Hitting the Bottom Ch. 10

"You may release yourself from the rope now, babygirl."

Sandra smiles at me. "Yes, sir" she says sweetly as she slips her hand out of the ring, and then brings it up to caress my face softly, pulling me into her kiss once more. When we finally draw apart, our gazes lock.

"Thank you for tonight, Dan. I - I needed this. I needed you, us - like this."

I nod. "Me, too." Settling onto my back, I pull Sandra over to rest her head on my shoulder, pressing her soft body all along mine. Her hand lies limply on my chest, the pink indentations of rope around her wrists still clearly visible. I pick up her hand to kiss her there, feel her pulse flutter, then tuck her hand back right over my heart, hug her close, and kiss the crown of her head.

"I love you, Sandra." I murmur into her hair.

"I love you too, Dan." She mumbles back, and gives me a small squeeze.

I nod, and fall quiet. Even as she drifts off, I find it hard to fall asleep, myself. Tonight was everything I'd hoped it to be. But would it be enough, when decision time comes?

I don't know.

Without conscious thought, I go back to my breathing meditation, focusing my attention on the cool air flowing in through my nostrils, the warm air that tickles my lips on the way out.

I try to stay optimistic. Tonight was good. It may not have been enough to make up her mind for her, but it had to be a step in the right direction.

Trust and hope, Dan. With that thought, I close my eyes, and let my own fatigue claim me.

*

*

*

Sandra had left for her morning shift before sunrise. A couple of hours later I, too, am ready to start my day of volunteering at the Shelter. Now that school is back in full swing, a few of the older kids had come to me, asking for help in setting up space to do their homework. Since there is no free room in the building to convert into a 'study', I'd suggested setting up hinged, folding desks in each of the bedrooms, along with folding chairs, so that they don't take extra space while not in use.

After gaining the administrator's approval, I'd started on the project. It only took a single visit to convince the local woodshop owner, Mr. Stratis, to sponsor the shelter: he owed me from a few years back, when I'd happened to be in the right place, at the right time to save his shop from burning to the ground. Some juvies were playing with firecrackers on the street next door, and I'd swung by in my patrol car at the moment one of those crackers landed on the shop's roof. I'd grabbed the small fire distinguisher from my car and had climbed up the back ladder; luckily, I'd managed to put it out even before the firetruck arrived at the scene.

It didn't seem like much to me - I really was just doing my job - but Mr. Stratis kept telling me he was indebted whenever we bumped into each other, which had happened several times, given the size of our town. I'd never taken advantage of it, but asking for the Shelter was different, and Mr. Stratis was all too happy to oblige.

So, with the wood, hardware, and few necessary tools provided for, I'd started on the project. Each kid got their pile of raw material, and together we'd designed, cut, sanded, built and painted those desks and chairs. The second coat of paint had just been added a couple of days ago, and today was going to be the day it all came together, when each kid got to hang their own desk and their own chair on their own wall, and show it off to their family and friends.

I couldn't be more proud of them, and was looking forward to celebrate their success with them. Giving these kids a sense of accomplishment and capability was just as important as teaching them these skills, if not more so.

I'm just done shutting all the windows and lights in Sandra's apartment getting ready to leave when loud, decisive knocks on the other side of her front door, stop me in my tracks.

"Sandra? You there? It's Lucas. Open up, sis. We need to talk. It's urgent."

Shit.

There can be only one reason for him to be here, with that particular undertone of anguished concern in his voice.

He knows.

An unsettling sense of deja-vu washes over me. It's only been a few months since that awful night at my own apartment, when Jon had come over looking to beat me up. Then, too, I realized even before opening the door that he knew.

I'd welcomed Jon's arrival on that fateful night, had believed I'd deserved every misery he'd planned on delivering. By that point I had already downed every pill I could find at my place with a half bottle of frozen Vodka; I'd figured whatever he did to me would simply serve to speed up the process I'd already set in motion.

But the fates had interfered, and I'd survived. Today, however, is different. I'm different. And while I can understand why Lucas would feel worried and protective of his little sister, I have no intention of becoming his human punching bag.

Nonetheless, I do need to face him. And somehow, I'll need to find a way to avoid getting hurt - without hurting him in the process. Damn. This is going to be tricky.

