Craving Resurrection
Page 73
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I’d never felt such pain before. It was radiating up my arm in waves that I couldn’t control, and when I tried to curl my hand into a fist to protect the other digits, his large hand slammed down on top of mine, making me howl once again.
“Where is Moira?”
“I don’t know,” I whimpered, trying to pull away from him and making the chair wobble underneath me. I was frantic, pulling and twisting against my bonds, but they held fast.
I wasn’t even trying to protect her. At that moment, I would have given the man her and Patrick’s coordinates if I had known them—but that was the problem. I didn’t know where they were, and I was in so much pain that I couldn’t see past the literal interpretation of his words.
The hammer slammed down again on my middle finger, and I screamed in agony once more, but when he asked again where they were, I gave him the same answer.
The next finger was so short that when he took aim and hit it, I felt the bottom knuckle break.
His question never wavered, and neither did my answer. I felt him position my smallest and most delicate finger on the table, and I was so dazed from the pain that I didn’t even fight him. My head was rolling across the top of the chair as I prayed that I would lose consciousness.
I didn’t.
The hammer fell again.
When he loosened the rope around my wrist so he could position my thumb along the tabletop, he finally asked the right question.
“Where did he take her?” His voice was still calm, but I could hear the frustration behind it. I watched detachedly as he tightened the rope around my wrist back up.
“North Carolina,” I mumbled, finally seeing black spots dance around the edges of my vision.
I was losing focus on his face, but I noticed when he began to turn red and the veins in his neck began to bulge. I didn’t flinch when he flung the hammer across the room, or at the sound it made as it lodged in the wall.
I also didn’t move when I realized he was untying me from the chair. I barely flinched as he laid me on the floor and tugged my wet jeans and underwear down my legs. And when he left me there, bare from the waist down and cradling my broken hand to my chest, I finally, blessedly, passed out.
I’m not sure how long I was on the floor, but I woke up to him murmuring. “Disgustin’,” he said, and something about an eye for an eye as he used a wet towel to clean me. My hand was still curled limply against my chest and I couldn’t focus on anything else except the pain. It was taking over my entire body, making my teeth chatter and my legs shake against the cold wood floor.
I barely noticed when he lifted me from the floor and laid me on the couch. I was drifting in some weird space where I’d come to briefly in order to see his livid face, and then fade away again as if I wasn’t even in my own body.
I’d like to think that I would have fought him if I hadn’t been so out of it, but I’m not sure that I would have. The memory of what he’d done to my hand was so sharp, the pain so intense, that even if I’d had my wits about me, I wasn’t sure I would’ve tried to stop him.
I probably would have lay there, exactly as I did, and whimpered as he pushed inside me. It hurt, but it was nothing compared to the agony in my hand.
I’m almost grateful for that—the pain and the disconnection—because it didn’t allow me to focus on the triumph in his face, the way he groaned as he pumped away, or the way he laid my unresisting leg over the back of the couch so he had more room to move as he changed my life forever.
I just hurt all over and I wanted Patrick.
I heard the front door open, but I was too out of it to pay any attention as the man finally pulled away and left me spread out on the couch.
He was buttoning his jeans leisurely as a familiar voice called through the house.
“Mum, are ye here?”
Footsteps grew closer, but I still didn’t move. I didn’t feel anything. I was completely numb, aside from the pain that had moved all the way up my arm and had settled like a weight pressing on my chest.
I met Kevie’s eyes with my dull ones as his mouth dropped in absolute horror.
“Malcolm, what in God’s name have ye done?”
Chapter 37
Amy
I don’t remember how I got home and I don’t remember Peg’s reaction. I assume that Doc bandaged my hand, but I have no memory of him doing that, either.
The first thing I recall was waking up in my bed, while Kevie sat watching me from a chair that had been dragged in from our kitchen.
“Yer awake?” he asked quietly as I tried to remember how I’d gotten there.
It came back to me in flashes, the memories becoming heavier and heavier as I curled onto my side and wrapped my body protectively around my hand. I could hear Doc and Peg speaking in the kitchen, which calmed me somewhat, but my face burned in shame as Kevie leaned forward to meet my eyes.
“I’m so sorry dis happened,” he said, his hands wrapped up in a rosary as if I’d interrupted his prayers when I’d woken up. “Me brudder—”
“That was your brother?” I asked in confusion, my throat sore from screaming.
“Yes.”
My body tensed again as I watched him try to martial his features into something that didn’t resemble complete devastation.
