“I’m sorry,” she says tearfully. “I had no idea. I must’ve dozed off.”
I hear a buzz of static, followed by another man. “Hey, it’s Hank. We got a situation. I got him contained but call 911.”
More people talking in low voices and then the man in black—Jim—comes back into the room. His silhouette fills the doorway, hands still clenched into fists. Gradually they loosen and his breath slows.
“Are y-y-you okay?” he asks softly. His tone is low and gravelly around the stutter.
I nod, yes. Then shake my head, no. God, the silence in my mind is so vast and deep. Like a desert. I don’t know if I’m okay. I don’t know if I should be afraid of Jim.
He saved you.
He saved me but I don’t know him. Maybe he’s just as bad. Maybe he wants a turn.
But somewhere, beneath thought, I know that isn’t true.
I don’t want him to leave.
Sobs pour out of me, and I bury my face against my knees.
“Thea…” Jim’s voice sounds like it’s breaking.
He knows my name.
He knows me.
I peek up through strands of hair and blurry tears. Jim’s taken a step closer but no more.
I hold my shaking arms out to him. I don’t know why. I need him. I need someone so I don’t feel this alone. Jim sits on the bed. Gathers me to him. I climb into his arms. He smells clean. Warm. Hard and soft. Hard leather and a soft shirt. Hard muscles of his chest under my cheek and his soft hand that strokes my hair, and it’s so easy to feel the difference between him and Brett; his every intention is in his touch. This man would never hurt me.
Jim holds me tight as I tremble in his arms. And then he begins to sing. His low and gravelly voice rumbles beautifully under my ear. I feel safe enough to slip my hand into one of his. Big. Strong. Scarred along the knuckles. Red and swollen now. Because he fought for me. Saved me.
Other figures fill the doorway, other people talking, but Jim keeps singing to me. The silence in my mind is defeated by his voice. My eyes close. I’m so tired. It’s safe to sleep now because Jim is coming with me.
He’ll follow me into the dark.
Chapter 15
Jim
Thea’s sobs quieted. The rise and fall of her chest against mine became deep and even, and at last, she slept. Gently—reluctantly—I laid her down on her pillow and covered her with her thin blanket, then slid to sit on the floor, my back against the bedframe. I couldn’t hold her anymore, but no way in hell was I leaving her room.
The staff saw what had happened. They all watched as I held Thea and sang to her. They knew I wasn’t going anywhere without a fight and there’d already been enough violence for one night.
They let me be and guided the residents back to bed. I sat with my knees drawn up, arms resting on them. Hands dangling but ready to fight again. As the sanitarium went quiet, sleep toyed with me, coming and going. Then a hand on my arm gently shook me awake.
It was Sunday morning. The watery light of dawn filtered in from the window.
“Jim?”
I jerked my head up and winced at the crick in my neck. Rita crouched next to me, her expression a myriad of gratitude and regret. Another nurse stood by the door, a syringe pack and a blue plastic box in her hand.
“Jim, you can go,” Rita whispered, blinking against the tears in her eyes. “The police are still here, waiting for a statement. Sarah and I need to sedate Thea now.”
“What for?” I said, my voice a croak.
“We have to know what happened. Brett said he never…”
I shut my eyes, shook my head. “Don’t.”
“We need to examine her,” Rita said softly. “Thea can’t tell us if he’s lying or not. Not with words.”
My glance went to the plastic box in the other nurse’s hands. A rape kit. My stomach churned and bile rose to my throat.
Inhale. Exhale.
I hauled myself off the floor and glanced around Thea’s room for the first time. A twin-sized bed, a small desk with pens and paper. A ruined dresser, its wooden shelves cracked and splintered. My shoulders ached at the sight, remembering how I’d ripped Brett off of Thea in a black haze of rage.