Page 4 of Insatiable

“Cace,” Jay growls down the line at me breaking my silence.

“I am going to tell her. I didn’t want to stress her further. I am taking her discharge papers down to her now. I—”

“Cace, I am literally on my way there now. You were the one who decided it wasn’t best for Sean and me to visit her. You decided her only visitor should be her best friend Paul from work. You decided that she should stay here and not return to L.A. Doesn’t she know anything, Cace? This is not a good start, you know. Sean is going to lose his shit if you ruin this.” I can hear how angry he is about my lack of transparency with Tate. I had my reasons, though.

“Look, I am going to do it now. I will see you later.” I go to hang up, but he calls my name, effectively halting me.

“Cace. You know this is not going to be easy, right? For any of us. What if she wants nothing to do with any of us? Eight years, Cace. It’s not like we’ve been close this entire time ourselves. Fuck.” I stare at the phone as his truth hits me square in the chest. He is absolutely right. Maybe too much time and distance has left an unfixable fissure in our relationship that can’t be mended. After everything she’s gone through, why would she want to be in our presence anyway? I could already see the walls she placed between us since the second she opened her eyes. What if she’s no longer the woman we knew? We are all different people now.

“Jay, I’ll talk to her. It’s not safe for her to go back to her home in L.A. Especially regarding her recovery. So, I will stress that,” I say to reassure him. I can hear him take a breath through the phone.

“Don’t fuck this up, Cace. You have a tendency to be an asshole sometimes. See you in a bit.” He hangs up before I can rebut what he just said. He is right, I know exactly how to push Tate’s buttons. I don’t want to stress her out. I just hope she doesn’t tell me where to stick it when I tell her my plans for her. Well, our plans. I am already dreading this conversation. I guess that’s why I’ve put it off for so long.

I could always pull the doctor card, but I don’t think that will save me at all from this conversation.

I quickly print out Tate’s paperwork and leave my office with the hope that she will allow her old love-stricken besties to take her home with them.

I am usually a calm and collected person, but Tate unravels me. She always has. When I pass the nurses station once I reach her floor, I tuck my hands under my armpits to stop them from shaking. Here goes nothing.

I feel sick to my stomach. How did I fall so far down in the dumps so quickly? This morning started off great. Cace, who I’ve tried to avoid as much as possible despite our doctor/patient relationship, told me I was well enough to be discharged. Soon after that he scurried out of the room talking about organizing discharge papers and disappeared. Even after all this time I can still tell when Cace is trying to hold something back from me. Luckily for him I don’t have time to care about what secrets or confessions he has stored up in that brain of his. I have more pressing matters on my mind.

I am going home. I am looking forward to finally leaving the four walls of my hospital room. Four months here is enough, even though I am still healing, stir crazy doesn’t begin to touch what I am feeling. I am not made to be idle. The thing that scares me the most is having to face my home, alone. The hospital therapist told me I am suffering from PTSD. Her advice was that I stay away from things that would trigger me. My own home, I guess, will be a big trigger. Even with all the overwhelming emotional issues I need to deal with, ultimately, I know that my physical condition could have been far worse than it is. My right hand isn’t fully functional, and I’m not ready to process what that means for my career. I am still me. Silver linings, right? Thank God James wasn’t a very good shot and the bullet ricocheted off my skull, I could have been a vegetable or worse: dead. It is the reoccurring nightmares that leave me in tears in the middle of the night. I can’t go back there. Lost in my thoughts about the journey ahead of me, I don’t hear the knock on my door until my name is called.

“Ms. Charles.” I turn away from the window I am standing in front of and glance over to find two men standing in the doorway in black suits and ties, waiting for me to acknowledge them. One is tall, handsome with olive skin and bright green eyes. You can tell by the way his suit hugs his body that he is impressive underneath all that fabric. There’s something about a man in a well-tailored suit that I appreciate. Well, I did make clothes for a living, so there is that. The other man is the complete opposite, short with dark brown skin, middle-aged with laugh lines. He looks like someone’s husband—well fed and happy. His suit is a little ill-fitting, like he doesn’t care about his appearance, the suit is his uniform, not something he actually wants to wear.

“It’s Tate,” I answer absent-mindedly as I sit in the chair that Cace sat on more often than not. Getting myself comfortable, I fold my hands in my lap, noticing the slight tremor in my right hand. I try to hold it steady. Of course, that’s the first thing the two men zero in on as they observe me. The shorter man steps forward with a smile while the taller man casts a shadow over him as they approach.

“Ms. Charles. I am Detective Jones, and this is Detective Grant. We’re from the LAPD.” They both pull out their badges for me to look at. I nod my head, acknowledging that I’ve verified who they are, and wait for them to speak. To be honest, I know I should be taking this seriously, but the cheap suits, and the way they flipped their badges out and shoved them in my face made me want to laugh. Where are Sam and Dean when you need them? If only this was a case that could be solved supernaturally . . . a woman can dream. A thought crosses my mind then, this is about James. I need to know.

