Wishing Well(70)
“What do you mean he’s lost control? Damn it! Have his medication waiting for me by the elevator. I’ll be there in a second.”
The fall of angry steps preceded his booming question. “What in the hell have you done to my brother this time?”
“I -“ My mouth fell open to answer the question, my heart practically beating in my throat. “I don’t know. We were eating dinner and talking -“
Grabbing his suit jacket from the back of his sofa, Vincent’s gaze snapped to me. “Talking? About what?”
He’d made it halfway to the door before I answered, “About family.”
Stopping suddenly, Vincent spun on his heel to look my direction. “I want you to see the consequences of your actions. Put on your damn shirt and follow me.”
Grabbing the damp shirt from the floor, I was pulling it over my head as I chased behind him. “That was what I wanted to ask about. The scars, and Maurice’s reaction when I mentioned my dad.”
Climbing into the elevator, Vincent pressed the button to the lobby. “Your dad? Why would he give a damn about your dad?”
“He didn’t,” I explained, shoving my arm through a sleeve, “but it made him think of his dad-“
“Fuck,” Vincent breathed out, pinching the skin between his eyes in frustration. “Now I know why he’s destroying the basement.”
The elevator doors opened and John, the hotel manager stood waiting. Handing a small box to Vincent, he stepped away as Vincent stuck a key on the elevator panel and punched in the code for the basement. The doors slid shut as I asked my next question.
“What did he just give you and how do you know Maurice is destroying the basement?”
Vincent cut me a scathing look, pulling a syringe from the box and uncapping it. “John retrieves the dishes from Maurice when I’m unavailable to do so. Apparently he didn’t have to go past the elevator doors to hear the sound of objects being broken. And this,” Vincent explained, holding up the syringe to check the clear liquid beneath the light of the elevator, “Is what I have to give Maurice when he won’t calm down.”
The doors slid open again before I could respond, the sound of shattering glass and splintering wood filtering down from the left hall. As we both stalked toward it, Vincent kept his voice low. “He already tore apart that room once today. I doubt there’s much left for him to destroy.”
Turning, I froze in the doorway while Vincent charged forward, tears bursting from my eyes to see Maurice so out of control. His mouth was opened wide on a frustrated scream, his eyes vacant, his fists beating holes into the walls. This wasn’t the man - the friend - I’d known earlier. This wasn’t the man who’d shown me that, despite his aggression, he could be gentle.
So lost in his anger that he didn’t notice us come in, Maurice struck out with his arm when Vincent stuck the needle in his neck and pressed the plunger. Vincent was able to move in time to avoid being hit, and within seconds Maurice was off balance, his body stumbling back as Vincent caught him and directed him onto the cushion of the couch. Although his eyes didn’t close and he wasn’t sleeping, Maurice didn’t actually see me when his head lulled in my direction.
Standing over his brother, Vincent released a heavy sigh, actual pain clearly evident in his expression. I was caught off guard to see it.
Still crying, I didn’t move until Vincent walked past me and grabbed my arm to pull me down the hall. Stopping when we’d reached the entryway in front of the elevator, he said, “Never, and I fucking mean NEVER, bring up our father around him again.”
Puzzle pieces began clicking together in my head, the truth of Maurice’s life becoming clearer. “Is your dad responsible for those scars on his chest?”
Vincent’s expression shadowed. “Some of them, yes. Some of them are from Maurice himself. He wasn’t the easiest child to deal with and our father believed too much that harsh discipline was the answer to keeping Maurice under control.”
True agony was a cold chill across my bones. “Is that why you lock him down here?”
With an agonized grin, Vincent answered, “At first I’d believed Maurice was trapped, but lately I’ve learned that he’s had the ability to leave the basement the entire time we’ve been here. It’s not just me that keeps him apart from the world. I believe Maurice traps himself-“
“Because he believes he’s bad,” I finished for him.
“That’s probably exactly right. And most likely the result of my father’s words and my continued handling of him.”
Regret and guilt flooded his eyes before he turned to push the elevator button. “We should go.”
Shifting my weight from one foot to the other, I wrapped my arms around my abdomen. “We can’t just leave him like that. What will happen when the drugs wear off?”
“He’ll wake up and go to bed.”
“I’ll stay with him,” I offered. “Maybe clean up the room as much as possible and then help him when he comes around.”
Vincent looked at me like I was an idiot, but there was something else behind those green eyes of his, something that pleased him. “Suit yourself,” he answered, allowing the doors to close and leaving me to stay in the basement with Maurice.
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE