18. Sixteen #2
“What—” Creed signs, his eyes bulging as he stares at the limp girl in my arms.
“Come,” I demand, counting on him to read my lips. He whips around to flip off the burner before taking off after us.
Initially, my plan was to take her straight to bed and bury her in blankets, but with the amount of blood and mud caked on her body, I bypass the bed and head into the bathroom.
Sitting on the edge of the large tub, I turn the faucet on, balancing Eden on my knees.
Her rambling is mostly inaudible, but her lips move frantically.
“Shhhh, you’re alright. We’re gonna get you cleaned up, alright?” If my voice reaches her, she shows no recognition. Her eyes are vacant and dull, staring at a spot on the wall yet nowhere at all.
In the corner of the room, Creed is fisting his hair and pacing back and forth, never taking his eyes off of us.
With a grunt, I stand, attempting to set Eden on her feet. The moment I release her, she begins to crumple to the ground. My arms band around her waist and I lean her weight against me.
Fixing my attention on my brother, I plead, “Help.”
With a blink, he snaps into focus and rushes over to us. The way his face screws up is indication enough that he’s not handling the blood well, and I give him a stern look. Now is not the time for a weak stomach.
We’re able to lower Eden onto the lid of the toilet, and Creed squats beside her to hold her upright. Reaching forward, I slide the jacket from her shoulders. Her skin underneath is nearing blue.
“Help me remove her dress,” I tell my brother. His eyebrows touch his hairline.
“No,” He responds hastily. “Put her in.”
“I’m not asking you,” I shoot back, my frustration heightening insurmountably by the second.
With a pained expression, he nods and we get to work peeling the filthy garment from her body.
In the corner of my eye, I see Creed squeeze his eyes shut the second it hits the ground.
Eden, on the other hand, doesn’t register anything.
Her mind is elsewhere. Maybe for the best, all things considered.
Without hesitation, I take her into my arms and approach the tub. The golden knobs are turned to barely past room temperature, settling for lukewarm. If she’s hypothermic, we have to warm her slowly.
Lowering her into the tub an inch at a time, I keep my gaze fixed on her face to ensure she doesn’t panic. But once submerged, her lips stop moving and her eyes flutter. Perched on the edge, I give her a moment to relax before I begin to scrub at the stained skin.
“Eden?” I murmur, trailing the backs of my fingers across her cheek. The smallest whimper is the only response I get. A terrible swirling begins in my gut at the sound.
“I’m going to get you cleaned up, alright? Creed’s here, too.” Twisting my head over my shoulder, I incline my chin to him.
“Come here. She’s more comfortable with you,” I instruct him, motioning to Eden.
“I can’t,” he responds, the muscle in his jaw ticking. At his anguish, I soften.
“Creed—” I begin, but with hasty movements, he flees the room. Taking a deep breath through my nose, I squeeze my eyes shut in an attempt to gather myself.
I can sympathize with how Creed feels, that’s not the issue. My issue is that I am the last person that should have my hands on Eden. The things that I’ve done—the things that I continue to do. This fragile little bird would be much safer in the hands of someone else.
Unfortunately for her, that’s not an option, and I’ll be damned if I leave her in this state. With a roll of my neck, I try to ease some of the tension in my body.
“I’m going to touch you now, but I promise to make this as quick as I can,” I say gently, attempting to coax her into a sense of safety. It’s laughable—the poor girl is terrified of me. And I… Well, I don’t know how she makes me feel.
At the beginning, she was a threat. I was adamant that I would get rid of her at the soonest convenience, her identity be damned. Creed befriending her so quickly, so easily, only made me despise her more. He was getting attached, and I would be the monster that separated them.
Day by day, I was forced to watch them grow closer. My brother looked at her with such wonder, I inevitably did the same.
For months now, I’ve found myself watching her whenever the opportunity arises. Eating breakfast, chasing Creed around the house, mending a hole in her socks, it doesn’t matter. I’m completely enraptured by her. It’s torture.
