Fallen Angel Read online

  Fallen Angel

  by

  Mona Ingram

  Copyright © 2011 Mona Ingram

  All rights reserved.

  This is a work of fiction.

  Names, characters, places

  and incidents are either the

  product of the author’s imagination,

  or are used fictitiously, and

  any resemblance to actual

  persons, living or dead,

  business establishments,

  events or locations

  is entirely coincidental.

  Chapter One

  Laura didn’t need an intervention to know she had problems, which was why she was doubly surprised when she walked into her grandmother’s house and saw all the people who, for whatever reason, still loved her.

  Time seemed to stand still. With one hand on the screen door and the other clutching the door frame, she contemplated turning around and leaving. At least long enough to down another pill. For one irrational moment she was thankful that she’d showered and washed her hair this morning. As if that meant they’d go easy on her. But that wasn’t going to happen; she could see from the five determined pairs of eyes that no one here was going to cut her any slack. That’s the way it worked, wasn’t it...on those television shows? Her throat went dry and she looked at her grandmother, who was seated next to her father on the couch.

  “Could I get something to drink, please?” She gave a weak smile. “Diet Coke if you have any, Gran.” She started to make her way toward the kitchen but Jenna, her friend since childhood, jumped up. “I’ll get it.”

  They’re probably afraid I’ll make a run for it out the back door, she thought to herself. And they may be right. The shock was beginning to wear off, and she took in the two remaining people in the group. Rachel Ellison, the head nurse from St. Mark’s and a woman she didn’t recognize.

  The woman stood up and motioned for Laura to sit down in the big chair in the corner. Laura almost giggled; it reminded her of a wedding shower where the bride-to-be was the center of attention.

  The woman extended her hand and Laura shook it. “My name is Myrna Hyslop. I’m an intervention specialist and I’m here to help your friends and family.”

  Jenna came back into the room. Ice cubes clinked in a tall glass and she held a can of coke in the other hand. She placed both items on the table beside Laura and gave her friend a quick hug and a kiss on the cheek. “Love you,” she murmured, then went back to the other side of the room and sat down.

  Laura poured half of the coke with a trembling hand and took a deep swallow. It tasted great, but what she’d really like is another oxycodone to go with it. She tried to remember when she’d taken the last one, but her memory was fuzzy. She set the glass back down, frowning with the effort of concentration. Her memory was deserting her frequently these days, and she didn’t like it.

  There were times, like right now, when she couldn’t even remember what had sent her down this path to self-destruction. But then the memories would come flooding back and she’d feel herself falling even deeper, if that was possible, into the black void that was currently her life.

  She forced herself to look at the people gathered in her grandmother’s living room. Her father, divorced from her mother for ten years now. Always there for her. It was her father who’d supported her when she announced her decision to become a nurse. He was the best, and she’d been genuinely delighted for him when he told her a few weeks ago that he’d found a woman to share the rest of his life with. She couldn’t remember the woman’s name right now, but her father was happy and that’s all that mattered.

  Next to her father was her Gran. As long as she could remember, a stable force in her life and a source of unconditional love. As a child, Laura had spent at least two weeks a year here at her grandmother’s house in the Shaughnessy district of Vancouver. Those had been some of the happiest times of her life.

  Rachel Ellison. Head Nurse at the hospital, and her supervisor. It was only a little over a month since Laura had fallen at work and broken her arm. The cast had come off two days ago and she massaged her arm, trying once more to recall what had precipitated that fall. She hated to admit it, but she couldn’t remember that either. At least she’d done one thing right. She’d stashed away a supply of oxycodone before the accident. The doctor wouldn’t prescribe any pain meds for her after the fall, informing her that a broken arm didn’t warrant anything more than Tylenol, and besides a stronger pain killer could prove addictive. She’d almost laughed out loud at that, but had managed to nod in solemn agreement.

