by Leah Holt
Is this his house?
Pushing my hands into the mattress, I clutched the blanket and sat up. My chest was still aching, every inhale was agonizing and every exhale was just as horrible. Dropping my hands into my lap, I just sat still, unsure if my body could handle any more than that.
I was afraid to move, afraid that the pain would grow worse as my muscles worked between burning tendrils of fire that snaked around my chest.
Fuck, this is horrible.
There had been this expectation in my mind that sleep and rest would cure me, that when the sun came up in the morning, I'd have my strength back and I'd be able to fend for myself.
That wasn't the case. I felt worse than I had the night before, every inch of my body was just as sore, the pain still vibrant and alive in all my muscles.
The door creaked open, and I expected to see Porter. To my surprise, a small woman with dark red hair, and thick framed glasses stepped inside. Wearing a fitted blue blouse and jeans, she shuffled her feet across the plush blue carpet.
Carrying a wooden tray, with a bright smile on her face, she said, “Good morning, how are you feeling?” Walking to the bed, she set the tray on the end, and leaned against the post.
The scent of pancakes and syrup filled the room, mingling with the deep aroma of hot coffee and subtle perfume of sunflowers.
My stomach grumbled, eager and ready to devour everything that tray had to offer. Clenching my belly, I smiled cautiously. I didn't have a damn clue who this woman, was or why she was here.
Where the hell am I?
Waving her hand to brush off my silence, she stood at the end of the bed and cupped her hips. “Don't worry, no need to answer that. I'm going to be honest, you look like shit, and I'm sure you feel the same.” Her laugh was tender as she walked to my side, and looked over my face. “From what I hear, you're lucky to be alive. Let me take a look at your head.” Cupping my cheeks, she turned my face in her hands as she inspected the wound on my forehead. “He did a good job with it, but I think you might need stitches. But, I won't know until I take off the sani strips.”
“Okay,” I said, unsure how to respond. My stomach gurgled again, and my eyes darted to the food. “Is that for me?” Pointing at the tray, I angled my head so I could look up at her.
“It is, go on, eat up.” Leaning over me, she pulled the food closer. “Eat what you can, but don't worry if you can't finish it. I put a few aspirin on there too, it should help with some of the pain.” Smiling, she hugged herself and started for the door. “I'll let you relax a little while longer so you can eat, then I'll be back to take care of that cut.”
Not waiting for an answer, the woman walked out of the room, shutting the door behind her, and disappearing as quickly as she had arrived. Instantly, I had the urge to call her back. I wanted to know who she was, where I was, and what was going to happen to me.
She had a sweet nature to her, I didn't feel threatened or scared when she came in, and stood beside me. She didn't make me nervous or anxious in any way. After everything I had been through, it was relieving to be in the presence of someone who seemed so kind.
Eating as much as I could, I sat back against the pillow with a full stomach and finished the cup of coffee. My headache was starting to dull, becoming more of an aggravating throb than anything else. Rubbing my ribs, I felt each one gently, trying to figure out if there was a crack in any of them.
There was no way for me to tell, they all fucking hurt. Closing my eyes, I laid my head back and groaned. I still wasn't in any shape to try and get up, or to try and sneak away unnoticed like a mouse in the wall.
Laying back, I snuggled into the blankets, allowing myself to get comfortable. I wouldn't say I felt safe, I wouldn't tell you that my worries had disappeared and there was no fear of what would come next.
But I could tell you that right then, all I wanted to do was lay back and let my body repair itself. It was a natural instinct, like when you're sick and could sleep for hours. My body needed this, and I had no choice but to give it what it wanted.
“Emery, Emery sweetheart, wake up.” A gentle hand brushed across my forehead, rousing my eyes open.
Startled, I scrambled to sit up, clawing at the blankets with my nails, and kicking my heels against the mattress. Frantically, I looked around, unsure of what I was searching for. I must have had a nightmare, because I felt like I had been running. My heart was racing and a cold sweat had dampened my forehead, but I couldn't remember what I had dreamed about.