Christmas night, when they'd been piss drunk, they passed out at my feet. The alcohol had flushed Eden’s cheeks, giving her a carefree gleam I hadn’t seen before. And when I lifted her from the floor, her slender arms wrapped around my neck so naturally that I nearly dropped her.
In that moment, I felt… I don’t know.
And I’m feeling it again as I slide the washcloth over her neck. The water is tinged pink, goosebumps cover her arms, but she looks like an angel. Something forbidden that I have no business touching.
My ministrations are unhurried, carefully rubbing away layers of grime until porcelain skin uncovers.
Setting the cloth aside, I reach for shampoo.
Vanilla and peppermint overpower the smell of iron and Earth, and I tentatively massage the lather into her hair.
Little by little, she leans back until her head rests against the lip of the tub.
Rinsing her hair takes some finagling. Water splashes out onto the tiles and myself, the front of my shirt and pants soaked through.
Once the suds are washed away, I pull the drain.
A tornado forms by her feet, sucking all of the evidence down.
Inch by inch, her body is uncovered, and I turn my attention elsewhere and retrieve a fluffy towel.
“Can you stand?” The question is a rasp, and I clear my throat uncomfortably. Without a word, silver eyes flick open and she pushes herself onto shaky limbs. I keep my hand on her elbow, a towel at the ready in the other.
Eden angles her body towards mine, and I catch sight of the welts and scratches that mark her body.
Abrasions are scattered, and I can’t help but take note of each one.
My eyes attempt to skip over her most private areas, but the lower they get, the more I begin to see bruising. On her hips, and her thighs…
Bile rises in my throat. I quickly wrap her in the towel, hiding her abuse before I truly lose my shit. I don’t know if she was violated completely, but the evidence is there. Asking her isn’t something either of us can bear, so I lift her from the tub and take her to bed instead.
I don’t bother dressing her; I’ve touched her bare body enough for one day.
Pulling the blankets back, I lay her carefully to the mattress, exchanging the towel for the comforter.
Another throw lays at the foot of the bed, and I unfold it to drape across her bundled form.
Her hair is wet, chunks of it coiled on the pillow beneath her head.
I frown slightly—she hates when it’s knotted.
I lower to the edge of the bed, using the back of my hand to feel her cheek. Still cool, but not a cause for concern. Purple lips have faded to a pale pink.
“Do you like tea? It might help warm you up, and your throat must be…” Hesitating, I scratch at the stubble on my cheek. “Sore,” I finish lamely.
Eden is back to staring past me and I wear her silence like a cloak.
I’ve seen similar things in my time at the Sanctuary, usually after someone’s endured unimaginable suffering. She’s in a state of shock, but with the dead man collecting flies, there’s too much I need to ask her.
Where did he come from, were there others, why was she alone, what did the man say and do? And lastly, what did she do?
In my years at the Sanctuary, there’s been talk of the Damned that roam the Earth, and the evil that resides in their soul.
Darkness and otherworldly abilities are a common topic, but I never actually believed any of that shit.
People are evil, I’ve never doubted that, but I would assign that to the murderers I call colleagues.
Supernatural beings are meant for scary stories told at slumber parties. Not real life.
But I can’t wrap my mind around what I saw beside the pond.
My thoughts snowball, drifting to the dismal attic and then to her coward of a father. One of the only few brave enough to search for him, I was thrilled to stumble upon his lifeless body. A handwritten note had been beside his head, perfect cursive letters pleading: Have mercy on me.
At the time, I thought dear old Gregory had a taste for theatrics, but looking back, things seem much more complicated.
A burst of thunder makes my shoulders tense. Eden remains still.
It’s been over an hour since I removed her from the bath, and I’ve been watching her chest rise and fall since. Creed is probably beside himself, and I need to speak with him.
Hopefully I’m able to dispose of the body before he sees anything. Although, I doubt he’s gonna let this incident go.
Groaning under my breath, I rise to my feet and tuck the blankets into Eden’s sides one final time, nestling her in the warmth. Her eyes are heavy, and I pray that she’s able to get some rest. I’m not sure how she’s still conscious—as conscious as a catatonic person can be, anyway.