Page 97 of Respect

It was a big stable, with a dozen large stalls, six on either side of a wide main aisle. Where the stalls ended, the aisle diverged into two narrower passageways around the center of the stable, where the tack room, feed room, bathroom, and a small area like an office/kitchen combo were located. Behind that central core were three quarantine stalls, each with a small corral thing Phoebe called a ‘turnout,’ facing the barn.

The trouble was at the end of the main aisle, where Vin was pacing in a short loop, holding an ice bag to his head. A blonde woman in fancy riding clothes lay on her back in the aisle. From the entrance of the stable Duncan could see that her face and pale blonde hair were soaked red.

That was Lydia Copperman. Her body, at least.

Of much greater interest to Duncan was Phoebe, who sat on the aisle floor, against Amos’s stall. Her legs were folded up against her chest, her arms locked around her knees. She stared straight ahead. Her face was badly scratched, her lips and chin were smeared and streaked with blood in varying stages of drying out, and her cheek and mouth were swelling around the damage.

He was both relieved to see her alive and mostly unharmed, and infuriated to see the harm she’d suffered.

“Phoebe!” Duncan called and hurried to her. She didn’t acknowledge him at all, not even when he crouched before her and cupped her face in his hands. Her eyes moved with her head, locked in their sockets. They were almost pointed at his eyes, but she wasn’t seeing him.

She’d told him that high stress made her ‘check out’ sometimes, and he’d seen a hint of it once or twice. He’d seen Margot get in her face and tell her to ‘click back in.’ But this was much scarier than he’d understood. She was just gone.

“Phoebe!” he said again, almost yelling. He had the thought to slap her, like in the movies, but he didn’t want to hurt her. Instead, he dropped his hands to her shoulders and shook her. “Phoebe!”

“Hey, don’t,” Dex said, crouching beside him. “That’s not gonna work. You gotta be calm, Dunc. It’s intensity that sent her away, and if she’s back in the desert, yelling and shaking are only going to push her deeper in.”

“I don’t know what to do!” Duncan said, to Dex and anyone else. Throwing a glance over his shoulder, he looked to Vin and Margot, who were obviously worried but had no wisdom to offer.

“This is the worst she’s ever been,” Margot said.

“I haven’t been on the outside of one of these since I was a kid,” Dex said, “so I’m mostly guessing here, but try this. Take her hands.”

Her hands showed damage from fighting—the knuckles bruised and bloody, a couple fingernails shredded. Her arms were crossed around her knees and her hands had a punishing grip over her arms, but when Duncan unhooked them from their death grip, she didn’t fight him.

“Hold them lightly and just talk to her,” Dex instructed. “Nice and calm, only good things. Nothing about what’s goin’ on here. Everybody else’ll step away and start working out what to do about the body.”

Without taking his attention from Phoebe, Duncan nodded. “Hey, baby,” he said, fighting off adrenaline to keep his voice at something close to a whisper. But what could he say? His head was packed solid with what was going on here.

“I’m home early,” he finally decided on. “Missed you too much to stay away.” Her hands lay flaccid in his. He brushed his thumbs over their backs, but she didn’t seem to notice. Still, it made him feel a little better, so he kept it up, caressing her lightly with the pads of this thumbs.

“I love you. You know that, right? I mean, I know we say the words, but I want to make sure you really know it. I love you, Phoebe.” No reaction. All he could think to say that was safe and calm and good was to pour his heart out, so he kept going. “It’s funny—I was so scared to get close to you because I thought I’d lose so much if I gave up my single life. I always had this idea in my head that ‘settling down’ meant life getting boring, all obligation and responsibility and that kind of shit, so I figured I’d put it off until I was ready to be boring. But you know, I like feeling responsible for you. I like being expected somewhere. I like knowing somebody will be disappointed if they don’t see me. It's not boring at all. It’s exciting. Loving you makes my blood fizz all day long. Being with you feels like having my finger in a socket—but, I mean, in a good way. I feel fucking alive.”

He thought he felt her hands move. When he looked down, they were unchanged, still loose and seemingly lifeless, but he was sure he’d felt something. “You’re safe, Phoebe. I promise you’re safe. I won’t let anybody hurt you anymore. I need you here, babe. I’ll keep you safe. I’ll always keep you safe.”

He could hear the others speaking softly, could hear Vin probably explaining the situation. He could sense in his periphery that they were moving around near the body, but he didn’t let it distract him. Right now, the only thing he cared about was Phoebe, who’d been like this a long time. More than an hour. What if this had broken her—what if something that woman had done, one of the blows that had hurt her face, had hurt her brain, too? Or what if she’d simply snapped? What if she never came out of this? What then?

The change happened in painfully slow increments. First her hands twitched again, and that was all for what seemed like fifteen minutes but was probably closer to fifteen seconds. Then she took an audible breath. Duncan lifted one of her hands to his lips and kissed it, but nothing more seemed to happen. He’d run out of things he could think to say, so he started repeating, “Come back, babe. I love you,” over and over, like a mantra, or an incantation. A resurrection spell, or something.

And then, all at once after so long, she was looking at him. “Dunc?”

His face exploded into a grin. “Hey there, beautiful. How’re you feeling?”

She didn’t answer. For a few seconds, she was obviously confused. Then she looked around, and understanding landed on her so quickly, he saw it drop through her eyes.

“Oh no! I—”

He cupped her face again, hoping to stop that sentence. “It’s okay. It’s okay.”

“It’s not ... I killed her. I don’t ... remember doing it.”

“Doesn’t matter. We’re going to take care of it. You’re okay.”

“We?”

Dex crouched beside Duncan again. “Hey, Phoebe. Do you remember me?”

She turned and squinted at Dex. “Dex. You’re here?”

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