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It'd taken all night for him to build a temporary patch inside his mind to contain most of the memories.
Although a few always seemed to escape when he wasn't paying attention.
Suppressing shit wasn't a long-term solution, but Everett had left him a note, saying Dark Lord Khan was coming for a visit.
River didn't know how the wolf had arranged things so quickly, but he didn't fucking care.
All he wanted was to avoid falling into the deep, dark hole of despair and pain he'd suffered the night before.
Just thinking of that released a few of his memories:
A red-hot iron being pressed against his skin, until River couldn't hold back a scream. And the louder he screamed, the more the fucker holding the iron had laughed.
Or how he'd been tied facedown on a bed as someone cut tiny slices into his back, the pain excruciating, worse than a quick, deep cut. Almost as if they knew cutting nerves hurt like a son of a bitch.
The worst of all, though, had been after weeks of the bastards' threats. They'd repeatedly said they'd go after those he cared about if he refused to sign a contract in blood, making him their own magical torturer for life. Tired of River's refusals, one fucker had eventually arrived with a box. Lowering it for River to see, he opened the lid.
Inside had been his mentor Dave Morelli's head.
He'd cried out at that, despair crashing over him. Dave had been more like a father or uncle to him than River's own flesh and blood. He'd introduced River to the life he'd needed, taught him everything he knew, and had always been there to call him out on his shit when no one else would.
And if they'd found and killed Dave, their threats about his sisters were goddamn real and ones he had to take seriously.
The fuckers had kept the head, using it to taunt him, to the point River had been faced with the impossible choice: do as they asked, and use his powers to hurt and possibly kill to protect his sisters, or just plain give up and hope his death would somehow spare his siblings.
Him, the born and trained healer, had thought of killing others, or even restraining his magical healing and simply letting his body die.
He'd just about decided to do as they asked—with very clear language to protect Yesenia and Meadow—when he'd been whisked to the nineteenth century.
But if that hadn't happened? He could very well be fucking torturing people right this minute, making someone scream or even stopping their heart if the person didn't share what Derrick Yates and his mob wanted to know.
River skipped another stone across the surface, but the action was pointless. The memories weren't completely going away ever again, and he was going to have to fucking figure out how to face not only those nightmares but also being responsible for Dave's murder.
Because of his damn principles and stubbornness, someone he loved had died.
A twig snapped behind him and he turned. Nora wore long sleeves, gloves, her usual full-length skirt, and a large-brimmed hat with some butterflies and flowers decorating one side.
Normally he'd smile at the ridiculous thing on her head, but he turned back toward the lake. After everything she'd gone through and survived, how was he supposed to face her, knowing he hadn't been as strong as her? That he'd nearly fucking caved?
That even when he cared for someone, he could fail them and cause their goddamned death?
Oblivious to his dark thoughts, her sunny voice came from just behind him. "Here you are. I've had the devil of a time trying to find you."
He shrugged, knowing he was being a petulant asshole, but he didn't know what the fuck to say to Nora.
Hell, he still didn't even know how to deal with his own thoughts inside his head, let alone share them with others. And she would no doubt want to know what the fuck had happened.
Picking up a small flat rock, he tossed it and it skipped four times before sinking.
Nora moved next to him, picked up her own small stone, and he watched it sail and hit five times. "I used to do this a lot with Ambrose when he was a child. Six is my personal best."
Part of him appreciated Nora trying to be normal, but a larger part was annoyed. More at himself than her, but he couldn't keep from barking, "What do you want, Nora?"
She didn't falter, flinch, or in any way retreat. "In Ambrose's early teenage years, he used that same tone quite often. It usually meant something was on his mind, but he was trying too hard to be an adult and prove he could sort things out on his own. However, just like I told him, I'll tell you: there's nothing wrong with sharing your thoughts with someone, or maybe even asking for their help."
River ran a hand through his hair. He fucking knew she was trying to reach out to him. Nora was so strong, and determined, and just plain fucking better than him.
And he still wanted her. Damn, how he wanted to hold her close, kiss her neck, and try to forget about the pain, and his weak moments, and how he'd fucking failed one of the people who'd meant the most to him in the world.