“Is James in jail?” I ask them, hoping for at least some peace of mind. I hope that the asshole got what he deserved. I feel stupid and betrayed. I never knew him at all. I guess it doesn’t matter how much time you spend with a person, they can still turn out to be a monster in the end.

“That’s why we are here, Ms. Charles. You’ve been unconscious for three months. Once you regained consciousness, we were instructed by your doctor to hold off on interviewing you to allow you time to heal.” I chew on my bottom lip. My nerves are getting the better of me because he didn’t give me the answer I needed to hear.

“I understand. You wouldn’t have gotten anything out of me anyway.” I shrug with a small smile, trying and failing to make light of the situation.

“Ms. Charles, this is the first time anyone has told you anything about the afternoon of your attempted murder, and if you want us to stop at any time, please let us know.” Detective Jones gives me a pitying look that unsettles me. I don’t want his pity. The sooner they bring me up to speed, the sooner I can begin to rebuild my life. I have had enough time to stew in my own self-pity, I don’t need anymore time to dwell on past events. I need to put this behind me and move forward.

“So, did you catch him?” I ask again since no one answered me before. When neither of them answers straight away, I gesture with my good hand for him to continue.

“Ms. Charles. Your fiancé, James Fisher, left you for dead in the entry hall of your home. Your best friend—” he stops and pulls out a notepad before he continues, “—Paul Saunders, managed to call 911 once he heard shots were fired. Mr. Fisher crushed your phone, but not before Paul heard everything. Mr. Fisher fled the scene with a woman in tow.” Detective Jones looks over his shoulder at Detective Grant, tagging him in and stepping away as he picks up the story. Are these two for real right now? I tilt my head to the side and give them both a look of frustration as they maneuver around each other jockeying for space around my bed.

“My apologies, Ms. Charles.” Staring up at the tall Detective, I see at least he has the courtesy to look sorry for wasting my time. “Mr. Fisher, according to the local mailman, Darin Thompson, took off in his red Audi TT coupe. Mr. Thompson was the one who found you and stayed with you until the paramedics arrived.”

He flips the page, and all I can think about is how James left me to die and ran like a fucking coward. It angered me to think he just stepped over my body like I was shit on the floor. ‘Did I ever mean anything to him?’ I stop that train of thought, locking it down and throwing away the key. I don’t want to think about what was really going on in the five years that we were together. Then my thoughts turn to poor Darin. I can only imagine what seeing me like that did to him. I make a mental note to reach out to him and his wife. I am sure they are worried.

“Once the paramedics arrived, they thought it was best to LifeFlight you to a hospital that wasn’t inundated with Covid patients. That is why you’re here in Santa Barbara.” He pauses. He must notice the confused look on my face. I’m realizing now I haven’t even thought to ask where I am. I just assumed I was in a hospital in Los Angeles. ‘Why would Cace be in LA, Tate?’ I think to myself. Still, he was closer than I thought. ‘Ugh, stop thinking about Cace. Thinking about Cace makes me think of Jay and Sean. No thinking.’ I shut those thoughts down and focus on the detectives who are giving each other worried looks.

“I’m fine. I hadn’t realized I am almost a hundred miles away from home.” I sigh, this complicates things. “So, James is in the wind. Any idea where he might be?” I don’t think I will feel safe until I know he is behind bars. James. A fucking actor. I guess our relationship was his greatest performance of all time.

“We think he has fled the country. Did you know Mr. Fisher had acquired a passport a few months before the evening of July twentieth? Also, did you know that Mr. Fisher had taken out a large life insurance policy on you, Ms. Charles?” My eyes go wide, my mouth waters, bile begins to rise in my throat as the memory of the Sims Life Insurance envelope with James’s name on it comes to mind. The memory brings tears to my eyes, and I can’t look up at the detectives as I begin to hyperventilate. The floor begins to spin slowly, and I try to stand, but I can’t.

“Ms. Charles. Are you okay?” I can’t tell which one of them asks me. Yep, this morning I was hopeful, now my world is crashing down around me. James had planned to kill me. This was premeditated. Why? What did I do to deserve this? I gave him everything he ever wanted, and he betrayed me in more than one way.

“Ms. Charles?” The detectives call my name, but all I can really hear is the ringing in my ears and the flashes of memories. Where were the warning signs? My red flags. Did I see only what I wanted to see? My chest heaves as a full-on panic attack takes hold.

“Detectives, what’s going on?” I hear Cace. There is movement and talking all around me, but all I can do is keep my head down. I feel like I can’t breathe—my chest constricts as I try to pull in air. I can’t let them see me fall apart like this, but by the sound of their raised voices in the room, that is exactly what they are witnessing.

“She isn’t ready for all of this. We are going to have to reschedule it in a few days. She still needs time.” The irritation in Cace’s voice is clear as they argue among themselves. I want to raise my head and yell at him to let me deal with it. I want to yell at the detectives to get out there and do their jobs. My tongue feels heavy in my mouth. My panic is stronger than my need to take control. ‘You can’t even hold your head up, Tate,’ my thoughts are loud inside my head as I try to stand again. Even my legs fail me. Traitors.