The Masked Truth Part 22

"Yes, there is, because your implication is that I only helped her because she's pretty. Or that I'm only eagerly waiting to see her because she's pretty. She is pretty. She's also smart, funny and sweet, and was, a mere hour ago, fighting for her life after being both shot and stabbed. I'm going to see her now, because even if she's unconscious, she's still very pretty." He leans over and whispers, "In fact, to be honest, pretty girls are better that way. No talking required."

She gives him a sour look. He grins and, in return, gives her a one-armed squeeze.

"I'm going to pop in and see her," he says. "I'll be back in a minute."

"Max?" she says as he starts to bounce off, and he considers pretending he didn't hear her, but he wasn't raised that way. Nor does she deserve rudeness.

He turns, and she says, "Are you all right?"

He resists the urge to say "Right as rain." He'll save that for Riley. Instead, he smiles and says, "Very all right, Maman. More all right than I have been in a long time. Don't I seem it?"

"You do seem very happy."

"There you are, then."

She hesitates and then says, "You've just escaped dangerous killers, Maximus. Perhaps happy isn't the proper emotion?"

She lowers her voice as she says it, just as she did when she asked if he'd had his meds, and again he resists the urge to tense.

See, Max, you don't need to watch so carefully for signs. She's there to do it for you.

"It's actual happiness, Mum, not inappropriate affect."

"I wasn't suggesting"

"I'm happy because I survived and Riley survived and we'll both be fine, and we did it. I did it. I faced h.e.l.l tonight and I got through it just as I would have before this mess started."

"I know, and that's admirable, but it doesn't mean"

"Yes, I know. It doesn't mean I'm better. I'll never be better. But I accomplished this, and I'm going to ask you to let me have my victory. Just a taste of normal, all right? Don't worry. I won't let it go to my head."

Her gaze drops. "Yes, of course. I'm sorry, Max. I didn't mean"

"You're just watching out for me. I know." Another one-armed hug, and this time she accepts it. He even smacks a kiss on her cheek before saying, "I'll only be a moment." Then he starts loping off.

He gets exactly three steps before a voice says, "Maximus Cross?" and he turns to see two plainclothes police officers bearing down on him.

"We need to speak to you."

CHAPTER 22.

I'm not dead. That's my second thought on waking. Yes, it should probably be my first, but there was that groggy moment when I opened my eyes and saw white and heard murmuring voices and the exact state of my existence wasn't obvious. Then one of the voices came clearSloane'sand that answered the question.

Did I really think I died in that alley? Yes. I don't know how close I actually came to it, but in that moment, lying there, I'd been certain that's what was happening, and equally certain there was nothing I could do to stop it.

I always expected that when the end came, I'd fight like h.e.l.l. I had, up to that point, but then I'd crossed over it and the inevitable seemed, well, inevitable. Like seeing a meteor falling and you're running as fast as you can until the shadow covers you and you look up and realize it's too big to outrun. In that momentthat final momentall I'd cared about was that I wasn't alone. That someone else cared enough to stay at my side. And so, when I wake, there's one name on my lips.

"Max?" I whisper, lifting my head.

He's not there. Nor does anyone immediately rush to my bedside, as they do in the movies. That's because no one happens to be looking my way. Mom's talking to the doctor with her back to me. Sloane is at the window, looking out. They don't hear my scratchy whisper.

I slump back onto the bed, and that's when Mom turns, and she sees my eyes open and gives a little chirp of an "Oh!" as she rushes over, and that's when I get my cinematic moment, family cl.u.s.tered at my bedside, telling me how glad they are that I'm awake, how I've been through so much but I'm fine now, crying happy tears.

Okay, Mom does all that. Sloane stands at my bedside and says, "Thank G.o.d you're awake. You were starting to smell." And Mom says, "Sloane!" and I wait for my sister's usual "What?" but instead she smiles at me and leans over to kiss my forehead and whispers, "Good to see you back. But you do smell."

"Thanks." I shift and I brace for pain, but nothing comes. Good meds, I guess. "How long have I been out?"

"It's Sunday," Sloane says. "Which means you're twenty-four hours overdue for a shower."

"I'll get right on that," I say. "How much longer do I need to be here?"

The doctor starts explaining my injuries. After the first line I lift my hand. "Not to be rude, but can I just get an estimated time of departure?"

"We'd like to keep you for a few days," she says. "There's always the risk of infection, and you've been through a trauma"

"Got it," I say, and I really don't mean to be rude, but there are more important things on my mind. "How's Max?"

When silence answers, I boost myself up. "Max? The guy I came in with? He was with me, right?"

