Torch (Take It Off)

by Cambria Hebert

  “Thank you. For saving my life.”

  There it was, that cocky grin again. “My pleasure.”

  And then he was gone. I couldn’t help but notice how the “good cop” suddenly looked like the bad one. Perhaps she’d been hoping for his phone number.

  I felt a little gleeful knowing she wasn’t going to get it.

  Of course, I likely would never see him again either.

  All trace of glee went away. In fact, I wave of weariness washed over me. The officer cleared his throat and looked at me expectantly. I didn’t know what I could tell them. I didn’t know anything.

  The only thing I knew for sure was that someone wanted me dead.

  3

  As it turned out, I learned a lot more from the police officers than they learned from me. They stayed in my room for almost an hour, asking me question after question. Do you have any enemies? Did you see the arsonist who set fire to your home? Why didn’t you wake up when they dragged you from your bed and tied you to a chair? Who could want to kill you?

  On and on the questions went.

  I didn’t have an answer for any of them. The honest truth was I had no enemies (that I knew of), I couldn’t see the person with the match, and I also really wanted to know why I didn’t wake up while being tied to chair. The most logical thing I could come up with was that this was some random act of violence carried out by some seriously unbalanced psycho.

  After listening to me repeat my answers over and over, I think the police were coming around to my way of thinking as well. It could have been a burglary gone wrong. It could have been a stupid prank that got out of hand. It could have been a million and one things—all of which made me extremely exhausted to think about.

  When the nurse finally ordered them out of my room I was practically in tears. I hated crying. It was a useless waste of energy. Energy that could be better spent doing something that would actually help my situation.

  And the situation was pretty grim.

  My home was completely destroyed.

  According to the police, there was nothing left to salvage.

  I did have insurance that would likely cover the home and everything inside, but that really didn’t make me feel any better. Everything I owned was gone. The life I built for myself, the life I wanted so badly, was now reduced to a pile of blackened ash.

  You’ll just start over, I told myself in an effort to lift my spirits. It didn’t work. Starting over was something I hated. I had done it so often in the past few years that doing it again made me want to scream bloody murder.

  Bloody murder. Okay, that was a bad choice of words.

  The idea of starting over again made me want to punch a whole bunch of people in the face.

  Yeah, that was better.

  If I focused on the anger inside me, I wouldn’t have room to think about how utterly devastating it felt to lose everything. I really thought I finally found my place in the world. It hadn’t been a large place, but it was mine and that meant more to me than anything.

  But with the single strike of a match, everything I ever wanted was consumed by flames.

  I drifted off into a fitful sleep, the memory of the fire taunting my subconscious. Just when the memories threatened to choke me, a man with icy-blue eyes appeared and like a bucket of water, his mere presence doused me—extinguishing the worst of my fear.

  As the night wore on, pain began to throb. It felt like my skin was on fire all over again—it burned and tingled. I wanted to rip at the bandages and just scrape off the tender, damaged skin until there was nothing left of my wrists but bone. The skin on my hands screamed at me, feeling tight and puckered. All I could do was lie there and wonder how long the pain was going to last. When would I know some relief?

  When the sun rose, I decided I wasn’t going to even pretend to sleep anymore and I pushed the button for the nurse.

  “The pain,” I told her when she appeared, “it’s worse than yesterday.”

  She nodded empathetically. “That’s because the doctor has lowered the dose of pain medication you’re on—you were on a much higher dose when you arrived.”

  “So the pain isn’t going to go away?”

  She frowned. “You will be feeling some pain. Burns are very painful. But it’s about time for your regular dose, so I can give you that. Once it kicks in, I’m going to have to change your bandages.”

  I bit back a groan. She was only doing her job; I wasn’t going to make her feel bad for it.

  True to her word, just as I was getting some relief from the pain, she appeared carrying clean bandages and some supplies. “Look who I found out in the hall,” the nurse said, propping open the door with her foot.

  It opened wide when Holt shouldered through, his eyes going straight to the bed where I lay. I reached up to brush the hair out of my eyes, taking a moment to worry about the way I looked before stinging pain reminded me I was an idiot for worrying about the way I looked.

  He appeared beside me soundlessly and brushed back the tangled hair, tucking it behind my ear. But instead of pulling away, he trailed his fingertips lightly across my cheek over to the bridge of my nose where he trailed them downward before lifting his hand away.

  “You have a million freckles,” he said, those icy eyes looking anything but frozen.

  My stomach did a summersault. “Curse of a redhead,” I replied, my voice scraping from my throat. Geez, could I be any more unsexy?

  The nurse didn’t say anything, but I felt her stare and I tore my eyes away from him to peek at her. She was watching us as she placed all her supplies on the small rolling table beside me.

