Riptide

Chapter 4: White Blank Page

Disclaimer: Not it…not mine.

Grace was floating. She tried to open her eyes but found that she couldn't. She felt like a marionette doll that had its strings cut. She formed the commands but there was a disconnect somewhere, between her brain and her body, and it refused to do the simple task of opening her eyes. So she listened to her surroundings and fought the murky clouds that weighed her down, slowing her thoughts, making her feel stupid and clumsy.

On the edge of the clouds, amidst the fog, was a white-hot knife of pain. The tightness in her gut and in her back triggered something…loud noises like firecrackers but…she knew that wasn't quite right. If only she could think…

Grace stirred, a slight movement of the hand that was still grasped in Ro's and the brunette looked at the doctor, watching her face, hoping she was about to wake. Ro had been hunched forward, the chair as close to the bed as she could make it, without actually being on the bed. Her left hand held Grace's right. Ro was certain that her best friend could feel the pressure, and if Grace had any plans on going elsewhere, Ro was sure their physical contact could dissuade her. Still, she felt the icy fingers of fear that slid into her gut when Grace moved, moaned quietly, but didn't open her eyes. So, Ro squeezed the blonde's hand, bowed her head, and prayed.

Constantine was seated behind his behemoth wooden monstrosity known as a desk. His hands were clasped and resting on its smooth surface as he surveyed the men in the room with him. The door to the study was closed, eliminating the probability of eavesdroppers and ensuring that he was quite alone with the company before him.

The mob boss's cool gray eyes fell first on Nate. The young man was seated in one of the high-backed leather chairs. His face was pale and ashen; his eyes angry and fearful. He was walking a tightrope of emotion and Constantine knew it. Something would have to be done for him, before that tightrope snapped, and Nate fell into the turmoil below him.

Franco, Constantine knew, was watching the boss. He had returned from the hospital with Ro and Nate, silent and closed off. Franco stood by the closed door, leaning against a bookcase, trying to appear casual, as if his thoughts weren't on the blood-shot woman in the house. He, too, needed to be watched. There was something about his actions as of late that had begun to concern Constantine. His execution of Petey Wheeler seemed a bit off. Wheeler, judging by his wounds resulting from the car crash, would've died anyway, but Constantine might've been able to get more information out from the man, before he died. If Moretti was behind the hit, as Petey's words had suggested, then that meant that Moretti was still alive…which meant that Franco had lied.

Logan was the only man in the room without a vested interest in Grace. He could provide a cooler head where she was concerned, which was why he was present. That, and Constantine trusted him.

Constantine zeroed in on Franco.

"Franco, who else wanted Betrelli dead?"

Franco was quiet, considering the questions. "Moretti…" he began slowly. "Would've wanted him dead, but you shot him and I dumped him, so he's out. The Casa brothers had a beef with him, a long time ago…" he shrugged, looking stumped. "As far as I know, they were good. Do we know who shot Betrelli to begin with?"

Constantine shook his head. "No. I called you and Grace about the same time. I was gonna ask him once she had fixed him up."

"Maybe it was someone in Betrelli's organization, trying to take over?" Logan suggested, a frown on his face. "It isn't known to be the most solid."

Franco raised an eyebrow questioningly in Logan's direction. "It isn't? That's the first I've heard of that."

Logan looked a little sheepish. "My old girl…she used to date one of them. Knew a bit too much and didn't know how to keep her mouth shut." His face twisted, eyes darkening. "They helped her learn how." He was quiet for a moment and then shrugged. "She told me some about Betrelli and his crew before she…went away."

"Was it a permanent vacation?" Constantine asked quietly.

Logan sighed. "No. She's still around."

Constantine nodded. "Okay. Make nice with her. See if you can get anything else out of her," he said, his rough voice echoing in the quiet room.

"In the meantime, Franco, go see what you can find out."

He gave a small jerk of his head, dismissing Franco and Logan. Now, just Nate was left in the room. He seemed not to notice. His eyes were fixed on a spot on the Persian rug that dominated the wooden floor.

Constantine stood up heavily and came in front of the desk. He and Nate were only a few inches apart.

"Nate," he said. The younger man didn't move, didn't make any sign he'd heard him.

"Nate," Constantine said again, a little louder this time. Slowly, as if he were moving through jell-o, Nate brought his head up, his dark eyes focusing on Constantine's face. He tried to speak once, opening his mouth, but no words came out. He shook his head, cleared his throat and tried again. "Yeah, boss," he said, his voice rough and low. Constantine had been on the verge of giving a very important command and thought better of it. Nate was in no shape…Constantine put a light hand on Nate's shoulder.

"Nate, go be with your sister," he said gently. Nate's eyes were cloudy as he shook his head, standing slowly, complying with Constantine's order. His steps were purposeful and deliberate as if he was afraid that his knees would buckle and his body would suddenly betray him. He reached the door and closed it behind him with a quiet snap.

Constantine considered the situation he was in. His mob doctor, Grace, had been shot twice and was being worked on by her best friend. Her brother was a wreck, torn apart by fear, worry and guilt. Someone had shot Betrelli and then come after him to finish the job. His only leads were dead men; literally, bodies left behind in unregistered chop shop vehicles. Petey Wheeler had said that they had been after Betrelli but had known enough to know that Grace was important to the organization as a doctor, and so he had shot her, too. Who knew Grace was working for him? Only his men and Grace's family. His thoughts seemed to circle, spiraling until he could only think of one name, one person who would betray him, would fight him for control, who had tried to kill Grace before: Joseph Moretti. But Joseph Moretti was dead…right?

Constantine pulled out his cell phone and dialed a number. He spoke quickly and quietly into the device. The voice on the other end of the line gave a reassuring answer. Face carefully neutral, Constantine hung up the phone. He was silent and unmoving, a solemn statue, as he thought about the events of the day as the light faded outside and darkness fell.

In a little while, he would disturb the solitude of Grace's room. He would intrude on the family: Ro, Nate and Grace. For now, Nate needed to be left alone with the two women. He needed to heal, to try to alleviate some of the guilt he felt. If Constantine gave him enough time, Nate would want revenge, and then he would be useful again.

A/N: All I'm saying is...TAKE THAT COMPUTER ISSUES! I'm baaaack... :) Er, um, please REVIEW!