Chapter 28
The inside of the taxicab was silent as it drove through the English countryside. Steve stared out the window and once again wondered what the hell was going on. He had heard Shane's explanation for why they could not go back to Salem, but had a hard time believing that, between the ISA and Salem PD, nobody could protect him from this Alamain dude Shane kept talking about.
He looked over at Shane, who seemed lost in thought as he too looked out the windows. What was he thinking? On the plane, he had reassured Steve that Kayla would be coming to England tomorrow and had promised no more doctors. Only Kayla would take care of him.
Why can't it be tomorrow already? Steve wanted to see her so much, his insides ached. It was only one day to wait, but it seemed like forever.
It's been nine months, he reminded himself.
What's one more day?
The cab turned down onto a smaller road, little more than a track really. "We getting close?" Steve asked.
Shane just nodded. That was odd, Steve thought. He had expected Shane to spend the entire drive from Oxford spewing out the history of the area, important places, and a lot of BS that Steve could care less about when all he wanted to do was see Kayla. But, for once, the man with all the words had stayed silent.
"Turn left up ahead," Shane told the cabbie, then went back to staring out the window.
Steve could guess why Shane was so silent. He had mentioned that Kim would be coming too. To help Steve with the nightmares, Shane said.
Yeah, right dude. Like I'm gonna let anyone mess with my head after what I've gone through. Still, Steve understood the idea, and figured it was not going to be easy on Shane to be stuck in a house with his ex.
Or maybe not. "Are you kidding me?" Steve asked as the cab turned down a long driveway lined with carefully manicured hedges and approached a large grey building. "That's the size of a friggin' hotel." It really was, and Shane could probably spend a month in there without ever running into Kim if he wanted to avoid her. From the cab, Steve could see three floors, over a dozen windows, and at least two chimneys. He looked over at Shane. "Dude, you really grew up here?"
"Yes," was all Shane said.
"Whoa." Steve knew Shane came from money, but he never expected anything like this.
About as far from that orphanage in L.A. as you can get, isn't it? he thought to himself.
The cab pulled up to the house and came to a stop. "Wait here," Shane said, as he climbed out. A moment later, a man in a dark suit came through the front doors and approached the cab. He and Shane exchanged a few words and shook hands. Then Shane came over to Steve's door, opened it, and held out his arm. "Let me give you a hand."
It stuck in Steve's craw to be dependent on anyone, but he had to admit that it helped to be able to lean on someone. Damn, he hated being so weak. But just wait until he got his strength back. He was going to find the bastards that did this to him, and they would pay. If it really was that Alamain dude, then Steve would make sure he paid.
Shane helped him into the house as the other man, a butler named Worthington, brought in Shane's bags.
I travel light these days, Steve thought as he looked down at the military fatigues he was given at the military base.
As they entered the building, Steve wondered again,
This is a house? The place was huge. The walls were a dark, reddish wood and the floors had what Steve figured were pretty expensive rugs. Steve looked around, taking in the paintings on the walls and the antique furniture.
That stuff has to be worth a fortune. Just to the right of the entrance was a winding staircase. Shane helped Steve toward it. "I'm sorry we don't have a suitable room downstairs," Shane said. "I'd have liked to spare you the staircase as much as possible, but we'd have to have put you in the servants' quarters if we did. This room will be far more comfortable." Before they started up, Shane turned to the butler. "Worthington, would you please bring up some food for Mr. Johnson?"
"Of course, Master Donovan," the man said.
"Hey, don't worry about it. I'm not very hungry." The last thing Steve needed was for some stuffed shirt to wait on him hand and foot.
Shane chuckled. "Wrong answer, Steve. Doctors' orders are that you get small meals five or six times a day. You've got to get that weight back up."
It was slow going on the stairs and, by the time they reached the top, Steve was gasping for breath.
I am gonna get those bastards, he pledged once more.
"It's just over here." Shane guided Steve to a room and opened the door.
Steve surveyed the room. In his best English accent, he said, "Yes, I guess this will do, old chap. I am rather disappointed that you have not broken out the silk sheets." That elicited a laugh as Shane helped Steve to the bed.
Definitely large enough for two, he thought, taking a seat on the edge of the bed.
"Worthington sent out to the local haberdashery, so they're supposed to have some things sent over for you in an hour or two. I'll have Worthington bring them in and you should just pick and choose what you want."
Just pick and choose what I want? Steve thought.
This has to be some bizarre dream. Or some other universe. Just the word "haberdashery" sent him back to when he had worked at Saxton's. Steve remembered the suits he had been forced to wear and was willing to bet that Worthington's options wouldn't include a pair of faded jeans and a t-shirt. "Um, yeah," Steve said. Just then, the butler entered carrying a tray with some fruit, soup and something under a silver lid.
"Where would Master Johnson like his meal served?" Worthington asked.
Steve just shook his head.
This has to be a dream.
;D