I take a moment to center myself, and then reach to open the door.

Lucas's deep frown clears as the door starts to open, and then turns thunderous when he realizes it isn't his little sister who'd opened the door, but me. Mr. Evil.

"You!" he growls furiously, and I can see his arm swing back as if in slow-motion.

I side-step just in time, and his blow catches my right shoulder, which I twist back in sync with his fist's motion in order to minimize the impact. It still hurts, but not nearly as much as it was meant to. Taking a couple of steps back I raise my arms in front of my face, ready to defend myself from his next strikes.

None come.

Lucas still looks like he's ready to kill me, leaning forward with his fists clenched, ready to pummel into me. But then, he doesn't. He huffs and puffs through his nose and he makes a couple of threatening moves with his feet and his body, but he doesn't actually strike me.

Finally, he releases a few chosen expletives in a heated, low voice, and then throws his hands up in the air and turns his back on me, tunneling his fingers through his hair, clearly struggling for control. When he'd regained some of it he turns back to meet my guarded eyes with his scathing look.

"You have some nerve." His voice oozes contempt.

I raise my chin at him, but say nothing. I am not gonna get into this fight with Sandra's brother. My silence seems only to aggravate him further.

"What, no tall stories to tell me this time? No fancy tales about the hero cop injured in the line of duty?"

I'd never said that, of course. All I told him was that I was injured when I took a bad fall, was out on medical leave, and wasn't likely to be reinstated. An abbreviated version of the truth. But again, I don't see the point of debating it right now. I might as well have lied.

Lucas takes a threatening step in my direction. I keep firm as he gets very close, our eyes locked together. "I know exactly what you did," his voice is low and strained now as he almost spits the words in my face. "Now you leave my sister alone, you hear me? She doesn't need any scumbag losers like you in her life."

I swallow hard. His words ring true, too close to comfort. And yet, things are different now.

Loser or not, Sandra does need me in her life right now. She's pregnant with my baby. Leaving her alone is not an option.

But I cannot say all that to Lucas.

"That's for your sister to decide." I answer instead, my voice strained but steady.

His anger flares. "The hell it is! Get out of here, you hear?! GET OUT! And never come anywhere near her again, or I'll have you arrested - after I tell her exactly who and what you are, understand?!"

I stiffen my back, and with effort, keep my voice low. "This is your sister's house, and I am her guest. If anyone is going to kick me out, it's her; not you."

Lucas's fists clench again at his sides, and I resist taking a step back - although I'm ready to do so if he swings at me.

"Oh, she'll kick you out, all right. Do you think she'll keep you around once she knows who you really are?! Oh no, no way in HELL she won't. My sister is smarter than that; you're history. You should do yourself a favor and leave before this mess blows up in your face. By the time I'm done with you everybody will know what you did." Lucas sneers at me distastefully. I feel my temper rising and resolutely push it down, striving for control.

"Sandra already knows everything."

That gives him pause. "What?!"

"She knows what I did to Naomi in New York. I told her."

Lucas stares at me, disbelief widening his eyes, before anger and suspicion narrow them to narrow slits. "You told Sandra that you assaulted your ex-wife? You told her you stalked your ex for days; that when you found her you beat her up so bad she was bruised for days later? You told Sandra that you tied and gagged your ex, that you tried to rape her?"

With each ugly, terribly truth he steps closer to me, until that final accusation is delivered right in my face. I feel bile rise to burn my throat, cold sweat break on my face and chest, slickening my palms. I fight to push the panic down, fight to keep from succumbing to it. This is too important. I cannot just curl into a fetal position and wait it out. I grind my teeth so hard my jaw hurts.

Lucas's mouth twists into a hateful snarl as my silence stretches, and I know I need to speak up, or he'll try to hit me again. With effort, I push my words through my stiff lips.

"Yeah. I told her everything. In gruesome detail. She knows exactly what I did. The damage I'd caused. She knows just how low I'd sunk. She knows how badly I hurt Naomi. She knows, and she still wants me in her life.."

Lucas stares at me in stunned silence. I can see his chest muscles twitching under his T-shirt, but he doesn't move.

