fleece. She lost all track of time, but she’d been there long enough that her sleeve was soaked with her own spit and blood from her badly chapped skin. She sat with her back against the log wall, legs out in front of her. David was still tied to a rough wooden chair in the corner, his head lolling back and forth like he was constantly falling asleep and then snapping back awake. Rick had marched him outside a couple of times, and she’d been surprised and relieved when she didn’t hear a shot. Sarah didn’t think she was in love with him anymore. They were obviously in this mess because of something he’d done. Still, he was a human being, and he was her husband. He needed comfort, but they wouldn’t allow her to touch him. She tried to make do with whispered words of encouragement, but Rick had beat him so hard she wasn’t sure he could hear, or if he could, if he was still coherent enough to know what was going on.
Morgan seemed to be the nicer of the two, if you could call someone nice who kept you tied up until your hands almost fell off and then stood by while someone beat your husband’s face to a bloody pulp. He’d warned Rick that he should cool it, that he was never going to find out what he wanted to know if David died. Sarah got the impression that they had already asked a lot of questions while she was unconscious. She was too scared to ask what the questions were. Rick didn’t go into detail now. He just screamed the same thing over and over: “What happened?” or “Tell me the truth!” or some variation of the two. It was about to drive her insane.
She’d felt sure Rick would kill her when Morgan had gone. Her mind was already feverish with terror and shock. She told herself that Morgan was leaving because he was too kind to be there when One-Eyed Rick murdered her. She’d cowered in the corner of her hard bed for hours, expecting to be stabbed, or strangled, or hacked to death at any moment. One-Eyed Rick seemed the type to do his killing face-to-face.
As it turned out, the one-eyed man hardly said a word to her. His slaps to David had become more restrained, as if he didn’t quite trust himself not to take the prisoner’s head off. He went to the window often, wiping away the condensation with a nasty red shop rag he kept on a nail there. He paced a lot, like a wild thing in a cage. The cabin was small, and he was rarely out of striking distance if he’d wanted to hit either David or Sarah. Once, he caught her looking at the big rifle he kept in the corner next to the door.
“Bad idea,” he’d growled. “That thing kills on both ends.”
She’d looked away, terrified that any response would only set him off.
“You want to know what happened to my eye?” Rick touched the scar where his eyeball used to be with a thumb and forefinger as if he were trying to open it wide.
Her tongue shot nervously across her swollen lips.
“It offended me,” Rick said, as if the notion was so easy to understand. “It offended me, so I plucked it out. That’s what the Bible says to do. Your husband offends me . . .”
Morgan finally returned with some coffee and a new hat, throwing open the door to make a grand entrance with the raging storm behind him. She’d sobbed in relief when he came in. That was stupid. She was no better off. This one would give her no more than a sad smile when he shot her in the head. And maybe he wouldn’t enjoy it quite as much as One-Eyed Rick.
At least she could move her jaw now. Her broken teeth still throbbed anytime air got to them, and the pulsing flame in her brain was the worst agony she’d ever had to endure. Surely Morgan wouldn’t have helped and set her jaw if he planned to kill her anyway. There was something in his face, like David’s cruel streak, only so much worse. He was only feigning kindness to control her.
“Sorry,” Morgan said, sliding a metal cup of coffee across the bed toward her. “There was milk but no sugar.”
Rick glared at her. “Don’t even think about throwing the coffee in his face.”
Something inside Sarah clicked,