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Alexander points at the computer, reading again, and I try to follow along through my watering eyes.
“He t-took them to the w-water,” I say.
The memories flash through my mind, words from my sister, images from the past, and that awful day in the field.
He was just going to kill them.
“That bastard,” I mutter under my breath.
Alexander turns back to me. “Those are the boys with you. They aren’t your sons.”
“They are now. They weren’t then.” I tilt my head toward the screen, swallowing the lump in my throat and rolling my shoulders back. “Those are my sons, Alexander, and Sam is their father.”
He hovers his fingers over the keys, a trickle of sweat beading on the back of his neck. “It will take some time…” he trails off. “To fix this. Do you understand?”
“Thank you,” is all I say. He’s still helping me, and I’m trusting him, despite the warning he gave me earlier.
There’s an assuredness in my soul sitting here with him, much like how I felt outside when I knew it was him I needed to speak with. Maybe it’s that I trust myself, my sight, and my intuition. Maybe I don’t have any other options and I’m reaching for anything, but I have to believe that Alexander will help us.
I flinch when he reaches for the package on my lap, opening a drawer and emptying the contents. The sight of medical supplies makes my stomach churn. “You’d do anything to protect your family,” he says. He doesn’t phrase it as a question, but it’s clear he’s asking nonetheless. Something unsaid that he wants to make me swear to. A promise between us.
“I’ll do anything,” I promise. “Anything.”
He pulls out an ominous-looking device from another drawer and sets it on an empty chair next to me. Pressing a few buttons and fiddling with a tray on its top, I can’t help but feel uneasy about what he’s doing. I won’t like it, and I ready myself for something unpleasant.
He places a rectangular piece of metal with a large handle on the tray and waits. Minutes go by until some buttons turn red and heat pours out, wafting onto my thigh.
We don’t speak.
I don’t want to know what’s next.
It won’t change anything.
Alexander takes in a deep breath and places one hand on my knee. “I’m going to untie you, and you aren’t going to do anything stupid.”
I nod and stare at the waves of heat that pour from the device. I realize what it is, and there’s a part of me that wants to protest, to scream and run once he cuts the ropes free.
Instead, I stretch my shoulders when the cords slide loose and lay my hand on my thigh, palm up, reaching for his other hand to hold. He slides a towel into my mouth to bite down on and then gives me his touch hesitantly. I notice the way he shakes, wrapping his fingers around mine.
The machine beeps a few times, and he takes the handle, sliding the press from the heated plates. He hovers it over my exposed skin, doing his best not to tremble. Our eyes meet, and I nod once, squeezing his hand, digging my nails into his flesh, and willing myself to remain still.
He takes in a breath and lowers it to my skin.
“Don’t scream.”
Chapter Three
Questions
Ialmostpassoutfrom the pain, and I want that. I’m desperate to sink into the bliss of darkness, but that’s not what greets me.
Countless images of my sister’s brand flash through my memory, and I grit my teeth and endure every second. I’m cursed with the memory of each time I looked at that damned scar of hers. It’s worse torture than the brand currently searing into my skin.
When I open my eyes, tears are streaming down my face. I choke on a sob when the clang of metal shocks me from my nightmares.
Alexander’s blood spreads under my fingernails. I’m digging into his skin, holding his hand like it was some damned lifeline.
It is.
