25. Bradley
brADLEY
The lamp shatters against my chest and crumples to the floor, landing next to a dead body I barely have a second to take in because in the next moment, Zira’s flying at me. I prepare to catch her in a hug, but through her tears and her pained yell, I recognize her anger too late.
“You!” she screams as she collides with me, and both her fists batter against my chest. “You bastard! You bastard! I hate you! I hate you!”
While her initial explosion of anger is coherent, the harder she attacks me with kicks and punches, the harder she cries, and with that comes a decrease in my ability to understand what she’s saying.
Every word out of her comes laced with tears and sobs that sound like they’re coming from the untouched depths of her soul.
Even her fists against my chest are harder than I expect and she doesn’t stop.
She punches my chest, my arm and my shoulder, then my abdomen as I loop my arm around her waist and guide her away from the body on the floor.
Once we’re far enough away, I release her and block the body with my own as Frank enters and immediately gets to work calling the help we need.
“Zira, tell me what happened. What did he do to you?”
She doesn’t stop. Her hair flies about her head, tears pour down her cheeks, and her words grow even more hoarse as she continues to attack me with everything she has.
She hits and kicks, and when I catch her wrist to stop her from hurting herself, she quickly resorts to biting.
None of her attacks particularly hurt, but being unable to understand her creates more distress for me.
I want to listen.
I want to understand so I can help her.
“Zira, you’re safe, okay? You’re safe! Everything’s going to be okay.”
“Nooo!” She wails brokenly. “You killed him! You killed him! You killed him!” Everything else melts away and she repeats that over and over, but her attacks don’t last long because grief or exhaustion seems to get the better of her and she dissolves into sobs and collapses into my arms. “I-I killed him,” she chokes out. “I k-killed him.”
Every tear, every wail and sob and scrape of her voice against her raw throat hurts me.
She’s in pain, so much pain, and I can’t reach her.
Nothing I say seems to breach the bubble she’s found herself in and despite her attempts to attack me, she ends up clinging to me with sobs racking her body in waves so powerful, I fear she’ll break apart.
I bundle her up into my arms and cradle her close to my chest, even as she tries to weakly push me away. Getting her out of here and somewhere safe is my priority.
By the time I get her into the car, she’s fallen silent.
Tears continue to pour down her cheeks but she doesn’t make any sound, nor does she react to my touch as I secure her with a seatbelt.
Taking her hand as we drive so I remain close is also met without a flicker of acknowledgement and her fingers remain limp against my palm while we race through the city and back to the Empire State Building.
Frank’s left in charge of that strange house with orders to find out who the dead man is and to pore over that place with a fine-toothed comb.
Back at the tower, Zira doesn’t resist when I scoop her out of the car or when I carry her into the elevator. She doesn’t make a sound when I take her to her room and kneel in front of her, nor does she acknowledge me when I take her hand.
“Zira? Do you know where you are?”
Our eyes meet, but I get the distinct impression that she’s staring past me at something I can’t see.
Reaching up, I gently touch her cheek with the back of my knuckle to catch a stray tear.
She doesn’t even flinch. She blinks slowly and breathes shallowly, but other than that, it’s like every part of her has switched off.
I remain with her and talk her through the doctor giving her a quick, non-invasive physical that ends in a blood draw. Zira’s dead to it all. She doesn’t answer questions, doesn’t flinch at the needle, and doesn’t react when I kiss the top of her head.
Something’s happened to her.
And for the first time since this disaster happened, I’m at a loss.
“What do you need?” Valentina appears by my side in the kitchen as I collect some bottles of water and brew a hot, sweet tea.
“I have no idea,” I reply gruffly. “Something… something happened and I don’t know what to do.”
“Talk me through it.” She moves closer and bumps me out of the way with a sway of her hip, taking over the brewing of the tea. “Tell me everything.”
“We arrived and the door was unlocked. I walked inside. The place stank. There was a body on the floor and Zira was in the corner of the room. She threw a lamp at me, flew at me, and started hitting me over and over.”
Valentina glances at me. “You okay?”
“From that? Sure.”
She nods and strains the tea.