  “Is this a bad time?” Holt asked, not once looking away from my face.

  “You’re just in time for the torture,” I replied.

  “I’ll be as gentle as I can,” the nurse said, settling beside me. “Maybe it’s good he’s here. He can distract you from the discomfort.”

  “You’re in pain?” he said, his glacial eyes sharpened. His full, kissable lips pulled into a straight line, like the idea of me being in pain made him unhappy.

  “It’s not so bad,” I said, realizing I didn’t want him to see how much it hurt.

  “I’m just going to remove the bandages, apply this antibiotic, and then rewrap it,” the nurse said, drawing away my attention.

  Holt grabbed a chair and pulled it up beside the bed, sitting down and propping those humungous feet of his up on the end of the mattress.

  “Your feet are huge,” I blurted.

  He grinned. “You look like you’re twelve.”

  “I do not!”

  He face grew serious. “How old are you anyway?”

  “Asking a lady her age is impolite,” the nurse said as she peeled away what was left of the bandage.

  If he replied, I didn’t hear. All my attention was sucked down onto my wrist. It looked like a package of raw hamburger. Shiny, raw hamburger. In some places, the skin was bubbled up and loose; in others, the skin was completely gone, leaving behind nothing but red, fleshy-looking parts. The air brushed over it, and I bit down on my lower lip. I never knew air had the ability to inflict pain.

  “It’s going to look real bad, but that’s just the skin’s way of healing. Don’t be upset by what you see.”

  But I was upset. It looked awful and it felt worse. I knew it would heal, and I didn’t care about the scars it would leave behind, but in that moment, my injuries were a reminder of everything I endured—everything I lost.

  I stared down at the mess as the nurse went about cleaning the area and applying the antibiotic. A fine sheen of cold sweat broke out over my forehead and my stomach turned.

  Something warm and solid landed on my thigh. I could feel the heat of it even through the blankets that covered my legs. My eyes moved away from the burn and toward the hand that was lying in my lap. Slowly, my gaze traveled up his arm, past his shoulder and unshaven jaw to collide with his eyes. His thumb drew a lazy circle over the blanket, and I forgot abou
t everything else going on around me.

  If a single touch from him could make the entire world fall away, then what would his kiss be like?

  “So will you smack me if I ask you how old you are again?” he said. I stared at his mouth as he formed the words.

  I shook my head. “I’m twenty-two.”

  His fingers tightened around my thigh for a second before relaxing once more. “That’s good.”

  Why was that good? “How old are you?”

  “Twenty-four.”

  “Almost done,” the nurse said. I had completely forgotten she was there. I looked back at my wrist, thankful it was already being covered with a fresh bandage. “One more to go,” she said, moving around the other side of the bed.

  Holt pushed away and stood up. Instantly, my thigh missed the warmth of his palm. “I’ll explain what I’m doing with this one so you’ll know what to do when you’re released tomorrow.”

  I nodded as he moved around to the side the nurse just left.

  “Who will you be staying with? When they get here, I’ll gladly come in and explain to them how to change these. It would be easier for someone with two hands to use.”

  “I’ll be staying by myself,” I said, watching as she revealed the other wrist. This one looked exactly the same. “I’ll be able to do this, though.”

  The nurse glanced up, pity flashing into her eyes. I hated it. “You’re going to be alone?”

  I wonder what she would say if I told her I’d pretty much been alone since the age of fifteen. Instead, I just nodded.

  She frowned. “Maybe I should speak to the doctor. Perhaps delaying your release would be best.”

  “No!” I said quickly. “That isn’t necessary. Thank you. I’ll be just fine.”

  “But we don’t normally release burn victims without someone to help them.”

  Burn victim. Her words made my ears ring. I was a burn victim. Someone tried to kill me. I had no idea why.

  Before I could tumble into that black hole of worry, Holt’s voice pulled me back. “Where are you going to stay?”

  I hadn’t really thought about it. It was hard to wrap my head around the thought that my little house was gone. I’d only gotten to live there for barely a year. “A hotel, I guess,” I replied.

  He frowned.

  The nurse began explaining what to do with the bandages and medicine. I paid attention, blinking back the tears that threatened to spill onto my cheeks. I was no baby, but this hurt. The kind of pain I hoped I never had to feel again.

  The doctor came in as the nurse collected her supplies. He stopped at the foot of my bed and stared down at me the way he had yesterday. “I received some of your lab results.” He looked over at Holt before continuing.

  “It’s okay. He can stay,” I said. I knew I barely knew him (okay, I didn’t know him at all), but there was something about him that just made me comfortable.

