  He glanced back at the officer, moved Emily a few more steps away. “I’m going to check, make sure Graham and Eliza are still here. She had some pretty severe facial injuries, so did he.”

  Emily balled both hands into fists, white at the knuckles. “I’d like to give them both a few more.”

  “I hear ya.” He glanced back again. “I didn’t want to leave Zane until you got here. I’m going to let him know you’re out here, tell him Britt’s okay, just sleeping. Then I’m going for the notebooks. They’re going to take him, Em, nothing we can do about it. You have to go to the cops, tell them what I’ve told you. I’m coming back with the notebooks. We’ll show them to the cops here in Asheville. Not the Lakeview cops.”
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  “You’re a good man, Dave.”

  “I’m a father. God knows that boy needs one. Try to reassure him when they come to take him to Buncombe.”

  Emily waited, she paced, she woke up an old friend, now a lawyer in Raleigh, for advice.

  She took the names of two criminal attorneys he gave her, and reluctantly accepted his advice not to call them at one in the morning.

  She made a mental list. Police, lawyer, maybe child services. And yes indeed, a conversation with her sister.

  When the doctor came out, Emily all but leaped on her. “How is he? Is he okay? I’m his aunt. I’m Emily Walker, his aunt.”

  “I can’t give you details. It’s against the law. I’m going to tell you he’s been treated, and he’s as comfortable as I can make him.”

  “Ah, Doctor?” Jim the officer cleared his throat. “I’ve got to ask if he’s cleared. The van to take him to Buncombe’s outside.”

  Marshall fisted her hands on her hips. “And if I say no, he needs to stay here for observation?”

  He shuffled, looked down at his feet. “Then I gotta tell you, ma’am, Dr. Bigelow said he’d come down and clear him personally. Look, I don’t like it, but the kid went after his mom, his little sister.”

  “That’s a lie, a terrible lie.”

  Jim’s face toughened, but he didn’t meet Emily’s eyes. “That’s the statement—from his parents. And the law says he goes to Buncombe until his trial. Now you sign off, Doc, or I’m ordered to let Dr. Bigelow know. It’s going to happen either way.”

  * * *

  Zane felt better. Maybe it was the drugs, or the weird splint, but he felt better enough he dozed off on the gurney.

  And came around when a nurse—male—and one of the cops woke him to transfer him to a wheelchair. When they rolled him out, Emily rushed to him, dropped down.

  “Oh, Zane.”

  “Emily, you’re not supposed to—”

  “You shut up, Jim, or I swear I’ll tell your mama you manhandled me,” she snapped back at him as she touched her hand to Zane’s battered face. “I’ve known you since grade school, James T. Jackson, and I’ve never been so ashamed of you.”