Then after several long, strained moments he exhales long and loud, and I can almost see the fight escape his muscles, leaving him depleted.

"Dammit to hell, I don't get it. I just don't get it." he mumbles, and moves past me to plop himself onto the padded single chair standing behind me in the living room.

I follow him inside and sit myself at the edge of the sofa, facing him, leaning forward with my forearms on my knees. "Yeah. You and me both, to be honest."

Lucas looks at me through narrowed eyes, as if trying to figure me out. Finally he shakes his head in defeat. "I don't get her, but then I don't get you, either."

Oh.

"How do you mean?"

Lucas's gaze sharpens on my face, and his mouth thins grimly. "Well for one, you don't look like a wife beater. You seem... like a normal dude."

I wince, but then retort dryly. "Were you expecting horns and a tail? "

He shakes his head in annoyance. "I don't know. I don't know what I was expecting. A denial, probably. Or some lame excuses. Not - not this."

I look down at my clenched hands. "I wish I could deny it. But I can't. And I have no excuse."

My curt response is met with silence that stretches for several long, strained minutes. I can't bring myself to look Lucas in the eyes, so I keep mine fixed on the floor, until finally his pained voice breaks the uncomfortable standoff.

"That's just not good enough, Dan."

Meeting his gaze, I know he's right. Sandra's family deserve more than a shrug and and 'it's none of your business' attitude from me. They love her, and they have every right to be worried. If I'm to have any kind of long-term relationship with her, it would be on me to make them understand.

"You're right." I say, and then, grimly, I venture into the only explanation I have: the truth.

"I was in a very dark place in my mind three months ago. I'd been depressed for a long time. It had started a couple of years ago and then at some point I'd started spiraling down faster, until finally I'd just - snapped, I guess." I raise my head to look straight at him. "I had a full-blown mental episode. A major one."

Lucas just stares at me, and then his jaw tightens and I rush forward before he can interrupt me. "That doesn't excuse what I did, I know. The way I hurt Naomi - my ex-wife..." My voice is strained, my throat clogged with that ever-present lump of shame. With effort, I push through it. "Not a day goes by that I don't regret it. All I can say is, I am trying my best to get better. I'm working my ass off to make sure it never happens again."

Lucas shakes his head, his face grim. "That sounds rough, Dan, and I'm sorry for you, but still, that's not nearly good enough. I appreciate your honesty; I really do. But my sister deserves better. She deserves better than you."

I nod. "Yeah. She does. So I guess that means I'll spend the rest of my life bettering myself, for her."

Lucas's head snaps back. "The rest of your life? Are you crazy?!"

I just hold his gaze, and see color once more flush his high cheeks. "That is a load of BS! You've just met. You can't seriously be talking about anything long-term. Sandra would never make a rash decision like that, she's much too level-headed for that. Not unless -"

He stops when he sees the the guilt on my face. At first he shakes his head in denial, but then his eyes narrow and zoom on me and I can see the wheels turning in his head, until -

"Oh, God, no. Please... No."

He shoves his hands through his hair, looking at me almost pleadingly. "Tell me I'm wrong. Tell me it's not what I'm thinking, Dan. Tell me you didn't..."

I don't say anything, just stare at him mutely and watch his emotions - hurt and disappointment, fear and frustration - chase each other on his face, darkening his eyes and tightening his features into a rigid mask.

"God help me, but I should have killed you when you first opened the door. I still should." His words may be menacing, but his tone is defeated, and he doesn't make any move towards me. I feel a strange urge to console him.

"Too late. I've already tried that. It didn't work."

He stares at me, clearly not following. I feel my lips twist in self-mockery.

"I tried killing myself when I - when the knowledge of what I'd done to Naomi sunk in. And then Jon - my partner, my best friend - he came over and beat me down to a pulp, pretty much." I chuckle humorlessly. "Which is, incidentally, how I got to meet Sandra - the concussion landed me in the Neuro ward - so I guess, in a way, I should be thankful. I am thankful. Sandra - she..." I blink at the sudden tears in my eyes, and swallow them down, hard.