  “You had traces of gamma hydroxybutyric acid, commonly known as GHB, in your blood stream.”

  “Isn’t that the date rape drug?” I asked, confused. Then a whole other kind of alarm swamped me. Oh my God, was I raped? Immediately, I started to pay attention to certain parts of me… like the parts between my legs. Did it feel different? Did I feel different? Why hadn’t I thought of this before? I had no clue how I ended up tied to that chair in my living room… What else did I not remember?

  Holt shot up from his seated position and paced over to the window. Both hands were fisted at his sides.

  My mouth opened, but no sound came out. How did you ask a doctor if someone raped you?

  The doctor cleared his throat. “As far as I could tell, you were not raped, Miss Parks.”

  I expelled a breath, relief making me weak. “I don’t understand,” I murmured.

  “The drug is fairly common, easy to get ahold of. It can render the victim unconscious and can also strip away memories—Miss Parks, did you knowingly ingest GHB?”

  “No!” I demanded. That was absolutely ridiculous.

  The doctor nodded. “I thought as much, but I had to ask. Did you go out to, say, a bar the night before the fire?”

  I laughed. “No. I don’t go to bars. I didn’t go anywhere when I got home from work.”

  “Where do you work? Is it likely that someone could have slipped it into your drink in your office?”

  “I work in a library. I’m a librarian. So no, it’s very unlikely.”

  “I see. Well, I had to inform the police of the toxicology screen. They will likely have questions. The drug is out of your system and there seems to be no ill effects from ingesting it. I can have your release papers ready this evening. Who will you be staying with?”

  Why did they all keep asking me this? “I’ll be staying by myself.”

  The doctor seemed to balk at that. “Perhaps a few more days here,” he began.

  “That isn’t necessary. I’ll be fine.”

  “I’m afraid I cannot in good conscience let you leave here alone.”

  “She won’t be alone,” came his voice by the window.

  Both the doctor and I looked his way as Holt turned, spearing me with those light eyes. “She can stay with me.”

  “Absolutely not,” I protested, my skin flushing at just the thought.

  “I think that’s a wonderful idea. You need someone to help you,” the doctor lectured.

  I didn’t need help. Not from anyone. I was very good at taking care of myself. I told them both that. What a bunch of Neanderthals.

  “I’m afraid if you want to leave this evening, it will have to be on the condition that you not be alone. Otherwise, you can stay here and I will discharge you at the beginning of the week.”

  Shit. I really didn’t want to be here any longer than I had to. Plus, I had to call the insurance company, go back to work, and start looking for another place to live.

  “How do you know you aren’t releasing me to some crazy person?” I asked the doctor.

  He chuckled. “Miss Parks, I have known Mr. Arkain here for several years. He has an impeccable reputation in the community.”

  I glanced at Mr. Impeccable. “So you take girls home from the hospital often, then?” Something that felt suspiciously like jealousy slithered up my spine.

  A slow grin spread over his features. “Nope. You’re my first.”

  The doctor seemed to think this was a done deal and excused himself, promising to return later with my release papers.

  Holt strolled over to my bedside, standing over me, staring down.

  “I don’t like it when people loom over me,” I snapped.

  “I’m not looming.”

  “I’m not going home with you.”

  He smiled.

  If my hands weren’t burned, I would punch him.

  He leaned down close, his breath fanning out over my cheek. “Don’t worry, Katie. I don’t bite. Unless you want me to.”

  Before I could react, he was pulling open the door and glancing over his shoulder. “I’ll be back tonight to get you.”

  I had two realizations once he was gone:

  One, I hadn’t thought about the pain at all when he talked to me.

  And, two, I actually kind of wanted to go home with him.

  4

  The nurses were gossiping about me. Or maybe it was Holt they were in a little frenzy over. Either way, I became the main attraction for several bored nurses. They kept coming into my room, making a fuss over me, and saying how lucky I was that Holt was watching out for me.

  It was like I was a stray kitten that someone found on the side of the road that somehow ended up in a wonderful home.

  I didn’t really want all the attention, but I did use it to my advantage (like you wouldn’t), and one of the nurses washed my face and hair, going as far as finding a blow dryer and drying it into a long, straight style. It took her forever because my hair was so thick and long, but she didn’t seem to mind. In fact, I think she kind of liked it. She said it got her out of emptying be
dpans.

  By the time my hair was done, I was tired, the pain meds were wearing off again, and I just wanted to go to sleep to escape reality for a little while. As I lay there in the quiet of my room, my mind kept wandering to Holt.

  Part of me didn’t think he would come back. The other part of me kept looking at the door, waiting for him. For a girl who learned early in life not to depend on anyone, I sure was acting like I was thinking about depending on him.