  Jenna Harkness. Her closest friend since childhood. They’d grown up together in Quesnel, had done volunteer work at the local hospital, and had shared everything. Even after Laura had gone to Vancouver for her nurses’ training, they’d remained close. Laura had been there when Jenna and Drew got married, and had rushed to see each of her children only days after their birth. Her friend’s eyes were all shimmery with tears, and she wondered if Jenna was about to tell her that she was no longer Godmother to Hayley and Mark. The idea was insupportable, and for the first time she felt real fear.

  “...which is why your family and friends are here for you today.” The intervention specialist was speaking but Laura hadn’t heard a word. What was her name again? She turned toward the other woman, hoping that her expression didn’t reveal what she was thinking. That she didn’t really need her help. Her family were wonderful to be so caring, but her current state was only temporary. She’d be back up to speed any time now.

  She took another drink, playing for time. She’d come to love the sound of ice cubes recently. They signalled good times ahead. She frowned again. At least they were supposed to be good times, but in recent weeks she’d often wake up in the morning not remembering what had happened after the third or fourth drink in her favourite bar. She stared into the bottom of the glass. She’d better cut back on the drinking, or she wouldn’t be in any shape to go back to work.

  She looked at the faces around the room and put on a conciliatory smile. “I’ve been drinking too much” she said, nodding as she spoke to let them know she accepted the seriousness of her problem. “And I promise to cut back right away.”

  Nobody responded. They didn’t have to; it was clear that they didn’t believe a word of what she said. This was going to be tougher than she thought.

  “Okay, you’re right. I won’t just ‘cut back’. I’ll stop drinking completely.” She tried another smile and held up the arm that had been broken, flexing her fingers as she spoke. “I’ll be fit for work soon and I need all my senses for that.” She looked directly at her supervisor, who was looking at her oddly. “Rachel knows what I mean, right?”

  The Head Nurse looked at the intervention specialist who nodded, then turned her attention back to Laura. “You’re not coming back to work. I’m sorry, Laura, but I can’t afford to have you back on the floors.” She gave her head a little shake. “I’d planned to talk to you the day you had your accident. In retrospect, I should have realized what was going on, but it never crossed my mind that you had a substance abuse problem. You were skating on thin ice then, but now you’ve gone right over the edge.”

  Laura wanted to tell her she was mixing her metaphors, but something held her back. “How can you possibly say that? I haven’t seen you since I got the cast on.” Her tone was getting desperate, but she couldn’t stop herself. “I’m much better now.”

  For the first time she saw something like pity in Rachel’s eyes. “Laura, we saw each other a couple of weeks ago, at the staff picnic. You don’t remember?”

  “Come on, Rachel. Stop kidding.” She glanced around at the others in the room. They were all looking at her gravely and her world seemed to tilt. She looked
back at her supervisor and when she spoke her voice was little more than a whisper. “I don’t remember.”

  “You were pretty high when you got there, so I’m not surprised.”

  Laura didn’t intend to give up without a fight. “Come on, Rach, everybody has too much to drink once in a while; it’s how we blow off steam. You know that.”

  “Your drinking is only part of your problems. It wasn’t until I discussed the situation with Dr. Rowland that I started to put the pieces together. He told me that you’d been taking various forms of oxycodone for a couple of months before you broke your arm.”

  “And you believed Stew?” Laura was incensed. “He’s the one who gave it to me in the first place.”

  She closed her eyes, dropped her head. She wanted to snatch the words back, but it was too late. Her first instinct was to blame Rachel for tricking her, but that lasted only a second. It wasn’t Rachel’s fault she’d become addicted. It wasn’t even Stew’s fault, much as she’d like to share the blame. She was an RN, for God’s sake; she’d known the consequences of self-medicating with oxycodone long before he suggested that she take one to help her get through the bleak days after Mattie died.

  They all spoke after that. Her father, her grandmother, and finally her friend Jenna. Ashamed and resentful at the same time, she heard very little of what they had to say. She knew they loved her and wanted to help her, but what right did they have to interfere in her life? It wasn’t until Jenna spoke of her children that she raised her head and actively listened to her friend.