“She was yelling and crying, but it was all high-pitched and panicked. She sounded so scared and stressed and terrified all at the same time. I tried to understand what she was saying but it was like a dam burst and the more distressed she got, the less coherent she became. I made out a couple of phrases, though.”
“Such as?”
“She accused me of killing someone. And then said she killed someone.”
Valentina pauses with her hand on the cups. “The man on the floor?”
“Maybe. Frank called, said he took one to the head, but no gun was found. There wasn’t one on her either when the doctor was going over her.”
“So someone else was there. Any idea who?”
“Her brother, Peter. This whole thing has been about him. Maybe… maybe an altercation happened and he killed that stranger.”
“Then why leave his sister? She came all that way for him.” Valentina looks at me once more and her lips twitch. “Sorry, I was just thinking out loud. From what I observed on the cameras and what you’ve told me… she might need some time.”
“Time?” Frustration tightens in my chest like static. “She won’t talk. She doesn’t react to being touched or anything. What am I supposed to do?”
“Be patient.” Valetina sets the cups on a tray beside the teapot, then places her hand on my arm.
“This isn’t something you can fix with words or fists.
You need to be patient. We can get her evaluated, but it sounds like something happened there that’s caused her to lock up.
We’ll make sure that house is picked apart and we’ll find out who the dead man is.
In the meantime…” She picks up the tray and hands it to me.
“Be there for her. Be a comforting presence until whatever’s happening in her mind lets her go. ”
Easier said than done. The tea remains untouched and my soft questions about how she is and where she was go unanswered, so I settle into Valentina’s advice and be there for her.
The first day passes with nothing other than her sinking into bed and falling asleep.
I gently take off her shoes and clothes down to her underwear, then wrap her up in blankets and hope that rest will help her get through whatever is hurting her on the inside.
She doesn’t wake up until late and only uses the bathroom on autopilot, ignoring all food and drink I bring her and returning to bed.
The second day passes much the same, but Frank brings me news that there were at least two people living in that house.
Peter must be out there somewhere, but where?
What cause would he have to leave Zira in such a state?
Valentina takes over watching Zira while I rest and has her distantly evaluated by a psychologist friend who suggests something more active might bring a response from Zira.
So, on the third day, when my concern about her lack of eating and drinking reaches its peak, I enter her room and slowly approach the bed. Zira lies down facing the wall and doesn’t react to my presence at all, not even when I clear my throat.
But I’m not giving up.
“Zira?”
No answer.
“Zira… it’s been a few days and I promised to take care of you, which is what I’m going to do.”
Still no answer.
“So I’m going to run you a really nice bath and we’re going to get you washed up together, okay?”
The silence that follows me into the ensuite is haunting.
For the past three days, my mind’s been running with countless horror theories about what on earth could have happened to her in that house, along with anger that if those fake cops hadn’t stopped us in the street, then I would have gotten there sooner.
Damian, if he’s behind those fuckers, will pay with his life. I don’t care anymore.
I run a hot bath with lots of bubbles and soft vanilla scents borrowed from Ivy, light a few candles, and keep the main light low to create the cozy, safe atmosphere advised to help Zira feel safe.
Returning to the bedroom, Zira’s in the same place and position as I left her and my heart tightens briefly.
“Zira?” Sitting on the end of her bed, I reach for her limp hand. “Come on… let’s get you cleaned up.”
She doesn’t respond but she also doesn’t fight me when I grip her hand and guide her up into a seated position.
Nor does she protest or fight me as I scoop her bridal-like into my arms and hold her against my chest. While her arms stay limply in her lap, her head rolls and rests against my shoulder, which is as close to soothing as I’m going to get, but I take it.
She remains silent as I carry her into the bathroom, but the moment I turn to nudge the door closed, Zira stiffens.
I freeze and lift my head, following her line of sight. She’s staring at herself in the bathroom mirror and then she slowly closes her eyes. Tears quickly build and spill from under her lashes.
“Oh, Zira,” I murmur. “It’s okay. If you would talk to me, I could help you. I’m here for that.”
She doesn’t open her eyes and the tension doesn’t leave her body.
“It’s my fault,” she whispers weakly. “It’s my fault Peter’s dead.”