“It's just me, you're alright.” The woman's smile soothed my nerves, relaxing my muscles. “I didn't mean to frighten you, I just want to clean your head and put a new bandage on.”
Nodding, I ran my hands up and down my thighs. “I'm sorry, it was a long, strange night. I don't really feel like myself, I'm not usually this jumpy.”
Pulling the chair out from the desk under the window, she placed the seat next to the bed and sat down. Flapping her fingers, she waved me closer.
“It's fine, really.” Slowly she reached for my face, her eyes tender as tiny wrinkles breached the corners. “May I?” Shaking my head yes, I leaned forward into her palms. “Good, let's see just how bad this gash is. I'm going to peel these off, it might sting a little, but I'll be as gentle as I can.”
“Alright.” Watching her, her eyes steadied on the wound on my head, fingers tugging and tearing at the firmly glued strips. “Can I ask you something?” Glancing between her face and my hands, I waited for her to answer.
“Sure, ask away.” Grunting slightly, she grinned as she freed the small bandage. “One down, three to go.”
Fiddling with my fingers in my lap, my eyes drifted between the woman and the bed. “Who are you?”
Giggling, she sat back, letting her hands fall loosely against her thighs. “My name's Josephine, but you can call me Jo.” Grabbing the end of another strip, she repeated the process to remove it.
“Jo, where am I?”
“You're in my home, Sweetheart, safe and sound.” My head joggled on my shoulders as the bandage took a small piece of skin with it and I gasped from the sting. “Sorry, I'm trying not to hurt you. You're doing great.”
“So this is your house?”
“Mm hm, that's right.”
Biting the inside of my cheek, my voice was low as I asked, “But, who are you exactly and why am I here?”
It was a question that soured the air around me, hanging there like a baited hook. I wanted to know, I had to know what the hell was going on.
Pursing her lips, she tore the last strip off, her eyes never leaving mine. “I know you have questions, but I'll be honest, I'm not sure I'm the one who should be giving you answers. I don't even know if I'd be able to answer any of them at all. Porter should be getting up soon, I think it's best if you ask him.”
Frowning, I nodded in agreement. I couldn't blame this woman for not wanting to get involved. I didn't know her, and she didn't know me. The curiosity was there though, wondering if she had any clue about last night, and how I landed here like this.
Who is she to him?
Maybe she was afraid of him too, maybe she wasn't here by choice but had been forced like I was. Parting my lips, I was about to ask her, until I noticed the similarities between them.
Her chin reminded me of Porter's, the almond shape of her eyes and long boxy nose—identical. Even the way she talked had flares of his tone.
They're related, they have to be family.
The thought made me nauseous, forcing me to question just how kind this woman really was. Was she sweet like she was portraying? Or was this all an act?
“You alright?” she asked, squinting her eyes at me down the bridge of her nose. “You're turning ghost white all of a sudden. Do you feel dizzy?”
Swallowing the lump in my throat, I smiled warily. “I'm fine, just exhausted.” My stomach swarmed with a million locusts as I got lost in my head, wondering if I should trust her gracious nature at all. “Are you a doctor?�
�� I asked, quickly changing the subject.
I had to stop thinking about it. There was no way I could handle the idea that she could be a coldblooded killer too. Even if they were family, that didn't mean she followed the same path as Porter.
“I was a nurse, but not anymore.” Her face went distant as past memories flooded her mind. “That's a story for another day.” Smiling, she wiped the wound with a cloth, then pushed away to look at me.
“How's it look?” I asked.
“You're going to need a few stitches, there's no doubt about that.” Twisting, she pulled a small bag onto her lap, and fumbled around inside. “Have you ever had stitches before?”
“Once, when I was eleven.” Bending my arm, I pointed at the scar on my forearm. “Got sliced sledding, it was awful.”
“Then you remember it stings like a bitch when they numbed it?”
“Yeah, it wasn't fun.”