  “I’m not giving up on you, Laura. You’re Godmother to my children, and I need you to be in their lives. What if something should happen to Drew and me, God forbid? You promised to take care of them, and I need you to be well. Please say you’ll go.”

  Go where? Laura wondered. Either they hadn’t discussed that part, or she hadn’t been listening. But did it matter? Not really. She knew what was in store for her; the location was the least of her concerns.

  She knew better than to ask if she could go home. After brief but tearful goodbyes, the Hyslop woman bundled her into a large SUV and pulled out into traffic.

  Laura was silent for the first half hour, watching downtown Vancouver slide by outside the window. “Where are we going?” she asked eventually, as they crossed the Lions Gate Bridge.

  “Please call me Myrna”, the woman said with a thin smile. “We’re going to Vancouver Island. There’s an excellent rehab center not far from Nanaimo, so we’ll be crossing from Horseshoe Bay.” She seemed remarkably upbeat. “I always enjoy the ferry crossing.”

  Laura remained silent for several moments. “What about my apartment?” she asked finally. She hoped it wasn’t too much of a mess.

  “Your father’s going to take care of that for you.”

  Laura absorbed this information with a silent nod. She twirled a piece of hair around her finger and rubbed it against her lips. It was a gesture she used to make to calm herself when she heard her parents arguing, or when her mother had been particularly vile toward her. She dropped the piece of hair and glanced sideways to see if Myrna had noticed, but the woman was manoeuvring through traffic, approaching Highway 1.

  “What about clothes, toothbrush, stuff like that? And who’s paying for all this?” Laura hadn’t meant to sound belligerent, but the words came out that way.

  Myrna narrowed her eyes.

  She probably thinks I’m a spoiled bitch. Maybe she’s right. She smiled in an attempt to let the other woman know she meant well.

  “Your father sent along a suitcase for you. You won’t need a huge wardrobe at Water’s Edge, but he and his new lady friend picked out some nice things for you.”

  “You saw what they bought?”

  The other woman nodded. “Yes, it’s part of my job. You’ll be checked again when you arrive just to make sure. As for the money, your father and your grandmother have paid for that as well.”

  “I can afford to pay for it.” Laura didn’t know why she’d said that. Maybe she just needed to assert herself. Everything else seemed to have been decided for her.

  “Good. But that’s between you and your father now.”

  They fell silent after that. Laura scarcely noticed the sparkling blue of the Pacific as they neared the ferry terminal. She was startled when Myrna spoke as they waited in line to board the ferry.

  “I’ve made this trip many times.” She glanced across at Laura. “It never fails to inspire me, knowing that people like you have the strength to turn their lives around.”

  Traffic started to move. Ferry staff motioned them forward impatiently and Myrna guided the SUV up the ramp and into the gaping mouth of the ferry.

  Laura felt as though she were being swallowed whole. She fought the panic that threatened to engulf her as they drove into the gloom of the parking level. Until now, she hadn’t given serious thought to what lay in store for her. She took several deep, calming breaths. Whatever was coming, it couldn’t be worse than what she’d already been through...could it?

  Chapter Two

  Bradley Jamieson watched the shaft of sunlight move slowly across the bed. He willed it to stop, but it moved inexorably toward him. Soon it would be in his eyes, he’d be forced to move, and the woman in bed beside him would know he was awake.

  She was lovely, no doubt about that. They’d been introduced a couple of weeks ago and he’d been attracted to her, but had been hesitant to ask her out on a date. Finally he’d texted her, and she’d replied almost immediately. Last night had been wonderful; an intimate dinner sitting side by side in a booth at his favourite restaurant, followed by a leisurely walk along the waterfront. He couldn’t recall who had initiated the first kiss, but it had been long and hot; there was no doubt that they both wanted more.

  The sex had been fantastic...for both of them. A small smile tilted the corner of his mouth as he recalled the number of times she’d told him what a wonderful lover he was.

