Hot Revenge Box Set 2

Chapter 18

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?”

she’s fine, but under the circumstances,

for the next few weeks and are on 24/7 call should we need them. Meanwhile you…” He levels a finger

*****

the kitchen, I pull my

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.

“Please don’t.”

place at the table. “It suits you. Kind

The tang of onions rides up my sinuses and I try to rub my

don’t have to cook for

helps me relax. I could

turns,

eyes. “Larry, why are you moving like that?”

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

the top he's wearing, Michael's, and the fabric gapes open at a

these are soaked through

to himself. Quite the opposite.

these off,” she says. “Let me have a

fingers tugging at the bottom hem, then hisses, eyes rising

me.” Mitch hooks fingers

shoulder to chest. At the edges, blood crisped dry resists, plucking at the wound

takes the briefest of looks. “That needs a doctor. I’ll go get

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

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

smeared in blood, red by the wound, black

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

swat flies then, starting at the outer edge, working in, she wipes and cleans, squeezing the cloth into the bowl which swirls

silently, Michael fills another bowl with fresh

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

it with

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?

in. “Or

Some deep and red, some fine white lines.

growls. “I'm not a bloody circus show. Mitch, just dress it and

in

needs stitches,”

Klempner’s reluctant fingers and peers close. “Stopped by the breastbone from going any deeper.

his forehead. “You telling me

I shrug.

wherever you would stitch but keep to the edges. If

wound. Looks at the tube. Bites a lip.

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