“Well, this is going to be like that, only worse. I don't have anything to numb it completely, just some lidocaine. You'll be able to feel it, sort of like a really bad bee sting.”
“How is she?” Porter's voice caused us both to snap our heads in his direction.
“She'll live, I'm going to stitch it up, then she needs to just rest until everything else heals. I don't think there are any broken ribs, they're probably just bruised. She's moving too smoothly for them to really be broken.” Rolling out a long black cloth, she straightened up the metal utensils. “Have you seen your father this morning?”
His father?
Is this. . . his mother?
Porter sighed, and rolled his eyes. “No, thank god. And stop calling him that, you know how I feel about it.”
Arching a brow, she shifted her eyes from him to me. “He got the car towed here—or what's left of it, you should thank him for that.” Her thin fingers pinched the cut on my forehead in a few different directions, eyes never leaving her work. “If you remember what it means to thank someone anymore.”
Staying quiet, I just listened. I didn't have a clue what the relationship was like between these two. If it was good or bad, strained and cracking. I wasn't sure if she had any idea about what he was capable of, or if she was blind to who the person standing in the doorway truly was.
People have their social side, the side they want you to see and know, the person you expect them to be every day. Then there is the real person, the man behind the thoughts and actions that they keep hidden and secret.
I was trying to figure out which person was here with us. Was it the killer or the kind boy this woman had known and loved?
My previous uncertainty about her had vanished as the realization set in that she wasn't just his cousin or sister, but his mother. She held herself with poise, sophisticated and gentle, she was definitely not a killer, not the root of evil that her son had been subjected to at some point in his life.
Whatever demon had caused Porter to cross over to the dark side did not resonate from that woman.
“Thank yous go to people who deserve it, he doesn't deserve shit.” Stalking to the bed, he kept his eyes on his feet. “Do you need help?”
“Do I need help?” she asked back sarcastically, pushing her hands into the tops of her thighs. “What I need is for you to occupy her, talk to her so she doesn't focus on what I'm doing. Can you do that?”
Dragging his hand through his hair, Porter looked up at me, uncertainty sitting in his dead glare. “Talk, you want me to talk?”
“Yeah, talk. You remember what that is, don't you?” Threading a needle, Jo took out a small bottle of alcohol and dipped the sharp tip inside. “I don't care if you talk about the weather, just make sure she stays still, and doesn't move her head too much.”
“Alright.” Stepping to the bed, Porter sat down and placed his large hands on either side of my face firmly. “I'm going to hold you tight so you don't move. You don't want her accidentally poking your eye or something.”
“Porter,” Jo snapped, scowling at him. “I said occupy her, not scare her.”
Chuckling, his smile grew wide as he winked at me. “I'm kidding, she knows what she's doing. See the scar above my eyebrow?” Wriggling his brow, I spotted a thin strip of white skin, hidden almost beneath the hair. “When I was about thirteen, my brother and I were out in the yard throwing rocks at each other. It sounds stupid now, but back then we thought it was fun. The fucker hit me with one, and split my head wide open. My mom was the one who fixed it up, she took great care of me.”
His mom giggled, and I felt her fingertips as they held my skin shut. A sharp pinch jolted the nerves in my face, causing my eyes to water. A slow burn radiated across my forehead as she slid the needle through my skin.
“Ahh,” I groaned, closing my eyes tight, and biting the inside of my cheek. “Yeah, that's not what I remember feeling as a kid.”
“Sorry, Honey, I wish I didn't have to do it this way.” Tugging on the string, she grabbed a pair of small scissors and cut it loose. “There's one, I'm going to do two more.”
“Okay,” Porter said, drawing my attention back to him. “See this scar?” he asked, turning his head so I could see the thick scar on the back of his neck. “I tried to jump off the roof into our pool, I ended up missing and hitting a sharp metal corner on the edge instead. I thought that one was going to kill me.”
“You—ahh,” I said, hissing as the needle pierced my head like a nail in wood. “You really made some poor decisions as a kid, huh?”