  She stirred in bed just as the sun hit him in the face. It was pointless to pretend any longer.

  “Oh, you’re awake” she said, propping her head on a hand and looking down at him with a smile. “Did you sleep well?”

  He nodded. He’d had a rare night free of nightmares. That in itself was worth celebrating. He swung his feet over the side of the bed and rubbed at the stubble on his cheeks. The woman...what was her name? Ah yes, Alexa...scooted across the bed and was snuggling up behind him, pressing her breasts into his back.

  “What are you going to do today?” She asked, fingers tiptoeing across his abdomen and heading south.

  He grabbed her hand to halt its progress and brought it to his lips. He must be mad not to want more sex, but the price was too high. He knew what would happen afterward; she’d want to get to know him better. It was only natural he supposed, but it was more than he could take. He’d dated a few women since coming home and they all wanted to pry into his private life, to find out why he couldn’t talk, and each one in her own unique way wanted to “fix” him.

  He kissed her hand again and tenderly touched her cheek, trying to soften the refusal. He liked her, he really did. She was gorgeous to look at, and intelligent, but he didn’t want to get personal and she did. In that respect, she was no different from the others.

  He grabbed his BlackBerry. Leaving town today, he typed and showed it to her. Sorry he added, Had great time last night. He didn’t have to tell her that he’d only just decided to take his friend up on his offer of a bed for the summer–in exchange for working in the vineyards.

  She gave him a sad smile. “You’re not going to call me again, are you?” It was more of a statement than a question.

  He smiled back, and shook his head. It was one thing he’d learned a long time ago; don’t complicate your life with lies.

  “I thought not.” She kissed him lightly on the lips. “You’re a nice guy, Bradley Jamieson. If you come back to town and change your mind, I’d love to hear from you.”

  And wit
h that, she slipped into her clothes and was gone. Bradley stared at the closed door for several long minutes after she’d left and wondered if his life would ever get back to normal.

  * * *

  It didn’t take long for Bradley to get organized and on the road. He’d texted Matt at the winery and been assured that he was still welcome. He’d laughed at the next line: ‘Will that old beast make the trip?’

  The Norton was Bradley’s favourite means of transportation. There was something freeing about being on the bike and it had been thoroughly serviced over several weeks the previous month; Bradley trusted it to make the trip.

  It was noon by the time he left Comox. He planned to cross the ferry at Nanaimo and drive into the Fraser Valley tonight. Motels were plentiful in the area; hopefully he’d have a good sleep and make it to the Okanagan around noon the next day.

  As he crossed the bridge from the Comox side of town to Courtenay, the Snowbirds, Canada’s aerobatic team, streaked across the sky, practicing one of their manoeuvres. The Tutors were small compared to the F-18s that Bradley had flown in Afghanistan, but he still stopped to look every time he heard a jet engine. He paused by the side of the road to watch them, marvelling at the precision flying. The aircraft dispersed and he gunned the motor, sliding smoothly into traffic. It was times like this that he felt guilty. Trained at great expense to be a fighter pilot, he was useless now. Okay, so he wasn’t to blame, but that knowledge didn’t help in the dark of the night, when he woke up to the horror of his memories, knowing that in his dream he’d been trying to scream, but unable to make a sound.

  He rolled onto the five o’clock ferry with the other bikers, sent to their usual spot at the front. ‘First on, first off’ was their mantra. It was all part of the freedom of traveling by bike. He made his way to the upper deck, claiming a spot on one of the lifejacket storage containers. Here, with his back resting against the hull of the ship, he could watch not only the departure, but the eclectic mix of tourists that flocked to Vancouver Island every year. Virtually every European language was represented today, along with the ever-present, much-travelled Aussies and Asians. He sat back and closed his eyes, soaking up the sun. He hadn’t bothered to shave before leaving home, and he counted on his appearance to fend off anyone who would otherwise want to talk.