“It’s been about two days. The morning before last. And… having not taken them, I may have had blackouts in the time during which I was at Jillian’s. I’m not sure.”
“Blackouts?” she frowns. “I thought the issue was DID.”
“It is.” He stops, glances at me. “I’m sorry. I’m so used to thinking of them as blackouts, that’s what I know them to be.”
She shrugs. Dismisses the thought. “Did you take any medication at Jillian’s?”
“Not willingly. But the doctor there injected me with something. Maybe twice, I’m not sure. I want to know what’s in my system now. And have documentation of that, should we need it.”
She nods, pulling items from her bag. “Let’s pull some blood and get a urine sample.”
“Layana,” the attorney’s voice, a booming bass of a sound, crackles through my cell, and I step away, into the hall.
“Hey John. I need your help.”
Team Jillian shows up before Dr. Renhart has finished, the guard shack calling the house to alert us of their presence. It takes less than four minutes for her brigade to leave, the three Escalades doing a quick roundabout through the cul-de-sac outside our gates. I guess the sight of three armed guards blocking our gate changed Jillian’s mind. I watch from an upstairs balcony, and try to understand the woman below me. A woman who seems staunch in her belief that she is in the right, justified. Even in her lies, her deceit. For what? The good of Brant? The good of BSX? Or the good of herself? I step away from the window and walk downstairs, Brant’s form by the door, his hand clasped by the doctor’s, goodbyes in full force.
“The results of the blood tests won’t be available until tomorrow. I’ll email you the findings as soon as they are processed. But I would guess, speaking to you about your experience… anything you were injected with will pass through your system in the next twenty-four hours.” She fishes a card from her pocket. “This is Dr. Henry Terra. He’s, as best I could tell from my connections, the foremost authority on DID. I would suggest you call him immediately, if not for your own psychological therapy, then to get his legal advice and support for whatever battle you end up fighting. I have to assume treatment of DID has progressed since you were a child.” She turns to me and reaches out, wrapping me into a firm hug. “Once you sort this out, I expect to see you at HYA.”
“You know me, I can’t stay away.” I grin at her, and there is a moment of sad connection, when I see the pity in her eyes and want to brush it away. Brant and I are fine. We are strong. I pulled back the roof of lies and we survived, are fighting, our anger focused on Jillian. We have love, the rest will get better or worse, and I would rather have worse than have any more lies. I hold the door and watch her leave, Brant’s arm wrapping around and pulling me close, his mouth soft against my neck as he bends down to kiss me.
It is horrible for me to think, to wish for, but in that one moment of peace, of unity, the two of us against the world? A part of me really wants Lee to show up, to take me against the wall and f**k my brains out. No thinking, no analysis, just raw need fulfilled by both. I roll in Brant’s arms. Try to press against him and light the fire of my body, but there is nothing there. Not in this moment when he is broken and I am exhausted and the white hat is so heavy on my head.
I would rather have worse than have any more lies. I just told myself that. I had loved Brant, had only gone after Lee for the purpose of keeping both halves of my man loyal, keeping him close. If he leaves, if the doctor has a cure, if he weeds out Lee and I am left with only Brant, that should be perfect, right?
Right?
I avoid the answers my heart pushes forward. The admittance, in my bones, that a part of me loves Lee. Needs him.
Chapter 66
TUESDAY
Jillian’s injunction to push Brant’s custodial motion through is stopped, courtesy of our new team of legal representation: six attorneys rigorously opposing any and all attacks on Brant Sharp’s character for an enthusiastic eight hundred dollars an hour. Jillian has funds, so she can fight us tooth and nail, but I don’t think she will. Not when an end result will require months of broadcasted legal battles that will only hurt the public image of BSX, as well as any chance of a family reunion between her and Brant. Not when the test results showed that she had injected Brant with a cocktail of illegal drugs while keeping him prisoner. We haven’t heard from her since her arrival at our home yesterday. I am assuming she is licking her wounds while removing any trace of the imprisonment that occurred in her home.
The hum of the highway rolls with a muted sound through the car as we head back from the office, my ring finger heavy with the weight of my new acquisition. I finally feel worthy of it, allowed Brant to drop to one knee on the carpet outside of his safe and repeat the question he has spent years perfecting. We had decided to wait until today, for any legal issues to be handled before showing up at the office, not wanting police awaiting our arrival, or some similar scene orchestrated by the control freak that is Jillian.
“What are you going to do about her?” I look away from the window, my eyes catching the quick glance from Brant as he takes his eyes from the road to visit mine for a moment. His jaw tightens, his grip on the steering wheel working the leather as he flexes his hands.
“I don’t know. I want to talk to the DID expert, find out my ability to run the company. Regardless, I don’t think I have a choice about Jillian. She has to be removed from any role of power.”
I sigh. “The company’s her life. Has been for twenty years.” He won’t want to run a company. At least not old Brant. Financial sheets bore him, meetings drive him insane, and he can’t name ten employees off the top of his head. He likes to be in a room, alone. Working, fixing, creating. Jillian has done a great job in her role, even if she had been psychotic in her treatment of Brant. I have no desire to reward the woman but hate the waste of the situation.
Brant’s hands move on the steering wheel and I glance over, see his fingers pull up the phone prompt and dial the number for BSX.
A perky voice answers moments later.
Brant clears his throat. “Hank Michen in Security, please.” I blink, surprised that he knows a name in security. Maybe he can name ten employees without pause.
The next voice is deeper. More intimidating in its greeting.
“Hank, this is Brant Sharp. I need to lock Jillian Sharp out of everything.”