And for the first time since this disaster happened, I’m at a loss.
“What do you need?” Valentina appears by my side in the kitchen as I collect some bottles of water and brew a hot, sweet tea.
“I have no idea,” I reply gruffly. “Something… something happened and I don’t know what to do.”
“Talk me through it.” She moves closer and bumps me out of the way with a sway of her hip, taking over the brewing of the tea. “Tell me everything.”
“We arrived and the door was unlocked. I walked inside. The place stank. There was a body on the floor and Zira was in the corner of the room. She threw a lamp at me, flew at me, and started hitting me over and over.”
Valentina glances at me. “You okay?”
“From that? Sure.”
She nods and strains the tea.
“She was yelling and crying, but it was all high-pitched and panicked. She sounded so scared and stressed and terrified all at the same time. I tried to understand what she was saying but it was like a dam burst and the more distressed she got, the less coherent she became. I made out a couple of phrases, though.”
“Such as?”
“She accused me of killing someone. And then said she killed someone.”
Valentina pauses with her hand on the cups. “The man on the floor?”
“Maybe. Frank called, said he took one to the head, but no gun was found. There wasn’t one on her either when the doctor was going over her.”
“So someone else was there. Any idea who?”
“Her brother, Peter. This whole thing has been about him. Maybe… maybe an altercation happened and he killed that stranger.”
“Then why leave his sister? She came all that way for him.” Valentina looks at me once more and her lips twitch. “Sorry, I was just thinking out loud. From what I observed on the cameras and what you’ve told me… she might need some time.”
“Time?” Frustration tightens in my chest like static. “She won’t talk. She doesn’t react to being touched or anything. What am I supposed to do?”
“Be patient.” Valetina sets the cups on a tray beside the teapot, then places her hand on my arm. “This isn’t something you can fix with words or fists. You need to be patient. We can get her evaluated, but it sounds like something happened there that’s caused her to lock up. We’ll make sure that house is picked apart and we’ll find out who the dead man is. In the meantime…” She picks up the tray and hands it to me. “Be there for her. Be a comforting presence until whatever’s happening in her mind lets her go.”
Easier said than done. The tea remains untouched and my soft questions about how she is and where she was go unanswered, so I settle into Valentina’s advice and be there for her.
The first day passes with nothing other than her sinking into bed and falling asleep. I gently take off her shoes and clothes down to her underwear, then wrap her up in blankets and hope that restwill help her get through whatever is hurting her on the inside. She doesn’t wake up until late and only uses the bathroom on autopilot, ignoring all food and drink I bring her and returning to bed. The second day passes much the same, but Frank brings me news that there were at least two people living in that house. Peter must be out there somewhere, but where? What cause would he have to leave Zira in such a state? Valentina takes over watching Zira while I rest and has her distantly evaluated by a psychologist friend who suggests something more active might bring a response from Zira.
So, on the third day, when my concern about her lack of eating and drinking reaches its peak, I enter her room and slowly approach the bed. Zira lies down facing the wall and doesn’t react to my presence at all, not even when I clear my throat.
But I’m not giving up.
“Zira?”
No answer.
“Zira… it’s been a few days and I promised to take care of you, which is what I’m going to do.”
Still no answer.
“So I’m going to run you a really nice bath and we’re going to get you washed up together, okay?”
The silence that follows me into the ensuite is haunting. For the past three days, my mind’s been running with countless horror theories about what on earth could have happened to her in that house, along with anger that if those fake cops hadn’t stopped us in the street, then I would have gotten there sooner.
Damian, if he’s behind those fuckers, will pay with his life. I don’t care anymore.
I run a hot bath with lots of bubbles and soft vanilla scents borrowed from Ivy, light a few candles, and keep the main light low to create the cozy, safe atmosphere advised to help Zira feel safe. Returning to the bedroom, Zira’s in the same place and position as I left her and my heart tightens briefly.