"She probably saved my life. And not just physically speaking, either. She - she somehow got me, you know? She was the one to pick up on my injuries being partially the result of a suicide attempt. She insisted on getting me a psyche consult. She helped me see some light at the end of the tunnel during those first few weeks, when all I wanted to do was just dig myself into a hole and die."

I shake my head. "I don't really get it. I honestly don't know why she cared so much. But she did. And it made all the difference in the world to me."

Lucas is quiet for a long moment - so long that it starts to freak me out. Finally he coughs and speaks hoarsely: "I - I do. I know why she cared."

Air gets caught painfully in my chest. "What?! - I mean, why?"

He doesn't answer right away, and I can see his jaw working hard under his taut skin. He clenches and unclenches his fists, and I have a feeling he's debating whether or not to get up and leave. But then he reaches his decision and his body calms down somewhat when he looks me in the eye.

"Our younger sister - Helena - she tried to kill herself and her baby girl about eight months ago."

His words strike me right in the chest, leaving me gasping for air. "What?! Helena -" I shake my head, speechless. I'd just met Helena, her husband and their baby girl a couple of weeks ago at the barbeque, and there didn't seem to be anything wrong with them. They were all - happy. Normal. Or so I thought.

Lucas nods. "Yeah. Sounds crazy, huh?" he shrugs. "She had postpartum depression. None of us realized how bad it was until it was almost too late." He pauses, purses his lips, and then continues. "We all thought it was just a little case of the baby blues at first, you know? We figured she'll just get over it soon. But then when the baby was about a month old her husband got back to travelling for his business - he had to go for two whole weeks to the States. And my father had just undergone major surgery on his knee, so my mom was focused on taking care of him, and Sandra and I -" he raises his shoulders. "You know how it is. Everybody's busy with their own lives."

"What happened?" I ask quietly.

"She closed all the windows and left the gas stove on. Then she put the baby to sleep in her crib, took a sleeping pill herself, and got into bed." His voice is flat is he recounts the events, as if afraid to allow himself to feel them. I can relate.

I keep quiet. I know he'll continue the story when he's ready. After a moment, he does.

"Luckily, a neighbor found them. She came by to bring Helena a bill that was placed in the wrong mailbox, and then became concerned when there was no answer as she knocked on the door, while the car was outside and the stroller folded right there on the porch. And then she thought she smelled gas, so she called 911." Lucas draws a shuddering breath, and I can see brightness glinting in his eyes. "They said another hour and the baby wouldn't have survived. A few more hours and Helena might not have, either."

I nod. "Thank God for nosy neighbors, eh?"

The very corner of Lucas's mouth twitches, and he gives me a tiny nod. After a while, he inhales deeply, and seems to shake off the memory of those bad times as he re-focuses on the here and now. On me.

"Anyways, I suspect that's why Sandra was sensitive to that possibility. Why she cared."

"Yeah. I can see that."

We both lean back in our seats, and for a long while the room is quiet as we each stare ahead, seeing only the ghosts in our own minds..

A loud ringing breaks the silence, and Lucas reaches for his phone, checks the display, and swipes to answer. "Yes, Mama?"

He listens, and his mouth thins in annoyance at first, but then he nods curtly. "Yes, Mama. I know. Alright, I promise." He listens some more and nods again. "Okay. I will. See you soon. Bye, Mama." After listening for another moment, he cuts the call and pockets his phone, looking back at me as he gets to his feet.

"I'm gonna get going. My mother had just heard the rumors, too. The friend who told me - the brother of one of your colleagues from the station - also told his mother, who knits with mine, you know, at the knitting club." Lucas shrugs self-consciously. "She called to make sure I don't do anything stupid."

Damn. I should have known. Secrets don't remain that way for long in a town this size, or in families as close as Sandra's. Especially a juicy one like mine. I curse inwardly, but then I know there's not a lot I can do about it.

Except, maybe, go and talk to Sandra's parents directly. The thought makes me shiver. It isn't a conversation I'm looking forward to. But then the stakes are too high for me to chicken out.

I get up on my feet to stand before Lucas. We both stare at each other uncomfortably, until I take a step forward and stretch out my hand. After a moment's hesitation, Lucas takes it and gives me a solid shake, and then keeps his fingers wrapped tightly around my hand.