Done to Death by Charles Atkins Read Free Book Online Page B

fluorescents, her lips blue. There was blood on the sheets. He remembered how she’d never leave the house without full make-up. ‘They’re everywhere,’ she’d instruct, referring to the paparazzi. But this … she looked ugly and naked; discarded gauze, IV tubing, needle cases and blue polypropylene gloves were scattered on the bed and the floor. Her eyes were closed. He took a deep breath. She is dead.
    Random scenes from his childhood flashed to mind, late night room inspections. ‘I don’t like messes,’ she’d say, going from his room down the hall to Rachel’s. Those were tough nights. These weren’t the memories he wanted right now. His room was always able to pass muster, while Rachel’s was a nightmare. He’d wondered why his little sister couldn’t pick up her things. Especially when she knew how it would set Mom off. It was years later that he realized − Rachel did it deliberately.
    A pair of uniformed officers appeared in the doorway, escorted by a nurse supervisor. ‘We’re going to need you out of here,’ one of them said. ‘No one’s to come in or out.’
    The doctor looked at Richard. ‘You OK?’
    Richard heard the words, the man’s professional, and genuine, concern. ‘I’ve got to be,’ he said. ‘Is there a quiet room somewhere? I need to make some calls.’
    â€˜I’ll take you back to the family room.’
    Richard walked behind, his thoughts sluggish. He knew that a heavy weight had slipped from his mother’s dead shoulders … on to his. ‘You’re the only one,’ she’d told him. ‘This will all be yours, and they will try to take it from you.’
    The doctor asked if he needed anything.
    â€˜No, thank you.’
    â€˜I’m so sorry,’ the doctor said.
    â€˜You’re not the one who shot my mother.’ He felt a surge of anger, his jaw clenched. ‘There’s no need to apologize.’
    The doctor left and Richard was glad for the privacy. The room, with its dim lighting, stuffed chairs and quiet, was a sort of oasis.
    Lenore’s words: ‘they will try to take it from you’. The ‘they’ was a moving target. Sometimes it was her executive team urging her to take LPP public so they could all cash out with seven and eight digit stock options. Sometimes they were her minions and underlings, all out to exact passive–aggressive revenges, from wardrobe mess-ups to on-air snafus. Often they were her producers who wouldn’t − or couldn’t − perform up to her standards. As a child he’d listen to her rants: if people couldn’t deliver they didn’t belong at LPP. From day one, she’d confided in him. Not like a parent to a child, but like a mentor.
    He pulled out his cell. So much to be done, but at that moment there was only one person he needed to call.
    â€˜Rachel?’
    â€˜She’s dead, isn’t she?’
    â€˜Yes.’
    â€˜They wouldn’t tell me in the hospital. I pulled it up on the browser.’
    â€˜Where are you?’
    â€˜Half way to Shiloh.’
    â€˜Are you going to be OK?’
    â€˜You mean am I going to do some slicing and dicing?’
    â€˜Yeah, that. Or jump off a cliff, or do the suicide slushy.’
    â€˜I don’t think so.’
    â€˜Did Dr Ebert show up?’
    â€˜Yeah, he got me out. He was pretty pissed … I can’t blame him. Did she know?’
    Richard paused, picturing his beautiful nineteen-year-old sister whose outsides had nothing to do with the pain and chaos she felt inside. Rachel was a twisted human puzzle. She could be explained, but the trouble was finding the key … ‘She knew,’ he said. ‘I called her from the hospital … and right after—’
    â€˜So she knew?’
    â€˜Yeah.’
    â€˜Good. You know she really loved you, Richard?’
    â€˜I