Hot Revenge Box Set 2

James

And now, for the first time, I push the door, quiet as I can, looking in.

Mitch is there, a pad on her lap, sketching. She sits by Charlotte; sleeping, so pale.

No, not pale; pallid.

What they did to you…

But she’s clean and warm and comfortable. And by the side of the bed, within touching distance, also sleeping…

Cara…

My daughter…

And in a chair by the window, a hawk-eyed nurse.

What’s been happening?

Mitch smiles, holding up her pad: a half-drawn sketch, in pastels, of mother and baby. Then she looks me up and down, pulling a face.

?

I mouth silently. “What?”

She nods me to the mirror and I see myself.

Oh, My God…

Even though I changed, brushed my hair, I can’t let Charlotte wake up to see me like this. Or Cara…

The eye is not a pretty sight. It’s not so swollen now and it’s beginning to open again, but the colour, a kind of reverse rainbow in blue, green and sickly yellow, is enough to put anyone off their… milk… There’s not too much I can do about the bruising, but at the least, I should clean myself up.

I stoop, kiss Charlotte’s cheek. She stirs, mumbling something soft. I can’t make out the words, but sleeping, her lips are curving.

I stroke Cara’s tiny face, and eyes-closed, she blows a bubble.

Then, with a nod to Mitch, I turn to leave. And Michael’s there. He too holds the pair in his gaze, then with a tap to my chest. “Let’s let them sleep.”

Mitch follows us out, picking up a baby monitor en route and popping it in her pocket.

*****

A hot shower and I feel more myself. Then Richard snags me, bullying me through to where the doctor I saw is waiting.

“I’m sorry… What’s happening?”

the circumstances, for the sakes of both Elizabeth and Charlotte, and considering Charlotte’s feelings

them. Meanwhile you…” He levels a finger at me… “…are going to let Doctor Polinski examine that eye. Along with any other damage you might have taken last night. I

*****

pull my ingredients together.

gets a look at me. “Well, if it ain’t my old friend Capt’n Bluebeard.” He elbows me in the ribs. “Oohhh, Aaarrr!” Then, slaps his forehead as I wince. “Sorry, James.

“Please don’t.”

place at the table. “It

tang of onions rides up my sinuses and I try to rub my nose, then realise my damn eye is watering

“You don’t have to cook for

enjoy cooking. It helps me relax. I could do with some

enough.” Klempner turns, grunting

are you moving like that?” She looks closer. “You're bleeding.

himself, seeming surprised. “Oh! Must have done. Um, yes, he

forgot something like that. Let me look…” She plucks at the top he's wearing, Michael's, and the fabric gapes open at a clean slice. Mine is

Larry, these are soaked through with

damage to himself. Quite the

off,” she says. “Let

fingers tugging at the bottom hem, then hisses,

Mitch hooks fingers under,

as the sodden fabric peels away from the gash underneath; a wicked slice, six inches long, scored from shoulder to chest. At the edges, blood crisped dry resists, plucking at the wound as she peels away the

needs a doctor. I’ll go get him…” He makes as

then apologising with his eyes, says, “They have an annoying habit of wanting to know who you are. Just

bowl, soap, clean rags and a tube of antiseptic cream on the table. Then he rummages through drawers

bloody tops removed, Klempner's naked chest is smeared in blood,

it is,” he comments. “My clothes... Sorry... Your clothes...

edge, working in, she wipes and cleans, squeezing the

a minute or two, silently, Michael fills another bowl with fresh water and replaces the

as a clean slit, starting shallow, but slicing deeper. Mitch slaps a pad of clean cotton over the top, pressing

removes her hand, replacing it with his

a set to her eye. “You behave as though you've done this before…” She halts in mid-sentence, staring at his chest. “Good God, Larry. What have you been doing the last few years? You look as if someone's been using you as a

weighs in. “Or

whipcord and leather, Klempner’s chest is crisscrossed with scars, slices and punctures. Some deep and red, some fine white lines. Trying not to be obvious about it, I steal a look to the rear.

growls. “I'm not a bloody circus show. Mitch, just dress it and then I can get some clothes on again. I’m bloody freezing

left of my fleece. “Not in these clothes, you

stitches,”

from Klempner’s reluctant fingers and peers close. “Stopped by the breastbone from going any deeper. It does need stitching, yes.” He

at his forehead. “You telling

I shrug.

a small tube; hands it to Mitch. “Superglue. Use a dot wherever you would stitch but keep to the edges.

at the wound. Looks at the tube. Bites a lip. “Can