44. Chapter 44
44
Miles
Sophie appears in the stairwell, clutching Booker. Her jaw is beginning to bruise and there are red rings around her wrists and marks on her arms. The blood coming from a long cut on each arm seems to have stopped flowing. The only thing keeping me from going back upstairs and tearing the Davises limb from limb is the woman approaching me who looks like she’s been through hell and then some.
Brody and I rush forward and Booker gently lets her go when we reach them. She falls into our arms and the three of us sink to the ground. One of Brody’s arms is around Sophie’s back, the other around mine. I cradle Sophie’s head against my neck and chest, listening to her cry while my eyes find Booker’s.
“What did you do with them?” I sound a lot less dangerous than I feel right now, holding the woman I love while she weeps in pain and relief.
“They won’t hurt her again,” Booker assures us.
Brody nods, but I stare. I’m not sure Brody or I could’ve done what that man did. Another of many reasons to be thankful for Mel Ashcroft and her shady-as-fuck company. I’ve never liked her more than I do right now.
“Let’s get you home,” I whisper into Sophie’s hair.
Are there flowers that say thanks for saving the love of my life ?
She lifts her head, her eyes shifting between Brody and me. They’re red from crying, her makeup all but gone by now, more than twenty-four hours after we started our cam session.
“I can’t be home alone,” she whispers and fuck if my heart doesn’t break all over again.
“No,” I agree.
“Home with us,” says Brody.
I want to take her to a hospital. Brody wants to take her to a hospital. Booker drives us home instead. He helps us get her into the house, into my bed, lying on her stomach, before beckoning us to follow him from the room.
“Miss Ashcroft is sending someone,” he grunts. “She doesn’t want messy questions.”
“Sending someone?” I repeat in confusion.
“To see to her.”
“The fuck does that mean?” Brody asks, frowning.
“Are you going to stitch up those wounds?” Booker pauses at the end of the hallway, crossing his arms when he turns to face us. “Check to make sure nothing worse has been done?”
“You could’ve just said doctor,” I mutter. “What the fuck happened?” My voice cracks, my mind going into overdrive, thinking of the depraved things that could have been done to her.
“I can’t be sure.” Booker shakes his head, his tone a little softer. “I have to make a call about the bodies.” He slips his phone from his pocket to check his messages. “The doctor will be here soon. She’ll be ok.” He tries to sound convincing when he looks back at us, but I know it’s going to take more than just a few stitches and some ice on those bruises.
The older woman who arrives just a few minutes after Booker departs looks like a funeral director, but her long-sleeve, black dress hugs her body from her neck to her waist. Brody lets her in while I sit with Sophie and the two of us watch, helpless, while she examines Sophie’s body.
“It’s all right, love.” She speaks softly as her gloved hands hover over Sophie’s arm. “I’m Caroline. I’m here to help.” Caroline looks over at the two of us. “Hot water,” she orders, snapping open her ancient-looking leather bag. “And clean washcloths. ”
Brody hurries to comply while I kneel on the floor on the opposite side of the bed. I watch while Caroline uses medical scissors to cut one side of the leggings from Sophie’s body, slowly revealing angry red marks with hues of blue and purple.
“Can you tell me anything about what happened?”
Why is she making Sophie relive this nightmare? I want to tell her to stop asking questions and get to work, but she’s doing us a favor. I bite my tongue.
“They hit me.” Sophie’s whisper is barely audible, facing away from me and toward Caroline.
“Do you know what they used?”
“B-board,” Sophie croaks. “C-c-crop.” Her voice is getting weaker. I’m surprised Caroline can hear her.
“I see.” Caroline nods and lifts Sophie’s hand to examine the cut on her forearm.
Brody reappears with a steaming bowl and a handful of clean washcloths. He sets it on the table beside the bed and then steps back, as if unsure what to do.
“Sophie, I’m going to clean this cut first,” Caroline explains, reaching for a cloth and dipping it into the water. “Then you’re going to need stitches,” she continues. Sophie hisses and flinches when the cloth makes contact. “It’s ok. Hush, it’s ok.”
While Caroline works, we move the armchair from my studio into my bedroom. We situate it as close to the end of the bed as possible so as not to crowd the doctor–she hasn’t called herself that, but Booker didn’t correct me earlier. Brody takes the armchair and I pull my desk chair beside him.
Once Sophie’s arm is clean, Caroline takes supplies from her bag to begin stitching the wound. At Sophie’s first flinch, my hand shoots out to find Brody’s. His other hand covers me and he squeezes.
“She’s going to be ok.” His words are soft, spoken like his throat is constricting.
“She is,” Caroline confirms without taking her eyes off of her work.
When she’s finished with the cut on Sophie’s forearm, Caroline stands and circles the bed to focus her attention on the other knife wound. This one in Sophie’s bicep is longer but looks shallower.
Caroline cleans and stitches the second wound before returning her focus to Sophie’s legs. She finishes cutting off the leggings and I have to look away from the marks. I’d love to get my hands on the fuckers who did this, but since I’m not a necromancer, I have to be content knowing they’re dead. The world is better off .
