Gabriel
I'm walking out of the room, my mind a riot of confusion, when I feel Riley following me in the darkness. I stop just outside the doorway while my heart hammers. All my sleep-addled brain can think is that the Russians have somehow gotten inside, and they're attacking Catherine.
"What are you doing?" I demand.
"Going with you to see what's happening downstairs," she hisses, like it's an obvious answer to a stupid question.
"The fuck you are. Stay here." She thinks she's going toward a crisis wearing a thin T-shirt and panties? And where the hell is the bodyguard? There's a man stationed here overnight, and one outside near the gate. Are they both dead?
I take two steps down the hall and notice Riley's still behind me. Catherine's screams are louder now, and I whirl to take Riley's upper arm in my hand and gently push her into the wall. There's no telling what's downstairs, and I need to keep her safe. "I'm not fucking around. Get into the bedroom and lock the door behind you. Do not open it unless I tell you to."
"But—"
I squeeze her arm and spin her around, back in the direction of the bedroom. "No buts. Go. Now!"
Riley shoots me a nasty look but obeys, and I allow myself to exhale once the lock engages. I hear her mutter "what the hell," but I ignore her protests. Who knows what the fuck I'm going to find downstairs? But I have a hunch what's going on. Still, it always pays to be prepared, and I hold my Glock, ready for anything.
By the time I get downstairs, Catherine's wails are softer and are interspersed with sobbing sounds. I rush into the living room, only to find the lights on and one of my bodyguards standing in the doorway. Catherine's on the sofa, curled in a fetal position, her back to us. The television is still on, but the volume is off. It's tuned to some old sitcom.
"Boss, I don't know what happened. I was making the rounds in the other wing of the house and heard her scream. Then when I walked in, she started crying bloody murder," my guy says, obviously disturbed by the feral whimpers coming from a small woman in a black jumpsuit. "It's like she's in a freaky trance or something."
Bloody murder. Probably not the best metaphor at the moment. "I've got this from here. Thanks. You're sure there's no intruder?"
The bodyguard nods. "There's no way anyone could've gotten in here. No alarms went off, none of the motion sensors. The guy outside said he hasn't heard anything."
"Okay, do another thorough check and get a third man here for the rest of the night." Can't be too safe with security.
"Will do, sir."
The bodyguard walks out, and I stand in the doorway, staring at the whimpering Catherine. I call her name softly, aware that standing over her might trigger her further.
She rolls over to face me, then sits up. Blinking her eyes slowly, she tries to focus on me.
"Gabriel? Is that you? Why are you here?"
"I think you had a bad dream, Cath. A nightmare."
"Wh-what am I doing here? Where am I?" She swallows and her eyes scan the messy coffee table.
I walk over and grab a half-filled water bottle from the table. After I hand it to her, I point to the sofa next to her. "May I?"
She nods and downs most of the bottle. Beads of sweat have formed on her forehead, and a few strands of her curly hair stick to her neck.
"You stayed over at my house. Remember? You came over to hang out with Riley and decided to sleep on the sofa." My tone is gentle, as if I'm talking to a terrified child.
She dabs at her eyes with the corner of the blanket. "I thought I could do it," she says, still gasping for air.
"Do what?"
"Stay overnight here."
"What do you mean? Why would you have a problem with staying here?" Of all the possible things Cath could say, I didn't anticipate this.
She pushes the damp hair off her face with both hands. "All the memories. I haven't had a nightmare like that in years."
I hold my hand out so she can take it. "I'm sorry."
She twines her fingers into mine. "I don't know if I ever told you this, but the first time I met him was here. Your grandfather introduced him to my father. If I remember correctly, the first time I saw him was when the two of you were playing soccer on the back lawn."
"Him?" The word slips out before I can think.
"Yeah, you know, my..."
We stare at each other, but don't need to say anything further.
Him.
Her rapist. A guy who wasn't much older than me. A guy who I'd considered a friend, right up until the moment I found out. A guy who killed something inside of Cath, and then I killed him.
"I'm sorry," I say again.
"It's all right. I know you didn't know." Cath stares out the window, into the night sky, her expression far away. "But even with him dead and buried, it doesn't mean his damage disappeared. I still haven't quite figured out how to cope with it. Anyway, this situation tonight isn't your fault. I shouldn't have stayed."
"Or you could stay in one of the guest rooms. I've had them renovated, and you probably won't recognize them. Maybe it wouldn't trigger you so much." Still, it kills me to know that the monster that hurt Catherine got his start here, because of my family. My heart constricts for her.
We're silent for several minutes as we sit holding hands. Finally, I speak up and tell her something I've never uttered, to anyone.
"I told him the bullet was for you."
Cath inhales sharply. "Wow. Holy shit. You never mentioned that detail before."
"I didn't think it was necessary, I guess."