“I cannot apologize enough for what he’s done,” he whispered, his eyes brimming with tears. “I don’t know what demon has taken hold of him, but I fear dat he’s past de point of any help.”
“Where is Moira?”
“I don’t know,” I whimpered, trying to pull away from him and making the chair wobble underneath me. I was frantic, pulling and twisting against my bonds, but they held fast.
I wasn’t even trying to protect her. At that moment, I would have given the man her and Patrick’s coordinates if I had known them—but that was the problem. I didn’t know where they were, and I was in so much pain that I couldn’t see past the literal interpretation of his words.
The hammer slammed down again on my middle finger, and I screamed in agony once more, but when he asked again where they were, I gave him the same answer.
The next finger was so short that when he took aim and hit it, I felt the bottom knuckle break.
His question never wavered, and neither did my answer. I felt him position my smallest and most delicate finger on the table, and I was so dazed from the pain that I didn’t even fight him. My head was rolling across the top of the chair as I prayed that I would lose consciousness.
I didn’t.
The hammer fell again.
When he loosened the rope around my wrist so he could position my thumb along the tabletop, he finally asked the right question.
“Where did he take her?” His voice was still calm, but I could hear the frustration behind it. I watched detachedly as he tightened the rope around my wrist back up.
“North Carolina,” I mumbled, finally seeing black spots dance around the edges of my vision.
I was losing focus on his face, but I noticed when he began to turn red and the veins in his neck began to bulge. I didn’t flinch when he flung the hammer across the room, or at the sound it made as it lodged in the wall.
I also didn’t move when I realized he was untying me from the chair. I barely flinched as he laid me on the floor and tugged my wet jeans and underwear down my legs. And when he left me there, bare from the waist down and cradling my broken hand to my chest, I finally, blessedly, passed out.
I’m not sure how long I was on the floor, but I woke up to him murmuring. “Disgustin’,” he said, and something about an eye for an eye as he used a wet towel to clean me. My hand was still curled limply against my chest and I couldn’t focus on anything else except the pain. It was taking over my entire body, making my teeth chatter and my legs shake against the cold wood floor.
I barely noticed when he lifted me from the floor and laid me on the couch. I was drifting in some weird space where I’d come to briefly in order to see his livid face, and then fade away again as if I wasn’t even in my own body.
I’d like to think that I would have fought him if I hadn’t been so out of it, but I’m not sure that I would have. The memory of what he’d done to my hand was so sharp, the pain so intense, that even if I’d had my wits about me, I wasn’t sure I would’ve tried to stop him.
I probably would have lay there, exactly as I did, and whimpered as he pushed inside me. It hurt, but it was nothing compared to the agony in my hand.
I’m almost grateful for that—the pain and the disconnection—because it didn’t allow me to focus on the triumph in his face, the way he groaned as he pumped away, or the way he laid my unresisting leg over the back of the couch so he had more room to move as he changed my life forever.
I just hurt all over and I wanted Patrick.
I heard the front door open, but I was too out of it to pay any attention as the man finally pulled away and left me spread out on the couch.
He was buttoning his jeans leisurely as a familiar voice called through the house.
“Mum, are ye here?”
Footsteps grew closer, but I still didn’t move. I didn’t feel anything. I was completely numb, aside from the pain that had moved all the way up my arm and had settled like a weight pressing on my chest.
I met Kevie’s eyes with my dull ones as his mouth dropped in absolute horror.
“Malcolm, what in God’s name have ye done?”
Chapter 37
Amy
I don’t remember how I got home and I don’t remember Peg’s reaction. I assume that Doc bandaged my hand, but I have no memory of him doing that, either.
The first thing I recall was waking up in my bed, while Kevie sat watching me from a chair that had been dragged in from our kitchen.
“Yer awake?” he asked quietly as I tried to remember how I’d gotten there.
It came back to me in flashes, the memories becoming heavier and heavier as I curled onto my side and wrapped my body protectively around my hand. I could hear Doc and Peg speaking in the kitchen, which calmed me somewhat, but my face burned in shame as Kevie leaned forward to meet my eyes.
“I’m so sorry dis happened,” he said, his hands wrapped up in a rosary as if I’d interrupted his prayers when I’d woken up. “Me brudder—”
“That was your brother?” I asked in confusion, my throat sore from screaming.
“Yes.”
My body tensed again as I watched him try to martial his features into something that didn’t resemble complete devastation.
“I cannot apologize enough for what he’s done,” he whispered, his eyes brimming with tears. “I don’t know what demon has taken hold of him, but I fear dat he’s past de point of any help.”
