It's Only Fair Ch. 05

"Yeah. Fucked up fight over the weekend. I've got one hell of a shiner."

"You didn't pop her back, did you?"

"You know me better than that."

"Just checking. So what's the call for? Looking for someone besides mom to convince you to get her into counseling?"

"The cops came and took her away a couple hours ago."

The phone was silent on the other side, just the sound of my sister hissing as she let her breath escape. "Holy shit, Rick. That's big."

"Yeah, I know. Listen, you still talk to Jessica?"

"Jessica Lanier? Sure. You need a lawyer?"

"Child protective services suggested I get one."

"Wow, Rick. CPS too? Let me get in touch with Jessica and have her give you a call. You going to be up?"

"Yeah. Suffolk PD is going to call me at some point to let me know what's going on."

"OK, bro. You take care of yourself. I'll have Jess call you and I want to hear the complete report tomorrow as to what's going on."

"Thanks. Love you."

"You too."

She rung off and I hung up the phone. Ok, Rick. Proactive. You have $800, filed a report with the cops, and are on the way to getting a lawyer. What's next? I looked around the living room, fingering my pockets as I took stock of the situation. The truth was I was feeling wound up. Like I had to do something - but there was little I could do. I stood up, grabbed the empty laundry basket, and walked downstairs.

I put the basket by the dryer and turned to give the basement a solid once over. My gaze settled on the lally column in the center of the room. I walked over and inspected it. Dull reddish color, a spot of rust here and there, one of three supporting the center beam of the main floor above. I walked around it, running my hands along its surface. About 3' up from the floor I felt a series of regular scratches in the steel. The paint was gouged in 2" lengths, well over a dozen of them, all grouped in the same general area.

I put my hands around that area of the column, touching my wrists together as if they were bound. The scratches were right there, right about where the inside of my wrists were touching the pole. Is this where you were chaining yourself in the basement, Elle? Why? What the hell were you doing? From here I looked around the basement with a critical eye.

Ok, Elle. You're down here, playing with your handcuffs, strapping yourself to the pole for whatever god damned reason you have. But it's getting late and I'm coming home soon, right? So you unchain yourself and clean up the area - putting your cuffs away but not in an area that would be too difficult for you to get but would be someplace I would most likely not look or find.

I scanned the basement, discarding anyplace higher than 5' off the ground as it would be too tall for Elle and most likely in my field of vision. The shelving unit was an obvious place but as Officer Rafferty had noticed, most of the boxes and bags there had a layer of dust on it, testament to the little amount of time we used it. There was little else down here.

I went to the washer and dryer, knowing that she wouldn't hide anything near it since I did most of the laundry. Just to be sure, I did poke around but as suspected, nothing. Growing a bit frustrated at my lack of success I turned off the far light and walked back to the stairs to return to the main floor.

Stairs.

The bottom five steps did not have a riser, only the step itself, meaning there was a space behind the stairs that I could reach. I pulled my phone out, flipped it on to flashlight mode, and shone it through the stairs to the alcove like space behind.

There, shoved behind and resting on the floor, was a decent sized navy blue duffle bag.

I reached in and pulled it out, the contents clanking and clattering as they shifted within. Feeling elated and a bit nervous, I hefted the bag (maybe 15 lbs?) and took it upstairs where I placed it on the kitchen table with a hefty thunk.

I walked to the sink and took a mug from the holder, filling it with water. I drank deeply, my mouth suddenly dry. Filling it I took a second drink, the cool water sluicing over my parched throat. Steeling myself, I walked to the duffle, unzipped the top, and pulled it open not knowing what I was going to find.

Well, isn't this a fine pile of shit, I thought. I reached in and the first thing I plucked out was the velveteen bag with Elle's name on it that held her handcuffs. A quick check showed they were still inside. Remembering Officer Rafferty's admonishment, I tried not to touch the restraints themselves and instead placed the bag on the table.

The next item that came out was a short hard handled object about as long as my forearm, wrapped in dark brownish black leather. A series of tassels hung off the end, each one about the same length as the main shaft.