"You killing him saved my life. You know that? It's the only reason I was able to go on, the only reason I could gather the energy to move to California. You're a hero to me."
"I don't feel like a hero," I admit, my grip on her hand tightening. "I just feel like a murderer."
"Does that bother you?"
"A lot less than it should." I would only admit that to her. Anyone else would be horrified.
"Oh, Gabriel," Cath sighs.
I'm about to suggest we grab a shot of Scotch as a nightcap when I hear Riley calling my name, then Catherine's.
"In here," Cath calls out.
"Dammit, I told her to stay in the bedroom." I sigh.
"Oh, Jesus, Gabriel. Don't do that to her. Don't treat her like a dog."
"It's a matter of safety, of—"
I'm interrupted by Riley walking into the room. Thank Christ she's put on a robe. The first thing her gaze lands on is Catherine's hand in mine. Cath and I both let go of each other quickly, and the tips of my ears burn, like I'm ashamed to be discovered.
"Is everything okay?" Riley's voice is soft and even quivers a little.
Cath leans forward so she's sitting on the edge of the sofa. "I had a bad nightmare. A night terror, actually. It sometimes happens."
Riley sits at the end of the L-shaped console sofa, staring at the two of us. "I see."
I stand, wanting to diffuse the tension. "Anyone want a shot of Scotch? A nightcap? A—"
"Tea," Riley says in an icy voice while keeping her gaze on Catherine. "We'd like some chamomile tea."
Cath nods. "That sounds good."
I look to Catherine then to Riley. They stare up at me. I'm not sure how to respond, maybe because my body's draining of adrenaline and I'm back to being dog tired.
Fuck me, I have a long day tomorrow. A couple of New York bosses are flying down to discuss the Russian situation, and a brewing fight between my girlfriend and my childhood friend isn't what I need at two in the morning. I zone out, thinking about how I need to bring my A-game to the sit-down tomorrow.
"Well?" Cath says with a wry smile and a little wave. "Go on. You're capable of making tea."
"Oh, uh, yeah. Okay. Be right back." I stalk out of the room, wondering what Cath and Riley are going to discuss in my absence. From the look on Riley's face, I definitely don't want to be around when the conversation starts.
# # #
Riley
"It's not what you think." Cath licks her lips, clearly unsettled.
"Why were you holding my boyfriend's hand?" I ask this in a calm, rational tone, even though inside my emotions are a swirl of confusion and anger.
"Riley. I'm sorry. When I woke up, I didn't know where I was. This house, I was just telling Gabriel. This house is where I first met the man who assaulted me. Gabriel's family introduced him to my father. This all triggered a nightmare."
I sigh and allow my eyes to shut. How can I be angry about that? When I open my eyes, Cath is sitting next to me, a look of sadness and fear etched on her tear-stained face.
"I know it's weird, the relationship I had, or have, with Gabriel. But please don't think I'm trying to take him from you." Her eyes are large and dark, shining with what appears to be open, raw honesty.
I take a deep breath, trying to calm my bubbling emotions. Cath's story is not unusual; trauma is everywhere. From physical violence to neglect or emotional abuse, people are no strangers to the experience of trauma—even if they don't always talk about it as openly and honestly as Cath does.
We all have trauma. Cath's rape, my abusive and neglectful father, Gabriel's entire existence. Everything in this world seems to suck, and all we have is each other.
"Trauma's hard to get over. I know that firsthand," I say slowly. "But I also need to know I can trust you. That you're not my friend to get to Gabriel."
She reaches for both of my hands and squeezes. "I promise you, Riley. I'm not trying to get to Gabriel that way. I care about you both, and I don't want to jeopardize that." Her voice is low, and fierce.
I take in a deep breath and nod, agreeing to her words. Something in me trusts her, possibly on a different level than I trust even Gabriel. Maybe it's a female friendship thing, or maybe it's because I miss Lorna.
Or perhaps its an indication of how alone I am here in Florida, how isolated my life has become.
Gabriel walks in with two steaming mugs of tea and sets them on the table. "I put sugar in both."
He watches us as we pick up the mugs and blow on the surface.
"Aren't you having anything?" I ask.
He shakes his head. "I snuck a shot of Scotch while I was making the tea. Uh, I was thinking of going back to bed."
Cath and I wave him off. "I'll be up in a while," I say.
He wanders out and Cath and I take hesitant sips of our tea. She scrunches up her face, and I nearly gag.
"I don't think he put sugar in," she says.
"I think it's...salt?" I sniff my tea.
She takes another sip, then spits it back in the mug. "Definitely salt. Gah."
A small snort-laugh leaks out of me, and Catherine begins to chortle. I match her laughter and then we're both in hysterics, lying back on the sofa and wiping tears from our faces.
"He's really beautiful and smart but don't let him near the kitchen," I whisper, and we crack up even harder.