Chapter 18 - Mark
MARK
Encouraging Bennett to keep his fingers moving is making Rhodes and the pack restless because it’s clear that it’s uncomfortable for Bennett.
It’s about maintaining muscle, which will help with recovery.
Not doing anything to put excess strain on the bone.
I just want his fingers moving on occasion.
We don’t use any equipment, of course. It’s truly about movement.
Medicine has come a long way in the past twenty years.
No longer is it encouraged to keep your broken limb completely immobile.
So many lower extremity injuries are now treated with a removable boot, and the person is to walk on it to some extent.
Not to go on a hike, but to move throughout their day, taking rests often.
As technology and our understanding of the human body advance, medicine moves forward. It’s a challenge for those who aren’t prone to needing medical attention, though. Such as Rhodes. Rhodes’s anxiety amps up his pack, and being surrounded by seven enormous wolf dogs is a little unnerving.
“How about you take the pack out for a walk?” I suggest to Rhodes.
“They just had a several-hour-long hunt and kill yesterday,” Rhodes answers.
“Yeah? How’d that go?”
Rhodes shrugs. “Usual. Nothing out of the ordinary except that Uncle Jalon had some very specific punishments he wanted done. I even sent him a picture of the pups’ handiwork when we were finished. He texted back that I’m now his favorite nephew.”
I chuckle. “I didn’t realize Jalon gets into the hunts.”
“He doesn’t. This guy did something wrong, I guess. I mean, they all do, don’t they? That’s why we hunt. It’s weird, though. I didn’t think he’d done anything but trespass. I guess a deeper look into his past proved wrong.”
I’m not entirely sure what he’s talking about, which isn’t concerning. I don’t have anything to do with the darkness that Van Doren disposes of. I’m only ever called in when one of ours gets in the way of a stray bullet or something.
Something like Oakley walking into the hands of a serial killer and being within an inch of his life with a cord wrapped around his neck before Loren found him. That was… intense.
Or like Emerson being ripped from the womb of the woman carrying him to term. I was there for Emerson and the lady, who’d been left to die from her injuries before being fed to pigs. It’s fortunate that Noaz and Briar made it to them when they did. She wasn’t going to survive much longer.
Then, a little over a year ago, I was called to meet Voss and Brek from the human wild game farm, and while I didn’t express the severity of the situation to anyone—and still haven’t—it’s a very good thing I arrived when I did.
Brek was doing much worse than I’ve let on.
The infection was deep. His fear and stress had already been weakening his body.
I’ve never shared with anyone just how close they’d been to losing Brek. While I can’t compare Voss to Loren for so many reasons, I imagine that his obsession over Brek’s safety might become borderline neurotic, not unlike his youngest brother.
I’m not a big believer in luck but over the past few years, I’m becoming more open to thinking that perhaps there’s something out there looking over this family and assuring that I get there before it’s too late to treat the situation that they’ve barely managed to intervene.
“How do you feel?” I ask Bennett.
He nods. His fingers flex wide for a second. “I understand the basics of the human body, so I kind of understand why moving my fingers hurts, but we should put something between my muscles and the bone while it heals, so I don’t have to feel the pain. It shouldn’t hurt.”
“Swelling happens to try to keep injuries from further injury,” I tell him. “It’s not just about muscle retention but blood flow. With your blood come platelets, and they’re what help to heal. Everything has multiple reasons behind it.”
Bennett sighs. “I’m going to be happy when I can twist my arm again. It aches in that way you get when you’ve been stuck in one position too long. But I know twisting and stretching will really hurt, so I don’t do it.”
“It might hurt initially, but it might also relieve some of the ache. Muscles do not like to atrophy. They like usage.”
Bennett looks at his arm dubiously. “I’ll work up to it.”
I grin. “Good. I think we’re finished for today.”
He meets my eye. “It’s been like fifteen minutes.”
“You work up to longer sessions. Jumping in full force right away will cause more damage. We’re trying to help, not hinder.”
Bennett sighs. He leans his head back and closes his eyes. “Thanks, Doc.”
I squeeze his shoulder. Getting to my feet, I remind him, “It’s only your arm that has limitations on it. It’s a good idea to exercise the rest of your body. I hear Auden’s gym is impressive.”
“It is,” Rhodes agrees. “My pups even have treadmills they take turns on when it’s raining, and I don’t want to go out.”
“Oh, yeah?” I eye the wolf-dog pups.
“They prefer real running, but they don’t hate the treadmills.”
“It’s so cute,” Bennett says with a wide smile. “You should see them. They’re experts!”
I chuckle. “Give me a call if you need something you can’t manage between the lot of you. I’m heading to the cabin.”
“We’re good, but thanks, Mark,” Rhodes says.
I meet one of the dog’s eyes, and I know we’re probably thinking the same thing. It wasn’t long ago when Rhodes would call because he had to pee and was afraid that by leaving the room for forty-five seconds to do so, he would return to Bennett having dropped dead.
