Page 70 of Red

The drive back to his house is a blur, and when we make it there, he pulls right up to the door.

“It’ll be—”

The door beside me opens before he finishes. Jocko’s eyes get wide. “What—?” His voice drops. “Who?”

“Who do you think?” Stark says, gripping my arms and lifting me down onto my feet. I can’t straighten from the pain shooting across my back.

“We’ll help you,” Jocko says.

“Stark,” I cry out.

He comes face to face with me. “What can I do?” His eyes search franticly from side to side.

“Bath,” I say, barely loud enough for him to hear. I cry out as we climb the steps. There’s no way they can carry me without making it worse.

Inside, Lirea comes up to us with Nikki, and both their faces collapse. “Aloka, what happened?” Nikki asks.

“The Elders . . .” Jocko answers for me.

“Let’s get her on a table,” says Lirea.

A few other gasps come from across the room.

“No, I’ll take her.” Stark grips my arm. I can’t feel it, but I can see it as I start sliding my feet across the smooth wooden floor.

“That’s crazy. You need help. She needs help.” Lirea blocks our path.

“Stark, come on. Let us help her,” says Nikki.

Whatever look Stark gives to them makes them all shut up. It’s not only a look though. I can see Nikki and Lirea mentally arguing, but I have no energy to listen, I need to get cold.

“Please,” I say, trying to tell him through my eyes that they can’t help.

A few hesitate before stepping to the side to let us pass.

When the bedroom door closes behind us, Stark leads me into the bathroom. He goes over to the tub and turns on the water.

“Cold,” I say.

He tilts his head, then rotates the knobs again. Water flows to the bottom of the tub, and I need to get in it.

Stark looks at my clothes. “You have to let me help, Alo.”

My face twitches at the familiar nickname.

My back burns, and I collapse forward.

“Cut it.” I point to what’s left of my shirt.

He grips the ends of my shorts with both hands and pulls it a part like paper. Dropping them to the floor, his hands rise and start on my shirt. A quivering sob escapes me each time it gets caught in the dried blood. He slows his fingers and pulls at each strip of fabric until my skin is free. He keeps his eyes on the floor and grabs my hand while I sink bare into the tub, folding over my knees. I let the cold water flow up past my chest. My whole life, I’ve never been so thankful for a giant tub. I slow my breathing, letting the cold water into my wounds. The tub water tints pink.

“What now? How is this bath going to help? You need stitches—lots of them.” He sits down on the edge of the tub.

“A cloth, please.” My voice is quiet, nearly drowned out by the water still filling the tub.

He reaches for one nearby, tentatively handing it to me, and I soak it under the running water.

Then I stop fighting the heat.