I then pulled out two rolls of silvered duct tape, one of them about half used, the other still wrapped in cellophane. There was a small coil of cord perhaps 25' worth like I would use to hang a clothes line. And speaking of clothes line, a dozen wooden clothes pins on a cardboard holder followed next. A heavy sleeping mask was near the bottom, a container of Neosporin about 1/3 used, and lastly were three worn bandanas - heavily wrinkled along the edges like they had been tied tight at one time.

I looked this mess over and was more confused than before. I took a deep breath and tried to reason it out. Ok, Elle had some sort of do it yourself bondage and masochism kit. While I'm out with Amber all day, she can come down to the basement and practice strapping herself to the support column?

That didn't make any sense. What would she get out of it? I know my wife, and even though this was nothing we had ever participated in before, just 'playing' bondage wouldn't do anything for her.

And then the little voice in the back of my head piped up with, "Unless she wasn't here by herself."

I hate that little bastard.

Ok, Rick. New scenario. I'm at work with Amber, Elle is skipping out on her work during the day to play the Marquis DeSade Amateur Hour with someone and then has to work till the late hours of the night to make up for all her play time.

Sarcasm aside, I felt betrayed. I had no proof of any of this, but I had some strong suspicions and now this duffle bag full of paraphernalia put a big piece of the puzzle together for me.

My phone rang, startling me. I looking down and saw a number I didn't recognize. "Rick Masters, how can I help you?"

"Rick? It's Jessica Lanier. Your sister called and filled me in. How're you doing?"

Jessica was my sister's friend since high school. At one time an awkwardly tall girl who was shy, she had grown into her skin and really blossomed as a person. She had poured her time and attention to her studies, taking the LSAT and eventually passing the Bar exam. She had no real love life from what I had heard, but she seemed to thrive even without one.

"I could be better, Jessica. I need some legal help and don't know where to turn to."

"I can talk to my boss tomorrow for you and see if I can get you to come in to meet with him as a personal favor. It's Ron Bekoff of Bekoff and Stelling in Mineola. I'll email you the address and drop you a call when I have an appointment time for you, ok?"

I settled back in the chair, feeling lightheaded. "Thanks, Jess. I'm kind of floundering here."

"Listen, don't worry. Just stay focused and take care of Amber, ok? That's your primary mission. Got it?"

"I do. And thanks again."

We exchanged farewells and I hung up the phone, looking at the clock on the wall. 10:45. It was getting late and I didn't know what was going with Elle still. I checked on Amber, she was sleeping soundly, and then went into the living room and stared out the window.

There were few street lights in my neighborhood. Most of the lighting came from the private homes and whatever lights they had outside. I remember that there had been talk last year on adding better lighting but as usual, nothing came of it and most of the streets were pretty dark after nightfall.

At almost 11 I saw someone walking up the road slowly, head down and striding along. "Kind of late for a walk," I muttered, watching the figure as it came closer, eventually cutting across Stan's lawn and heading up to his front door. It was when the figure got to my neighbor's front door and the light shone directly on him that I was able to tell it was Stan himself. "What the hell is he doing walking this late at night?" I wondered. After the lawyers visit tomorrow I'd ask him. "I'll also ask him if he had seen any strange cars over the last couple of months. I don't believe Elle was here doing this shit herself."

Restless I went to the bedroom and lay down, picking up my paperback novel and opening to the bookmarked page I was reading last. The words swam about my head, my mind not retaining any of it, but the sheer act of reading was enough to distract me until the phone eventually rang. 11:24 PM.

"Hello?"

"Mr. Masters? It's Officer Rafferty."

"Officer. Thank god, I've been going a bit crazy here."

"Thank you for your patience, Mr. Masters. I wanted to let you know that we have transported your wife to Stony Brook hospital and she's about to meet the evaluation panel."

"So...Then what?"

"That depends on the board, Mr. Masters. She could be deemed not an immediate threat and discharged in which case you would have to come and pick her up. Or they can rule otherwise and involuntarily commit her."

I blinked. "She's crazy? Like nut house crazy?"

"No, Mr. Masters. It's not like that. You wife is suffering something at this time but I am not qualified to judge or diagnose. The psychologists will make that determination and then she would be either released or transported someplace else to help her get her problems under control."

"So, what do I need to do now?"

"At this point, Mr. Masters, I suggest you get some sleep. The panel will be meeting with your wife in the next half hour and then perhaps another half hour of questioning and evaluations before a decision is made. I will call you at that time, it will most likely be after 12:30."