I’d barely stopped myself from telling him that if Bennett were going to suddenly drop dead, it truly didn’t matter who was in the room. It was simply going to happen. Rhodes was already out of control, so I didn’t tell him that.
I stop in the kitchen long enough to wash my hands and grab my messenger bag before heading out the back door.
It’s always peaceful being this deep in the trees.
The sounds of nature are relaxing. I’m not huge on walking in the forest alone, so I don’t go further than the cabin I’m staying in, though today I take my time.
Summer in the Northeast can be beautiful when the weather cooperates. The sun hasn’t truly broken through the clouds today, but it’s dry. The forecast doesn’t call for rain. Just clouds. It’s not stupidly hot, which I appreciate.
Instead of going inside, I sit on the chair on the front deck for a while and enjoy the peace and beauty of the forest. Maybe I keep an eye on the path I just walked, waiting to catch a glimpse of Auden.
He’s been a fucking master stalker. While I’m positive beyond a doubt that all the moments I’ve been tied up, blindfolded, and fucked with have been him, Auden hasn’t said a word.
He’s never alluded, either in his words or his expression, that it was him.
I’m sure if I asked outright, he’d answer me. He’d assure me.
I don’t ask.
Controlled fear is an addiction. I crave the things he’s done to me. I want the adrenaline spike of fear. I want the forced sexual experiences. I want it all.
To date, there’s been no penetration. It’s all been his hands and mouth on me. Though he asked about deep throating, he hasn’t done that. He has had his cock in my mouth and made me choke on his cum, but he hasn’t shoved his dick down my throat yet.
Part of me wants to know when it’s coming.
I feel like I need to prepare. But I also don’t want to know.
Knowing would break the scene. Ruin the illusion.
I don’t think I’d enjoy it the way I do now.
Somewhere inside me, I know it wouldn’t feel the same if I knew what was coming.
I’d like it less. It wouldn’t answer the hunger inside me.
I was on the fence about the lack of aftercare after he blindfolded me at first. That first time, in his office, was rough.
Especially when I didn’t know without a doubt that it was Auden.
When he carried on as if it never happened.
When he got off the phone, he even asked where I’d gone.
He asked if I was okay. He asked what had happened.
Talk about a mindfuck.
The way he held me that night was enough to at least marginally convince me it was, in fact, Auden. There was nothing he said. Maybe it was my imagination, but I was sure that the way he held me was to make up for the lack of aftercare directly following the scene.
I know if I had asked for it when I came back into the office after—or the handful of times since—Auden would have accommodated without question or complaint. But I like the way it fucks with me.
After a while, I let myself into the cabin and drop my bag by the door. I kick off my shoes and reach for the light switch. Nothing happens when I flick it. Lightbulb? Breaker? Where is the breaker box? I should have asked.
By the door is a flashlight that’s plugged into the wall.
I pull it out and flick it on. The cabin isn’t pitch black.
It’s daylight out, after all. But we’re in the dense forest, so it’s not exactly bright.
Training the light beam on the walls, I search for the breaker box or something that would be concealing it.
The cabin is quiet, as it always is, but there’s something about this quiet that feels off. Auden’s at work, right? Did he come home, and I didn’t know? If he did, he didn’t come into the house. I’m relatively certain about that.
I didn’t think to check the driveway. Not that it would tell me for sure whether he was home. While I’ve never seen him pull his vehicle into the large garage, he could. It would add to the illusion that he’s not home.
My skin crawls as I move through the house, keeping my eyes wide and listening to every little sound that’s not there. Do I hear breathing? Or am I imagining it?
There’s no breaker box in the entry. I head for the kitchen and search the walls while also attempting the light.
I’m not surprised that it doesn’t turn on the light.
While I maintain the path of my light beam, I also try to take note of whether there’s anything else out of place.
Is that a drawer open? Did I leave a drawer open?
Is the corner of the rug turned up?
None of these feels like Auden things. He wouldn’t leave something behind to tell me he’s here. He’s far more meticulous than this. He’s played this particular game before so I know. Something is different this time. To fuck with me further?
Fear trickles through my chest. I’m frozen where I stand. If I turn around, will someone be there? If I turn around, will someone jump out from behind the island, beyond where I can see from where I’m standing now?
Am I imagining this entire scenario because Auden has been messing with me endlessly since the very first chase in the trees? I can’t decide if this is real, fabricated, or Auden? Something in my chest won’t let me dismiss that there’s something off.
It’s not the electricity being out. It’s the drawer slightly open and the upturned rug corner.
Okay, I need to leave. Something is off. I don’t feel comfortable being here. This isn’t the kind of fear that streaks through me like a drug.
I turn around and come face-to-face with a man. He’s seen better days. His face is sallow. He’s covered in bruises and lacerations. I think maybe his leg is broken. He looks like he’s lived in the woods for ages.
There’s a momentary triumph when my brain thinks, I knew this wasn’t Auden, right before he raises a rolling pin and slams it against my head.