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“Tell us what happened with Salomé,” I say.
Willow gives me a look that tells me I’ve done something wrong, and she turns to my sister, smiling her warm smile.
“It’s okay. It’s not your fault. We know that, don’t we, Azrael?”
“Christ. Of course.” I take my sister’s hand and push the sleeve of her sweater up. There, I see what she was quick to try and hide. Purplish bruises on her wrist like someone grabbed her hard. “Are there more?”
She bites her lip and when she turns her face as she begins to cry, I see the camouflage of makeup on her cheekbone. I touch her cheek, brush my thumb over the spot. I’m trying to be gentle, to not scare her, but it’s hard. It’s very fucking hard.
“Any more?” I ask tightly.
“She didn’t mean it,” Bec starts, tears streaming down her face. She is still sweet, still forgiving, and it makes this that much harder because Salomé did mean it, and worse.
“Oh, sweetheart,” Willow says, pulling her in for a hug.
“She just… she said someone told her about the painting at the house and,” she’s interrupted by a sob. “And when I went to see her, take her some flowers she likes, she was being nice and then she asked about it and…”
“It’s okay,” Willow tells her, rubbing her back.
“And what?” I want to know every fucking detail.
Bec glances over her shoulder at me. “Don’t hurt her,” she says, and in her eyes I see the memory of what I did years ago when I came home to find my little sister lying in her bed, unable to move from the caning she’d taken. I’d been young myself. Not the man I am now. I’d been uncertain. And, if I’m being honest, I’d been afraid. Afraid of the force that was my grandmother. But, still, instinct had taken over even then and I remember how close I’d come to doing damage to Salomé. Real damage.
It’s that which Bec remembers now. It’s what has me seeing fear in her eyes. She knows what I am capable of.
“And what. Tell me exactly how it happened.” My voice is lower, darker than usual.
Bec pulls away from Willow and faces me, although she’s still holding Willow’s hand. “I wouldn’t tell her, and I got up to leave. I didn’t think she was even strong enough to get out of her bed, but she grabbed me and spat at me.” Her voice breaks on that last part as if she’s still shocked, ashamed herself when it’s Salomé who should be ashamed.
My hands clench and Willow lays one of hers around my fist.
“She slapped me and said after all she’s done for me, I betrayed her for the… for the…” She looks at Willow and shakes her head. I can guess what words Salomé would have used.
“It’s okay. It’s okay,” Willow tries to reassure her.
“She called me a traitor and said we deserve everything we have coming.”
I don’t wait to hear more. My vision blackens around the edges and I turn stiffly to go.
“Azrael!” Bec cries out.
I stop but I can’t look at her, not right now, because I want to kill Salomé. I want to wrap my hands around her neck and squeeze the life out of her and she will see that in my eyes. “What?”
“Don’t hurt her. She’s just scared. That’s all. She’s just scared.”
“She’s a selfish, hateful old woman. Willow, stay with Bec.”
I stalk out of the room and slam the door behind me. I don’t know how I get down the stairs or out the door. Unseeing, I stalk through the grounds, Bec’s words urging me on as I follow the path toward the cottages.
Once I’m at the door to Salomé’s room, I don’t bother to knock. The guard nods his acknowledgement, but I barely see it as I push it open so hard, it slams against the wall and the wood reverberates.
A nurse gasps, spins to face me, the metal tray with its vial and syringe she’s holding crashing to the floor with a loud clang. The vial shatters, the syringe rolls under the hospital bed. The fucking empty hospital bed.
“Where is she?” I bark, looking around the small space as if there were anywhere to hide. Before the woman can answer, I bang my fist on the bathroom door three times. “Salomé! Get out here!”
“Sir?” The guard has entered the room.
“She wanted to get some air. The other nurse took her out,” the nurse says.
“I told you she does not leave!” The nurse cringes away, shaking.
“I’m new. I didn’t…”
I spin to the guard. “You were given simple fucking instructions.”
“Sir, she insisted on fresh air.”
“How hard is it to keep an old woman in her bed?” I shout, then I hear myself. Hear what I said. How I said it. I see Bec’s face again, her fear. She remembers well what happened the last time. How I grabbed Salomé and that goddamned cane and threatened to break it on her back. She remembers the bruise on her grandmother’s wrist, the single fucking bruise that Salomé proudly showed off like a badge of fucking honor when she left my sister bedbound for a week. If it hadn’t been for Emmanuel, I’d have killed her. I’m sure of it. Maybe I should have.