“I guess you could say that.” Rocking his head on his shoulders, he shrugged. “And I guess some might say that hasn't changed.” His eyes met mine, and we stared at each other for a long second. Neither one of us said anything as voiceless words were exchanged.
I knew what he was getting at, how he was pointing out last night and what had happened. I just wasn't sure which part he was talking about. Was he referring to me and taking me? Was he talking about what he had done to that man?
“All done,” Jo said, slicing the silence into bits and forcing us to break our stare. “I'm not going to cover it, it should be fine. They can come out in a week or so, I'd give it at least five days. But right now, you need to rest. I can't do anything for your ribs, those need to heal on their own.”
“When can I go home?” Glancing between Jo and Porter, my hands nervously tumbled around each other.
I had been holding onto that question, waiting for the right moment to ask. I knew that Porter would probably have a different answer than his mother. But this was the perfect time to try and get the truth, when the answer would show me my future.
Jo stood from her seat, giving me a small grin. “Soon, Sweetheart, let's get you a little better first. But you can call home, and let them know you're alright. Porter will get the phone, and I'll bring you lunch in a bit.”
She's not the bad guy here.
Jo has no fucking clue how I ended up with her son.
Rocking his jaw, I could hear Porter's teeth grinding against each other. He didn't say a thing as he followed his mother to the door and watched her leave.
There was a tension in the air, I could feel it the second she said I could call home. Porter took in a deep breath, his shoulders snapping square as a shudder ran through his body. I might not have noticed it except he had been sitting right beside me when it happened, and I felt it.
Leaning his head out the door, he waited for her to be gone, then softly closed the door, making me more than aware that we were all alone now.
Turning on his heels, his eyes had changed, the glow now dull and dark against his pupils. His face was flat, still and sullen as his eyes held me in place.
A tremor ran up my spine as his long legs brought him to the side of the bed in two steps. I couldn't breathe as he glowered at me, angry that I had asked such a question to someone who held no control over the situation.
Curling his lip, his brows shot down as his jaw crooked. “You're not leaving and you're not calling home.”
“But your
mom—”
Slicing a hand through the air, he snapped. “My mother doesn't have a damn clue about what's going on. And it needs to stay that way. She can't know, understand?”
“So you want me to lie to her if she asks? Do you really expect me to just let you do this? She seems like a good woman, you're going to ruin her when she finds out.”
“Ruin her. . .” he said with disbelief. “I'm not doing anything to ruin her, I'm doing it for her. But she doesn't need to know, she's already been through enough.”
“And if I do tell her, then what?”
“Do you really want to test me?”
Thinning my lips, I didn't want to look at him straight on. Darting my eyes around the room, I gripped the blanket and pulled it up my chest. “Fine, that's fine, I can do that. I can keep your secret. But you don't need me, so why keep me here?”
“I need you here so I can keep an eye on you. I'm not going to risk you getting hurt, or even fucking killed, because we were together. When I know it's safe, then and only then, will I think about what to do with you.”
Arching a brow, the confusion swept in, stirring something deep inside my belly. He won't risk me getting hurt or killed?
It didn't add up in my brain. He had been the killer, he was the one who had pulled the trigger, and stolen me without permission.
Who is he hiding me from?
“I don't understand. What am I supposed to do then? What if your mom wants to send me home? How the hell are you going to explain to her that I can't leave?”
Raking his thick fingers through his hair, he shook his head. “You don't need to worry about that. As far as she's concerned, we met at a bar, and I crashed the car on accident. That's the story, that's what you say if she asks you. Don't worry about the rest.”
“So, she thinks I'm some bar whore? Is that the story you're telling? That's what you think of me? Because last night, that wasn't something I would normally do.”
“I didn't tell her anything like that, and even if I did, does it matter?” Porter didn't wait for me to answer. Gripping his jaw, he said, “Look, either you play along, or I send you out into the world and you get killed. Which one do you want?”