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“You’ve just killed our only link to Soren!" Carrick interrupts angrily, taking a step towards Jakub. “What are we supposed to do now?”
"We finish what we came here to do," Jakub replies, stepping to one side as Leon and Konrad approach, hauling a man between them, his feet dragging across the gravel, his head lolling between his shoulders. Long, blood-matted hair covering his face.
"One of Vasko's men?" Beast asks, grabbing a napkin from the table that isn't covered in the dead man’s blood, and cleaning his face.
Konrad shakes his head as they drop the unconscious man on the ground right next to Vasko's dead body. “Not exactly.”
"But he is someone who'll tell us what we need to know," Leon adds, swiping the back of his hand over his own bloody cheek before crouching beside the man and grabbing a handful of his hair. Yanking his head back, he twists the man’s head to the side, showing us the portion of a skull tattooed onto his battered face.
“Yeah, I think he’ll do,” I agree.
8
Cyn
Iwake up with a start, heart pounding in my chest as a nightmare lingers in the recesses of my mind, its claws digging deep furrows into my thoughts. I try to blink back the tears pooling in my eyes, but tears stream down my face, mixing with the sweat that's sliding over my skin. My chest is heavy, and I feel a vise-like grip around my abdomen, as if someone is squeezing me as hard as they can.
“Oh God, no!" I pant, fear crawling up my throat at this phantom attacker.
Beside me sleeps Faith, her hair is a dirty blonde halo around her head, her jaw slack and lips parted as she breathes softly, unaffected by the nightmare that has left me in a cold sweat, with tears streaming down my face.
Keeping my gaze fixed on her chest, I watch as it rises and falls, dragging in my own shaky breaths to match hers, until eventually the heavy weight of my nightmare lifts off my chest and the crippling tightness in my stomach abates. I'm so fixated on breathing in time with her that I don't notice her eyes blinking open.
“Are you okay, Cyn?” Faith mumbles groggily, moonlight from the window pouring over her in a silver blanket.
I nod my head but don't respond, still unable to muster any words. Faith tucks a strand of hair behind her ear before she reaches over and places a hand on my shoulder. Her silent comfort gives me exactly what I need, and I take several deep breaths as I attempt to steady myself. The nightmare slowly fades into the background until all that’s left is the warmth of Faith's hand and her comforting presence.
“I’m okay,” I say shakily, wiping my cheeks with the flat of my hand, and forcing my lips into a wobbly smile. Yesterday I praised her strength, yet here I am breaking because of a nightmare.
“What is it?” she asks.
Even in the darkness I can see concern etched in her features as she looks at me with deep understanding and compassion, and the cold fear that gripped me with the nightmare slowly begins to dissipate.
“A nightmare, that’s all.”
“A nightmare?” She questions, sympathy in her gaze. “Do you want to talk about it?”
“I'd rather not.” I give her a weak smile. "Besides, it's over now."
But it’s not. It never will be. Seeing my mother’s murder in stark colour is about as bad as a nightmare can get. It’s been a long time since I’ve dreamt of that day, and I know the trauma is bubbling to the surface because of everything that’s happening right now.
“Is it?" she questions gently, taking my hand in hers.
I nod, forcing strength into my spine. "Please go back to sleep. You need to rest, not stay up comforting me. I'm going to have a wash. It's been a while since I've felt clean and I may as well make use of the running water whilst I can."
“It takes just as much strength and energy to heal the sick as it does to heal from abuse,” she says knowingly. “We may have only known each other a short time, but this isn’t a one-sided relationship. Of course you’re going to be affected too, and I’m here for you.”
“Thank you,” I murmur.
Releasing my hand, she gives me a soft smile. "You know I dream about a warm bath most days. I miss being able to relax in one," she murmurs, her eyes drifting shut as exhaustion pulls her back under.
My throat tightens, and I vow to myself that one day soon she will get to sink into a warm bath, her body relaxing with the knowledge that Soren and his men are dead. Climbing out of bed, I pad across the tiled floor to the bathroom. There's no shower or bath, just a toilet and sink. But at least we have running water.
Plugging the sink, I fill it up, adding a drop of lavender oil to the water, then strip naked.
The water is freezing, and I use a threadbare towel to wash myself, shivering at the frigid temperature, the coarse material of the towel harsh against my skin. Strip washing in a chipped stone sink is a poor substitute for a hot shower, but I make do, feeling grateful at least to scrub more than a week's grime from my body.
After washing, I pull out the plug then refill the sink again adding a touch more lavender oil. This time I wash my hair, getting as much dirt out of it as possible before squeezing out the excess water. Grabbing another, slightly larger towel, I wrap it around my body, tucking the end between my breasts. Next I clean my clothes, then hang them up to dry on a hook fixed to the wall. In a few hours the sun will rise and with it will come the heat of another scorching day. It won't take long for my clothes to dry, but for now the loose threadbare t-shirt and cotton shorts left for us both to wear will have to do.
