Chapter 78: Damaged Beyond Repair

"That's it, Justin, shake it for me. Just like that," she purrs, her words slurring from the effects of the drinks she's consumed this afternoon. His name is Brian, actually, but she's paying for this little show, so if she wants to call him Justin, he'll be Justin.

"Why don't you pour me another drink?" she asks, trying to be flirtatious and coy, but only sounding drunk and desperate. In Brian's opinion, she's already had too much, along with the Ecstasy she took. But it isn't his place to speak his opinions, the only thing that matters is giving her what she wants.

And what she wants, of course, is a good hard fucking. Still clutching her drink, she wobbles over to the bed where he waits, ready to do his job.

"No," she whines, "Not...not like this. I want it rough. I want..."

She can barely express herself with words, but Brian got the message. So, he grabs her and shoves her against the bed, slamming himself inside her with as much force as he can muster.

"Justin, yes!" she screams, her voice muffled by the blankets, "Call me a dirty bitch, punish me."

She's one of those types. What she wants falls outside his normal technique, but Brian wants to make his money, so he fulfills her request, calling her names as he thrusts deep and hard inside her.

And she was loving it, moaning in ecstasy and urging him on, until she just collapsed, falling onto the floor beneath him. He picks her up, shaking her to try to wake her, but she's like a corpse, unresponsive.

Brian's first thoughyt is to call 911, but then he thinks about the ecstasy he gave her, and the questions from the police about what he was doing with her in this hotel room all afternoon, and his instinct for self-preservation kicks him, getting him dressed and fleeing this scene. No one knew he was here, no one would have noticed him coming into her room. So he leaves her on the floor unconscious, not sure if she's even breathing.

Golf was never really Rainier's game,  but, eager to impress the man he considers his future father-in-law, he strives to improve his swing.

Behind him, Bill takes what must be the fourth call he's gotten since they started. "Listen, Dwayne," Bill says to the phone, "I'm not your family counselor, okay? And I'm not a go between for you and your daughter. If Jacklyn doesn't want to see you, then that's her call. I'm not getting involved, understand?"

"They are like children," Bill complains as they sit down for a beer, "Damn musicians."

Their conversation in interrupted by yet another call, one Bill walks away from the table to take in private.

Rainier stands when Bill comes back, seeing right away that whatever that call was, it has devastated the man. Portia, he thinks, suddenly anxious, please don't let it be Portia.

"My wife," Bill says, choking on the words, "She's in the hospital." Rainier keeps his relief to himself, and drives the distraught Bill to the hospital.

"When I first met her, she'd come to me with all her problems. And I'd fix everything for her," Bill says as they wait for news of his wife's condition, "I liked being able to do that, fix everything for her. She needed me, you know? But there was no end to her problems, and it got to a point where I gave up trying to fix her. I just left her to her own devices..."

Rainier sits in uncomfortable silence, without a clue as to what he should say or do. Inside, he's not as cold and unfeeling as his reputation holds, he's just at a loss in situations like these.

"Daddy," Portia cries, falling into her father's arms as soon as she enters the hospital waiting room.

Bill passes his daughter to Rainier when the doctor approaches to give him some news about his wife.

"She's going to be okay, isn't she?" Portia sobs, snuggling against him for comfort, "Tell me she'll be okay."

He can't in good conscience tell her that. From what he's heard, Mercedes overdosed on a cocktail of prescription meds, ecstasy and alcohol, and wasn't found until hours after she'd passed out in a hotel room. Her chances of survival seem extremely iffy, and if she does live, she could be damaged beyond repair. He knows better than to speak this truth to Portia, but he can't bring himself to mouth the the comforting lie, either, and compromises by just making soothing noises as he holds her.

"She's in a coma," Bill informs them, "The doctors...it doesn't look good."

Portia moans and sobs, clutching herself.

"Take her home," Bill says to Rainier, "I'm gong to stay here."

"Daddy, no, I want to wait with you," Portia protests through her tears.

"There's nothing you can do here, sweetheart," Bill says softly, "And that police officer over there questioning the doctor is going to want to question me next. I don't want you here for that. Go home with Rainier. I'll call you as soon as I know anything."

As Bill predicted, officer Gutierrez has questions for him next. Mercedes hadn't been alone when she passed out, her body showed every evidence of being engaged in intercourse that afternoon. As her husband, he is of course suspect. His alibi is more than airtight, he was across town at the country club with Rainier, and he was seen there by many people who know him well. He's not as concerned about his own safety as he is about seeing justice done to whoever drugged up his wife and left her for dead.

"Can we find the guy who did this?" Bill asks the cop.

"We're combing the room for DNA evidence. If he has a record, we'll find him that way," the officer says.

Rainier tries to speed Portia out of there before she has to hear much more of this sordid story.