Perhaps one of the men could carry her again?
“I can walk.”
She gripped my arm as I steadied her up the front steps and into the living room, and when she slumped back onto the sofa, I got my first proper look at her. This wasn’t the Gemma I knew. She’d always been fussy about her appearance, but her hair was lank and greasy, her face pimply and blotchy from crying. Dirt from where she’d fallen on the roof streaked one cheek. Before we left the estate, Alaric had stuck a dressing on her neck to stem the bleeding, and even though she’d kept a hand pressed to it the whole way back, a dark blossom of blood had seeped through to the outer layer. She was thin too. Had Ryland been feeding her? I looked her up and down, then noticed the torn waistband on her jeans. Oh no. No. Tell me he hadn’t…
“Did he…?”
She followed my gaze and burst into great racking sobs.
It was a good thing Emmy had pushed Ryland off the building, because in that moment, I could have easily killed him myself and taken pleasure in the act.
“It’s okay.” I sat down and tried to soothe her, then realised I’d said almost the same dumb thing as Ravi had earlier. Of course it wasn’t okay. And I was way, way out of my depth here. I looked to Alaric.
“What do we do?” I whispered.
He took a seat on the coffee table and flicked a glance at Ravi. “Tea?”
Ravi nodded and disappeared.
“So…” Alaric started. “We met briefly at the gallery, Gemma, but you probably don’t remember me.” She stared at him blankly. “I’m a friend of Beth’s, and I’m here to help you with whatever you need. Do you feel up to talking?”
A long moment passed before she whispered, “Yes.”
“Any time you want to take a break, just say the word. We can go as slow as you like.”
“Okay.”
“Then let’s get the big stuff out of the way to begin with… Firstly, do you need to see a doctor? Can I take a look at your neck?”
Gemma didn’t move. Underneath the dirt, she was pale as a ghost, and I feared she’d gone into shock. I reached up to the bandage.
“Can I…?”
She gave the faintest nod.
“Do you know first aid?” I whispered to Alaric as I peeled the edges of the dressing away from clammy skin.
“I’ve had a reasonable amount of medical training.” Gemma shrank away as he leaned closer. “It’s not as bad as it could have been.”
“Does she need stitches?”
Rather than one big incision, it seemed as if the point of Ryland’s knife had jabbed into Gemma’s neck over and over, leaving a nick each time. The cuts ranged from pinpricks to a centimetre or so.
“A stitch or two might not be a bad idea.”
“Where’s the nearest hospital?”
“A mile away. But if we take her there, they’ll ask a lot of questions, and not just about the knife wounds.”
“What choice do we have?”
“I can get a doctor here, no questions asked.”
And we didn’t want questions, did we? Emmy might have been the one to throw Ryland off the building, but we’d all had a hand in his death, even me. By rights, I should have been puking my guts up at the memory, but what I actually felt was peace of mind. Yes, a man had died, but justice had been served. And I also didn’t want any of us to get arrested for murder. If we went to the hospital, the staff would surely call the police, wouldn’t they?
“What about the other stuff?” I hated discussing Gemma as if she wasn’t there, but I didn’t know how else to ask. “I… I think there’s more than the cuts.”
“Gemma, did Ryland rape you?” Alaric asked, his tone as kind as it could be under the circumstances. His words hurt, but perhaps it was better than beating around the bush.
Another tiny nod.
“Then we’ll need to get you checked out properly.”
“Not the hospital.”
“But—”
She came to life a little more. “No! My friend Andrea got…she got attacked, and she said going to hospital was almost as bad as the…as the…” Gemma couldn’t say the word. “They poked at her, and stuck things inside her, and…no.”
“What about the police?” Alaric asked. “That’s the other big thing—do you want to speak to them?”
“What’s the point? Ry’s dead, and Andrea said they didn’t even believe her.”
Oh, thank goodness. Not about Gemma’s poor friend, but that Gemma didn’t want to involve the authorities. I’d never have pressured her not to report her ordeal if she wanted to, but… Phew.
“Maybe you should call that doctor?” I suggested to Alaric. “And then I could help Gemma to take a shower.”
“Has anyone got a cigarette?” she asked. “I haven’t smoked for days.”
“I don’t think so.” When I glanced at Alaric, he shook his head. “Sorry.”
“I guess I should quit anyway.” Another sob burst out of Gemma. “What about food? Do you have any food? I’m so, so hungry. Ry hardly let me eat.”
“Anything you want. If there’s nothing in the kitchen, I can go to the supermarket or we can get something delivered.”
“A pizza? Can we get a pizza? I can pay…” She paled again. “Ry’s got my handbag. It’s somewhere in his flat.”
Oh, crap. The police would be crawling all over the place by now.
Alaric didn’t panic. He never did get worked up, I’d noticed. “No, he hasn’t. Ravi picked it up before we left. Beth, can you order the pizza? Use my credit card.”
I used to hate it when Piers told me what to do, but now with Alaric, I just felt relief. Overwhelming relief that he took charge and kept me sane when the whole world was falling apart around us.
“What toppings?”
“Why don’t you order a selection? I’ll find some clothes for Gemma to change into.” He gave her hand the lightest brush as he got to his feet. “It might not feel like it right now, but you’re going to be okay.”
And because he’d said it, I knew she would be.
CHAPTER 47 - EMMY
HOLY FUCK, MY shoulder hurt. The biggest miracle in tonight’s adventure was that I hadn’t dislocated it. Although losing my arm completely would still have been preferable to falling seventeen storeys and splattering myself across the concrete. I’d seen the aftermath of Ryland’s nosedive, and it hadn’t been pretty. The crime scene techs better have brought a shovel, or they’d never get him into a body bag.
“You okay?” I asked Sky after we’d dropped the other two guys back at the office.
“Shouldn’t that be my line? You were the one who almost died.”
“The HR people are pushing well-being at work this month. Figured I’d better ask.”
“Yeah, I’m fine. Is your arm sore?”
“Nothing a few sessions of physio won’t fix.” And possibly a kilo or two of oxycodone. “But you’re not fine. When you’re upset, you’re not so good at bullshitting.”