"He was," Mom says in a very careful tone, one that starts my heart pounding.

"Is he okay? Did something happen? He was fine when I pa.s.sed out."

"He said to tell you he's right as rain," Sloane says.

I have to smile at that. I exhale and lean back into the pillow. "Okay, good." One second of rest, and then I'm up again. "What about Lorenzo? He was one of the counselors."

"He didn't make it, baby," Mom says. "But the girl did."

"Girl?"

"Brienne, I think her name is?"

"Brienne?" I shoot up fast enough that I do feel pain stabbing through me. "She's alive?"

"In critical condition and unconscious, but stable." Mom looks at the doctor. "Is that right? She's stable?"

The doctor nods and then says, "I should alert Detective Buchanan that Riley is awake."

"Right," I say. "The whole kidnapping thing probably needs a statement, huh?" I smile. No one else does. Not a laughing matter, and they're right. I think of Aaron and Aimee and Lorenzo, of Maria and Gideon and Sandy, and my smile disappears as I slide back down in the bed. The doctor leaves.

Mom comes over and holds my hand. "It's all right, baby. We'll get this sorted out."

Sorted out. An odd way to put it. I'm quiet for a minute. Then I look over at her. "I'd like to see Max."

When she doesn't answer, I say, "Duh, right. If I've been unconscious since Friday, he's long since gone home."

"Actually" Sloane begins, but Mom cuts her off with a look.

I continue, "I know the police will want to get my statement before I see him, but I'd like to speak to him after, if that's possible. I don't know if he left a number or some way to get in touch"

"We need to talk about him," Mom says, and her grip on my hand tightens.

"About Max?" I catch her expression, the wariness there. "Did he say something? He can be a bit of a smart-a.s.s. If he made some comment"

"It's not that."

"He's okay, though, right?" I push up again.

"Depends on your definition of okay," Sloane mutters.

"Wh-what?"

"You do know he's crazy, right?"

"Sloane!" Mom says.

"What? It's true."

"Sloane? Could you please step outside?"

My sister slouches into a chair instead.

"Mom?" I say. "What's going on?"

"I'm not sure how much you know about this Max boy, Riley. About why he was in therapy."

"He never said. There seemed to be, well, maybe some kind of abuse? I could be wrong."

"Yep, you are," Sloane murmurs, too low for Mom to call her on it.

"I know he's on medication," I say. "For a heart condition."

"Not a heart condition," Sloane says, and when Mom turns on her, she says, "Just spit it out, Mom. Before she totally freaks."

"He has schizophrenia," Mom says.

"Now you can freak," Sloane says to me.

I barely hear her. I'm thinking of what Mom just said.

"Schizo ..." I'm trying to remember everything I know about that. It's not much. "That isn't multiple personality, is it? I know 'schism' means split. But that's not it."

"It means he's crazy," my sister says.

"Sloane!" Mom says.

"What? The doctor said it means he hallucinates, hears voices, can't think straight, is p.r.o.ne to violence, and can't tell what's real and what's not. Cla.s.sic definition of crazy."

"Sloane?" Now it's me saying it. "Can you step outside? Please?"

She looks honestly taken aback at that. Maybe even hurt.

"I'd like to speak to Mom," I say. "Max saved my life, and I need to have a serious conversation about this without listening to you insult him."

"I'm not trying to insult him," she says. "I'm just telling you what the doctor says. Maybe 'crazy' isn't the right word to use"

"Would you use it for me?"

"Of course not. But you're just having problems. He's been diagnosed with a serious mental disorder."

"Then call it that. Please. Because PTSD is a mental disorder, not a 'problem,' and I'd rather not worry about my sister calling me crazy."

"I'm sorry," she says, and looks as if she means it. "I'd never call you that. But what they're saying about him ..."

I brace myself. "What are they saying?"

"There's some confusion, baby," Mom says. "About exactly what happened."

"They say he did it," Sloane blurts.

"What?" I say.

Mom tries to hush her, to take some gentle and roundabout path to the answer, but I don't want gentle or roundabout.

"They're saying he did what?" I ask Sloane.

"All of it," she says. "Killed those kids. Shot you. Stabbed you."

I bolt upright so fast the pain leaves me gasping. "What? No. Just no. That's" I take a deep breath.

Speaking of crazy.

No, really, this is crazy.

Am I awake? I can't be. Because this is absolutely nuts. How could they even think I can't panic. I need to focus on facts. It's just some confusion, and I can clear it up if I calm down.

"At least one of the kidnappers was killed," I say. "Maybe two. There's a body. Proof."

Mom shakes her head. "No, there's isn't, baby."