"Oh, ok. Thank you Officer Rafferty. By the way, I found my wife's...cuffs and kit."

"Terrific." She paused. "Kit, Mr. Masters?"

"Yeah, a duffle bag filled with some kinky stuff was under the stairs. The handcuffs were in there as well."

"That's good to know, Mr. Masters. I am off shift at 2 AM tonight but I return to work tomorrow at 12. No matter which way this goes, I'd like to collect that bag tomorrow if that's possible."

"No problem. I'd like it out of the house. Should I drive it to you?"

"That'd be fine. I'll call you when I hear something new. Get a little rest, Mr. Masters."

"Will do." And then I hung up. I looked at my cell phone. I hadn't used it this much in a single night in a very long time. I placed it on Elle's pillow next to me, watching its screen fade to black and go dark. I turned off the light and lay there in the blackness, feeling tears trickle out of my eyes and course their way down my cheeks to moisten the pillowcase.

I must have dozed off because the phone's musical ring was jarring. I flailed about, finally grabbing it and sitting up. "H'lo?"

"I'm sorry for the late call," came a male voice, the words sounded precisely spoken. "I assume this is Mr. Rick Masters, husband of Elle Masters?"

"It is."

"This is Doctor Turell of Stony Brook Hospital. I wanted to take a few minutes out to talk to you about your wife."

"Please. Tell me."

"Mr. Masters, it is the opinion of this panel that your wife is suffering from an exacerbated bi-polar incident due to her recent pregnancy that has morphed and evolved into her current manic state. I am given to understand that your wife had been identified as bi-polar before?"

"Yes. Maybe eight, ten years ago. She was a bit depressed for no reason then and after some time with a couple of doctors she was told that she was mildly bi-polar."

"Had she ever been medicated for it?"

"No. She was told it wasn't necessary as her brain chemistry, pardon me if I'm getting the jargon messed up..."

"You're doing fine, Mr. Masters."

"Thanks. Anyway, her brain chemistry wasn't that bad. I guess she would have these periods of interest in stuff and be pretty happy, not need a lot of sleep, and was really creative. You know, she's a graphic designer, and it worked out in her favor those times. And then the opposite would happen, maybe a couple months of being sadder, put on a little weight during those times, it was difficult to get her to open up. It wasn't like a switch or a toggle, and there were good and bad days like everyone has during these...I don't know. Swings? But generally that was how it was."

"We will be requesting records from her OB/GYN but was she ever diagnosed with post partum or anything like that?"

"No, not that I'm aware of."

Doctor Turell cleared his throat. "Very well. At this point we are going to have your wife transported to Huntington Hospital. There is an excellent psychiatric facility there referred to as 5 North. You wife will be observed, evaluated, and a treatment regimen will be instituted for her at that time."

"How long will she be there."

"It is an involuntary admission so she will have to be there for 30 days. At the end of that time she will be reevaluated and if the hospital feels that the matter has been brought under control, she would be released then."

30 days. 1 month. I was hearing that my wife was now under an uncontrollable bout of her bi-polar condition and was being taken to some psych ward to get help. Damn you, Elle, why didn't you just LISTEN to me over the last year and a half and go with me to get some help?

"Thank you, Doctor."

"Not a problem. I will give this number to the admissions office at Huntington. They will most likely want you to gather some personal effects from Mrs. Masters and have you bring clothes and other hygiene products in for her during her stay."

I got the address from Doctor Turell along with a list of acceptable items to bring for Elle, thanked him for his time, and then fell over staring at the ceiling, the phone held in my right hand.

I had no sooner taken a deep breath when it rang again. Now what? I wondered.

"Hello?"

"Mr. Masters, it's Officer Rafferty."

I smiled faintly. "Hey, Officer. Thanks for the call."

"I understand that you just heard from Stony Brook?"

"Yes. They gave me the bad news."

"I disagree, Mr. Masters. Your wife needs help and she was not going to get it on her own. This is good news and although I understand that it's hard and unbelievable on some level, trust me when I say that this is the best for your wife and your family."

"I know. I'm still trying to figure it all out."