I force myself to look back at Sophie. Caroline has cut through her shirt, revealing thinner marks on her back. I can tell which instrument was used where, imagine just how hard Caleb and Jesse hit her, and I taste bile in the back of my throat. This isn’t impact play, this isn’t kink. They wanted her to suffer because they were absolute psychopaths bent on revenge.
Caroline stands and I have to look away again when she reaches between Sophie’s legs. It feels indecent, somehow, to watch her examination. When I turn back, Caroline’s hands are prodding gently at Sophie’s legs, trying not to press directly onto any of the darkened and red spots.
“Her skin isn’t broken,” Caroline explains, reaching for a new cloth to gently clean the areas she just examined. I realize she’s speaking to us. “I recommend icing the worst spots,” she continues. “But there’s not much to be done for bruises.”
Bruises . Such a simple, everyday word for the sadistic, violent marks on Sophie’s body.
“Keep her on her stomach as much as possible. You may need to help her use the facilities and to bathe. It’ll take more than a week until she can sit comfortably again.”
Caroline closes her bag and meets Brody’s gaze first, then mine as she pulls off her gloves.
“Make sure she drinks plenty of fluids. Leafy greens like spinach will help as will citrus. Miss Ashcroft has my number should you need anything else.”
“I’ll walk you out.” I stand and we leave Brody alone with Sophie. Her eyes are closed, her breathing even. The last thing I see is Brody reaching out to place a gentle hand on her unmarked foot.
“It’s going to take some time,” says Caroline while we walk. “Not just physically,” she adds and I nod.
“I can’t- I can’t imagine what-”
“Don’t do that to yourself.” Caroline places a hand on my arm and we come to a stop a few feet from the front door. Her blue eyes flicker between the hallway and my face.
Caroline leaves and as I turn away from the door, my phone rings in my pocket. I never turn on the ringer, in case someone calls or texts during a session or shoot. I turned it on earlier in the hopes that Sophie would call me. Natalie’s name stares back at me on the screen.
Before I can say hello, she practically yells into the phone.
“WHAT THE FUCK IS GOING ON?”
“Natalie, we’ve got her.” The words tumble out .
“I should’ve been your first motherfucking call. What happened? Where was she? Was it Caleb?”
I wait for her to take a breath before I speak.
“It was Caleb,” I confirm, but then bite my lip, unsure how much I should tell her. “She, er… Natalie, they hurt her.” My voice breaks.
“I’m gonna fucking kill them.” Her voice is low, dangerous, and I admire her commitment to her friend.
“No need. They’re gone.”
“How is she? What can I do? I’m leaving now.”
“Stay in San Francisco,” I urge. Sophie wouldn’t forgive herself if Natalie cut short a work trip for her. “We’ll take care of her, I promise. I’ll send you the address and you can come by after your trip.”
“Fuck that, I’m coming home now .”
“You can’t do anything for her. She’s here, she’s resting, we’ll give her everything she needs.”
Silence greets my words and I wait while Natalie processes. Or decides what to do. I’m not sure what’s happening in her brain.
“If she asks for me, I’m coming home early.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“I’ll see you Thursday afternoon.”
It could have been worse.
The thought bounces around my brain as sunlight floods through the window. Booker didn’t tell us how he found Sophie. He didn’t tell us the state she was in when he saved her.
It could have been worse .
Brody is asleep in the armchair, his head leaning back, mouth open while he snores. I haven’t been able to shut my eyes. I tried, an hour or so after Caroline left, but all I could think about was what Caleb and Jesse did to Sophie. What they might have done if Booker hadn’t arrived when he did.
Sophie’s back rises and falls beneath the blanket. Her body clearly needs the rest. We never bothered to pull her ruined clothes from beneath her, not wanting to disturb her until she’s ready.
“Miles.” Her voice is so soft, I almost miss it. “Brody.”
I scurry to her, practically falling out of the chair in my haste, and kneel beside the bed. My movements wake Brody and he follows suit. I place my hand on hers and try to smile.
“Hey,” I whisper. I can feel the sting of tears in my eyes as relief washes over me. Her eyes are open and clear while she looks between us. “Hey, Sophie. We’re here.” I rub my thumb over her knuckles.
“Sophie,” Brody breathes. “You’re safe, it’s ok.”
“Caleb?” she asks.
“He’s not going to hurt you again,” Brody says through clenched teeth. “ Never again.”
Sophie sighs, closing her eyes. I want to wrap my arms around her, to hold her and tell her I’m never letting her out of my sight again. I have to settle for holding her hand.
I remember what Caroline said and leave Brody to get water for her. I wonder how long it’s been since she’s eaten, but food can wait. Grabbing a reusable straw that bends at an angle two-thirds of the way up, I shove it in the glass of ice water before returning to my room.
Brody helps Sophie to lift her head just enough to take a few sips and I set the glass on the nightstand.
It’s going to be a long road to recovery, but we’ll give her anything she needs.