With hard fingers he began to squeeze and massage the muscles. My spine went rigid and I had to fight to keep from yanking away. “So you said.” When he rubbed toward my neck, I flinched.
“Sore?”
What would I be sore from? It seemed like forever since I danced. My arms were achy. The scars on them ugly as hell. A reminder of what happened at—no, just focus on here. I told myself that over and over. Focus on here and on getting out of here. “Not sore. This is uncomfortable.”
“What is? Your neck?”
“You touching me.”
He stilled, but he didn’t take his hands away. “Withdrawing from contact, alienating family and friends, even resorting to physical violence—these are all symptoms.”
That sounded familiar.
“I know you’ve been struggling, that’s why you’re here.” He started his massage again. The ice under my skin began to spread like a wild frost. “The kidnapping has left you traumatized and we need to reacclimatize you to—”
I had no idea what the rest of that sentence was because he slid his hand toward my chest from my shoulder. I gripped two of his fingers, and twisted until they popped. Grabbing the first thing in reach with my free hand, I struck back at him with the stapler. He swore, stumbling back, but his grip on me pulled me with him and the chair went over. I twisted and struck him with the stapler again. It flipped open and the end snapped against his face.
Blood sprayed from his nostril.
His fingers dug into my arm, but I just grabbed the stapler with my free hand and bashed it down on his head. Once.
Twice.
Three times.
Four.
I lost count. But he let me go.
His fingers unlocked and his hand fell away.
I was half sitting on his chest and my hand was soaking wet. The world was a blurring, whirring mess. Then I looked down at the doctor. There were little metal staples in his face. What parts of his face I could make out.
His mouth was open, but his chest didn’t move. Scrabbling backward, I bounced against the wall and stared down at him.
Doctor Skate-Boarder didn’t move.
The blood on his face matched the blood on my hands and on my shirt.
And the wall.
I’d killed him.
Stapler.
I’d killed him with a stapler.
Had Bodhi ever used one before?
What the hell did I do?
The doorknob rattled and began to turn.
Too late.
CHAPTER 29
EMERSYN
The stapler still dangled from my hand when the door pushed inward. Nowhere to hide. Nowhere to run. I tightened my fingers on it, ready to strike the next person if I had to. No more.
Just no damn more.
Bodhi stuck his head inside and glanced around. First at the doctor, more curious than anything, then he looked at me. What—what was he doing here?
“Hey, Pretty Pussy Girl,” he said, slipping all the way in and closing the door behind him. “Didn’t know you’d be here.”
“I didn’t know I’d be here,” I said slowly. “Why are you—wait, how are you here?” Wasn’t he a patient too?
He held up a white electronic badge. “Have key, will travel.” Crossing the room, he paused to stare at the doctor. “Messy.”
“He’s dead.” Pretty sure he could see that.
“Yeah?”
“I think so.” I mean, he hadn’t been breathing. Bodhi crouched down for a sec, then gripped the man’s head. He twisted it viciously. The sickening crack echoed through the room and I would have covered my mouth with my hand, except they were both red and speckled.
“Definitely dead now,” Bodhi offered. “You should go use his bathroom and clean up.”
I had blood on my shirt and on the stapler. I went to put it down, then hesitated. It was slick with blood. My stomach rolled. The blood wasn’t just on my hands or the stapler. It was on my top and my pajamas.
“It’s that way,” Bodhi offered as he walked around the doctor’s desk. He motioned toward the other corner where a door stood open. I hadn’t even noticed it. Then again, I didn’t like being in this room.
Hands trembling, I headed for the bathroom and I took the stapler with me. Once inside, I couldn’t believe my state. The blood speckled my face, soaked my shirt and coated my hands. I didn’t know whether to sob or scream. The trembling in my hands spread everywhere.
“Use soap,” Bodhi called. “Cold water would be good too.”
The words jarred me and I stared down at the bloodied mess on the stapler then the sink. “I can’t touch anything.”
A minute later he popped in and I jerked as he twisted on the water. It was also when I realized he had on gloves. I lifted my gaze from his hands to the mirror, where I found him staring at me. “Stapler?”
I nodded slowly.
“Cool.”
Then he left me to “wash.” Even if I could get all the blood off the stapler and my hands. There was still my shirt. And my face. A shudder went through me and the tremors grew more violent even with the cold water. The blood smeared on my cheeks and wouldn’t come off until I grabbed the high thread count cloth towel.
“I can’t clean this all off.”
Bodhi came back and stared at me. “Okay.”
That was it before he turned and left.
Just—okay?
What…
I looked back at the body on the floor and the air in my lungs backed up. There was a phone on the desk. I was alone. Alone for real and not strapped down somewhere for the first time since I’d gotten on my uncle’s plane.
My uncle.
A vise squeezed all of the air out of my lungs. I couldn’t get a breath. Then the door opened again and I probably would have screamed if I could have sucked in even a drop of oxygen. Bodhi was back and he had Freddie with him.
Knees buckling, I tried to brace myself up with a shoulder against the door jamb. “Holy shit, Boo-Boo,” Freddie said in a hushed whisper as he hurried over to me. He didn’t even look at the doctor. “Fuck me. What happened?”
A dozen explanations collided in my head, but when I opened my mouth, the only words that came out were, “He touched me.”
Both of them paused. Bodhi, from where he stood back at the desk, and Freddie, from where he stood in front of me, and they glared down at him.
“He’s dead?” Freddie checked.
“Definitely dead,” Bodhi confirmed. “We can do it again, though. Maybe cut the head off. I did that once. It’s messy. But not as messy since he’s already dead. Shouldn’t gush too bad.”
I grimaced at that description. Yeah, I didn't want to see that. But I couldn’t find an ounce of remorse inside of me for it. “I killed him.”
“Well,” Bodhi said before Freddie could respond. “Maybe. You weren’t sure. I definitely killed him.”
Oh.
But…
“It doesn’t matter right now, Boo-Boo. Are you hurt?” Freddie studied me. “Is any of that blood yours?”
I shook my head.
“Good.” He stripped his shirt off and I blinked. There were two of them. Why did he have two shirts on? “Bodhi, give me your pants.”