“Oh.” She gives me a perplexed look. “You sent this?”
I nod, slipping the phone back into my pocket as I lead her away from the car. “You were a little out of it during the ride.” That’s actually an understatement; after I dragged her into the car, she stopped fighting and became almost catatonic.
She blinks. “But… what about the bodies?”
“That’s taken care of, too,” I assure her. “Nothing will tie you to that scene. You’re safe.”
Sara visibly shudders, so I quickly usher her into the house, opening the door with keys I fished out from her bag earlier. I have my own pair of keys—I had them made a month ago, when I returned for her—but I’d rather Sara not know that. If she changes the locks again, it’ll be annoying to go through the process a second time.
“Here, sit,” I say, leading her to the couch. “I’ll make you some chamomile tea.”
“No, I…” She twists out of my hold. “I have to wash my hands.”
“All right.” I remember she has a thing about that. “Go for it.”
She disappears around the corner into the bathroom, and I walk over to the kitchen sink to soap up as well. I was careful to keep out of the spray of blood as I sliced those men’s throats, but I still find a few small red stains on my forearms.
Hopefully, Sara hasn’t seen them.
I wash my hands and forearms, then turn on the electric tea kettle. When the water boils, I make two cups of tea and carry them over to the table. Sara is not back yet, so I decide to check on her.
Walking over to the bathroom, I knock on the door. “Everything okay?”
There’s no answer, only the sound of running water. Worried, I try the door handle but find it locked.
“Sara?”
No response.
“Sara, open the door.”
Nothing.
I take a calming breath and say in a softer voice, “Ptichka, I know you’re upset, but if you don’t open the door now, I’ll have no choice but to break it.” Or to pick the lock, but I don’t say that. Breaking the door sounds way more threatening.
The water turns off, but the door remains locked.
“Sara. I’m giving you to the count of five. One. Two. Three—”
The lock clicks.
Relieved, I push the door open—and realize I was right to be concerned. Sara is sitting on the floor, her back against the tub and her knees drawn up to her chest. She’s not making a sound, but her face is streaked with tears, and she’s shaking.
Fuck. I really shouldn’t have killed them in front of her.
“Sara…” I kneel next to her, and she scoots to the side, away from me. Ignoring her reaction, I gently grasp her arm and pull her into my embrace. “I won’t hurt you, ptichka,” I whisper into her hair when I feel her shaking intensify. “You’re safe with me.”
A stifled sob escapes her throat, then another and another, and suddenly, she’s clinging to me, her slender arms folding around my neck as she begins to cry in earnest. I rub her back in soothing circles as she shakes with uncontrollable sobs, and she grips me tighter, burying her face against my neck. I feel the wetness of her tears, and I’m reminded of that time in the kitchen, when I was trying to calm her after the waterboarding. The memory sickens me; I can’t imagine doing that to her now, can’t picture hurting her for any reason.
She’s not just a person to me now; she’s my world, and I will protect her from everyone and everything.
It takes a long time for her sobs to ease, so long that my legs feel stiff when I finally get up and gently pull her to her feet.
“Come,” I murmur, wrapping a supportive arm around her back as I lead out of the bathroom. “Let’s have a little tea and get you off to bed. You must be exhausted.”
She sniffles and whispers hoarsely, “No tea.”
“Okay, no tea. In that case, let’s get you to sleep.” I bend to lift her into my arms.
She doesn’t object to me carrying her, just lays her head on my shoulder and loops her arms around my neck. Her breathing is still ragged from all the crying, but she’s calming down. That pleases me, as does the needy way she’s clinging to me. I don’t know if it’s the aftermath of the trauma, or if I’m finally wearing down her resistance, but her holding on to me like this, with no trace of fear or mistrust, fills my chest with a special kind of warmth, one that lessens the icy hollowness around my heart.
With Sara, I’m coming alive again, and I want more of that feeling.
30
Sara
* * *
He’s gentle with me in the shower, his touch tender and incongruously platonic as he washes me from head to toe. I stand still; that’s all I’m capable of at the moment—just standing. Nothing bothers me right now, not my nakedness and not even his. Now that my emotional storm has passed, I feel empty, a fog of exhaustion dulling all my thoughts and feelings. I’m beyond desire, beyond anxiety and fear; all that exists is guilt.