It had taken many years, but Petula had finally figured out that Jefferson must have been suffering from the onset of either bi-polar disorder or schizophrenia; of which she and Slater eventually had confirmation. Her guess had always been the latter, since Jeff’s symptoms hadn’t included drastic mood swings.
It had been wrong and blind of her parents not to have had him diagnosed and treated, but since they hadn’t trusted doctors…
Well, it had cost themalldearly in the end.
The bigger question for Petula now, was, since Jefferson had found the help he needed while incarcerated, was he still taking his meds?
Today, even though their time together had been brief, he’d seemed so…normal. And he really had been unquestionably happy to see her.
Had she gotten that wrong? Was Jefferson still a dangerous man?
She wiped the tears from her face and squared her shoulders.
Maybe it was a good thing Julian had come crashing in. Because, she told herself in a voice that sounded eerily similar to Statler’s, shedidn’tknow who Jefferson was right now. Just because he’d spoken in a familiar cadence, looked like Stat, and the loving memories of him as a child had come rushing forward, didn’t mean he had good intentions.
Hell, hehadbeen stalking her.
Still…
Was that purported stalking because Jefferson was waiting for an opportunity to meet her again? An effort that had been thwarted by the number of bodyguards she’d acquired? Or had he, as Statler asserted, been plotting to harm her?
Statler’s words, once again, came crashing back into her head.
The bastard killed our parents, Petti. He can’t be trusted.
Then why hadn’t any of her internal alarms gone off when Jefferson had snuck into her hospital room?
“Is it because he looks like Stat?” she asked out loud, tamping down a new round of sobs that threatened.
Every man in the room turned their head toward her.
“Iswhatbecause he resembles Stat, Pet?” Julian asked gently.
She was glad he was treating her with kid gloves. She felt very fragile at the moment. Even more than when she’d been on top of the van, which shouldn’t have beenremotelypossible.
“That…that I immediately trusted him,” she rasped.
Julian, always in tune with her needs, handed her the cup of water that was still sitting on the table. His brothers shuffled around, then turned away, ostensibly to give them a little privacy as they set about cleaning up any stray glass that had made its way inside the room.
Petula took a big sip, waiting to hear what Julian had to say.
“Maybe,” he responded judiciously. “Or perhaps he reallywastrying, benignly, to get near you just to say hello, since you sensed he meant you no harm.”
That’s certainly what it had felt like, to her.
“We may never get the truth,” Julian went on, “because now that he’s made his presence known like…this,” Julian waved his hands toward the broken window, “he’s crossed a legal line, and won’t be trusted.”
Petula drew Bun-bun from beneath the blankets, and hugged her long lost pal to her chest. “I know it looks bad, especially now, but him being a danger just doesn’t feel right.”
Julian didn’t contest that, but looked down at the item in her arms, instead.
“Who’s this?” Julian asked.
“Bun-bun.” She conjured a smile. “He’s a stuffie I had when I was young,” she told him, sniffing. “I gave him to Jefferson on the morning when…everything blew up, and he obviously…kept him.”
And now, Petula would never let the rag-tag plushie out of her sight, again. As tattered and worn as it was, it brought her back to her days of innocence; back to a time before she’d witnessed all the evil and cruelty in the world.
Trask interrupted with a slight cough.
