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?”

up palms… “It’s settled and she’s fine, but under the circumstances, for the sakes of both Elizabeth and Charlotte, and considering Charlotte’s feelings regarding hospitals right now, I have assembled a team for

and are on 24/7 call should we need them. Meanwhile you…” He levels a finger at me… “…are going to let Doctor Polinski examine

*****

my ingredients together.

look at me. “Well, if it ain’t my old

“Please don’t.”

in a smile from her place at the table. “It suits

tang of onions rides up my sinuses and I try

have to cook for

helps me relax. I could do with

turns, grunting as

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

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

“And you forgot something like that. Let me look…” She plucks at the top he's wearing, Michael's, and the

Larry, these are soaked through with

apparently unconcerned by the damage to himself. Quite the opposite. He seems gratified by her attention, eyes crinkling as

off,” she says. “Let

them up, fingers tugging at the bottom hem, then hisses, eyes rising to the

hooks fingers under,

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 garment. But liquid blood, dark and red, dribbles from the

takes the briefest of looks. “That needs a doctor. I’ll go get him…” He makes as though

thank you.” Klempner calms, then apologising with his eyes, says, “They have an annoying habit of wanting to know who you

then runs warm water into a bowl, dumping bowl, soap, clean rags and a tube of antiseptic cream on the table. Then he rummages through drawers

is smeared in blood, red by the wound, black at the

looks worse than it is,” he comments. “My clothes... Sorry... Your clothes... soaked up the

gives him a look calculated to swat flies then, starting at the outer edge, working in, she wipes

Michael fills another

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 own, face

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

in.

trace of flab, apparently constructed from whipcord and leather, Klempner’s chest is crisscrossed with scars, slices and punctures. Some deep

a bloody circus show. Mitch, just dress it and then

of my fleece. “Not in these clothes, you won't. I'll get

stitches,”

“Stopped by the breastbone from going any deeper. It does need

at his forehead. “You telling me he keeps sutures

I shrug.

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

looks at the wound. Looks at the tube.