"You have my sympathies. You really do. I don't know many people that would have dealt with what you had to for months on end." She cleared her throat. "We are taking care of the transportation of Mrs. Masters now. I promised I would call and let you know."

"That you did. Thanks again, really."

"It's our job. I'll see you tomorrow after 12 please, to drop off the duffle bag."

"Will do, good bye."

Well, Rick, that's it. I lay back down and was asleep before too long, just staring at the darkness of my bedroom.

I awoke to the sound of something hard striking the floor somewhere in the house, and my daughter calling out, "Dadadada!" is a commanding tone. I blearily looked around, putting my glasses on and pulled myself up. My body was just tired. Sore and worn out. I looked down with a scowl, noting that I slept in my clothes last night and felt grungy. The clock showed 7:41.

"Hey, Sunshine," I croaked out a song for Amber, lifting her from her crib with a giggle and took the time to change her. I picked out a simple outfit for her from her drawer and we proceeded to get our morning underway. Once we had both eaten I dragged out the playpen from under the couch, popped it open, and placed Amber inside after flipping on channel 13. Big Bird was talking to someone off camera and it allowed me enough time to tell my daughter, "Hey kiddo. Daddy's got to take a shower. I'll make it fast." I dashed to the bathroom and scrubbed myself clean. I gave myself a shave afterwards and brushed my teeth, toweling myself dry before going to the bedroom and grabbing clothes for today.

As I was putting fresh socks on I heard my phone ring inside so I went to fetch it, seeing Jessica's number on screen. "Good morning, Jess."

"Hey, Rick. You sound pretty tired this morning. No sleep?"

"None that I could remember."

She gave a chuckle. "I'm so sorry. I wanted to let you know that Ron Bekoff has some time in his schedule this morning to meet with you. 10:30 in Mineola; is that ok?"

"That'd be terrific."

"Great, we'll see you then."

I disconnected and pulled up my email. Jotting the address down on a scrap of paper I finished getting myself together and took stock of what I had to do next. "Let's get this shit out of the house," I muttered, picking up Elle's duffle bag from the table and walking out to put it in Equinox' storage compartment. I noticed that Stan was home today but his shades were drawn. "Guess he's not working." I thought about asking him about any strange cars but realized that I had too much to do this morning. "I'll catch him later."

Once inside I called my job and told Linda that I would need a personal day. She assured me that she would let Andy know and I hung up, feeling good at getting my day opened. I gave the house a fast cleaning and then turned my attention to the repairs on the walls, sanding them smooth and adding a second coat of spackle. I got another call, this one from 5 North who gave me a short list of what I could bring (toothbrush, deodorant, socks, underwear, sweatpants, no button shirts, no shoes or books or pictures or jewelry) and mentioned that visiting hours were from 2 to 4 and 7 to 9 and I could bring her necessities in at that time.

I put together two bagfuls of clothes for Elle, feeling both maudlin and angry at the same time that I had to do this. I transported them out to the truck as well. I then went and picked up my checkbook from my office and took a look around.

"Hmm," I muttered, looking at her computer, "30 days, Rick." I sat down at her chair shook her mouse. Her screen woke up and I looked around her desktop, finding no file of passwords or streaming bits of consciousness spooled out in some readily accessible Word format. Firing up Chrome I was once again taunted by her three email address. Of which I had only known about two of them.

I tried her normal personal one, typing in a variety of passwords that were permutations of her birthdate, mine, Amber's, our anniversary; anything I could think of. When I would get the warning from Gmail, I would close down Chrome and restart it, trying again and again. No luck.

Hoping I might get find clue somewhere I backed my chair up and opened her desk drawer. I found her work log, a scratch pad that she often used when writing down job notes and numbers. Thumbing through it I didn't see anything that might be passwords. Looking further there was a Pantone color flip book, two dozen pencils in various stages of wear, and the variety of staples, post it notes, sticky flags, pens, and other bric-a-brac that often time gathered in the desk drawers.

The system clock showed 9:32. "Time to go," I said to myself, walking out to the living room where I gathered up Amber and her diaper bag and then left the house. I took the main roads north to the Long Island Expressway and headed west towards the city, arriving on the Expressway late enough to not be stuck in the typical morning rush hour. There were a few brake checks along the way where the traffic pulsed, but no real problem or delay.