“He’s safe.”
“And Nath?” I look at him and know immediately that Nath is gone. I inhale, breathing out shakily, flinching at the pain that simply breathing brings. “Is Dexter still out there?”
“Yes.”
“What are you going to do?”
“Kill him.”
I nod, accepting, because what else can I do? Stop James? Nature’s strongest force wouldn’t be able to stop him. My own uncle. A man I’ve looked up to for years. He’s watched me suffer. Held endless paper bags over my mouth when I’ve fallen into one of my merciless meltdowns. Held my hand. Spoken encouraging words. He fooled me. I feel myself begin to shake with the anger building, and I roughly wipe at my eyes, forcing myself to settle. Anger is pointless now. I’m helpless. Useless. It’ll only fuel James, and he looks like he needs no fuel.
Breathe, Beau. I take a moment to gather myself and gather my bearings, looking around. I expect to see medical machinery everywhere. I see only one piece next to my bed, a line into my arm. I expect to see harsh, tubular lighting above me. I see an elaborate gold chandelier. I expect clinical bed sheets. I see a sumptuous spread in rich autumnal colors. I gaze around the room, an extravagant, plush bedroom, and finish at the French doors onto a terrace.
“Where am I?” I ask, finding James on the edge of the giant bed.
“We’re safe.”
“That wasn’t my question.” I try to sit up, hissing as I do.
“Beau, for fuck’s sake, take it easy.” His palms gently press into my shoulders and push me back down.
“I’m fine.”
“God help me, woman, lie the fuck down.”
I relent, but only because the pain is too intense. “How long have I been out?
“A week.”
“A week?” I blurt, panicked. A whole week? I know what James is capable of in an hour. He’s had a whole week to rain holy hell on the world? “And where have you been?” I ask. Looking for Dexter? Oh God, what about Lawrence? He’ll be out of his mind.
“Here. Always here.”
I stare at him, stunned, but I see only sincerity in his expression. It’s a stark contrast to the man I first met. “A whole week has passed, and you’ve not killed one person?”
His smile is small and ironic. “I’ve killed more people in this one week than in my lifetime.”
Plotting. He’s been plotting. “Where are we, James?” I ask, gazing around again.
“Don’t worry about that for now.” He gets up and goes to the door, swinging it open. “Get the doctor,” he orders, and I see Goldie craning her neck, looking into the room. Searching for me. She looks worried, until she sees me on the bed, awake. And she smiles. But only through her eyes.
“Good to have you back, Beau,” she says gruffly. I’d call that affection, but I can only smile, and it’s weak.
James comes back and starts fussing around the sheets. He’s stalling. Diverting. Distracting. I reach for his hand and stop him. “Where are we?”
“Somewhere safe.”
“Where is somewhere safe?”
“You have a lot of questions for someone who’s just come out of a week-long coma.”
“I’ve not even started,” I assure him. “Where—” The door knocks, and an older man walks in, his suit tweed, his beard gray. “Who are you?” I exclaim, looking to James for an answer.
“Beau, this is Doc,” he says, dismissing me, giving his attention to the elderly man. “Check her over.”
“I’m fine.”
“Shut up, Beau,” James snaps, and the doctor looks between us, a little alarmed. “Listen to me,” he warns the doctor, and he gets straight to it, checking me over. He reaches my stomach and presses lightly. I hiss.
“Fine,” James grunts, going to the stand where a bag of fluids hangs, pulling it closer as the doctor checks my pulse.
“I just need to empty your catheter,” the doctor says.
Catheter? I look at the ceiling, despairing, and close my eyes, hiding from my mortification. “Remove it,” I order, and the next thing I know, he’s poking around in a place he shouldn’t be. I breathe in and hold my breath, feeling the uncomfortable pull on my bladder. And when I open my eyes, he’s brandishing a bag of pee in the air. “Oh my God,” I murmur, looking at James to save me from this humiliation.
“Thanks, Doctor, I’ve got it,” he says, smiling softly. “She’s fine.”
The doctor nods and leaves with my bag of pee, and I sigh, lifting my heavy arm, seeing a new cast.
“You upset your break when you fell,” James says.
“How long will I be useless?”
He smiles, full of pity, and pours some water, sitting on the edge of the bed. “Here.” He directs a straw to my mouth, but I try to take the glass instead. It’s pulled back out of my reach. “Let me.”
“I can feed myself, James.” I am not depending on him to care for me. Never.