Mary felt the years peel away.
She saw her mother's yellow bedroom. Smelled disinfectant. Heard labored, desperate breaths.
Here she was again, she thought. Another bedside. Another's suffering. Helpless.
She looked around the room, eyes landing on the Madonna and Child over the dresser. In this context the painting was art, not icon, part of a museum-quality collection and used only as decoration.
So she didn't have to hate the damn thing. And she wasn't scared of it, either.
The Madonna statue in her mother's room had been different. Mary had despised it, and the instant Cissy Luce's body had left the house, that piece of plaster had been in the garage. Mary hadn't had the heart to break it, but she'd wanted to.
The next morning she'd taken the thing to Our Lady and dropped it off. Same with the crucifix. As she'd driven out of the church's parking lot, the triumph she'd felt, the veritable f**k you to God, had been heady, the only good feeling that came to her for a long time. The rush hadn't lasted, though. When she'd returned to the house, all she'd seen was the shadow on the wall where the cross had been and the dust-free spot on the floor where the statue had stood.
Two years later, to the very day she'd dropped those objects of devotion off, she'd been diagnosed with leukemia.
Logically she knew she wasn't cursed because she'd dumped the things. There were 365 days to hit on the calendar, and like a ball on a roulette wheel, the announcement of her disease had had to land on one of them. In her heart, though, she sometimes believed otherwise. Which made her hate God even more.
Hell... He didn't have time to spare a miracle for her mother, who'd been faithful. But He went out of His way to punish a sinner like her. Go figure.
"You ease me," Rhage said.
Her eyes snapped to his. She cleared her head by taking his hand. "How are you?"
"Better. Your voice soothes me."
It had been the same with her mother, she thought. Her mother had like the sound of her talking, too.
"You want something to drink?" she asked.
"What were you thinking about just now?"
"Nothing."
He closed his eyes.
"Would you like me to wash you?" she said.
When he shrugged, she went to the bathroom and came back with a warm, damp washcloth and a dry bath towel. She cleaned his face and gently worked around the edges of the bandages.
"I'm going to take these off, okay?"
He nodded and she carefully peeled the tape from his skin. She pulled the gauze and padding back.
Mary shuddered, bile rising up into her mouth.
He'd been whipped. It was the only explanation for the marks.
"Oh... Rhage." Tears clouded her eyes, but she didn't allow them to fall. "I'm just going to change the dressing. This is too... tender to wash yet. Do you have - "
"Bathroom. Floor-to-ceiling cupboard to the right of the mirror."
Standing in front of the cabinet, she was daunted by the supplies he kept on hand. Surgical kits. Plaster for broken bones. Bandages of all kinds. Tape. She took what she thought she'd need and went back to him. Ripping open sterile packs of twelve-inch gauze pads, she laid them on his chest and stomach and figured she'd just let them sit there. There was no way she could lift his torso off the mattress to wrap him up, and taping them all together would involve too much fiddling around.
As she patted down the lower left section of bandages, Rhage jerked. She glanced at him. "Did I hurt you?"
"Funny question."
"I'm sorry?"
His eyes flipped open, his stare hard. "You don't even know, do you?"
Clearly not. "Rhage, what do you need?"
"For you to talk to me."
"Okay. Let me finish here."
As soon as she was done, she opened up the book. He cursed.
Confused, she reached for his hand. "I don't know what you want."
"It's not that tough to figure out." His voice was weak but indignant. "Christ, Mary, can you at least once let me in?"
There was a knock across the room. They both glared at the sound.
"I'll be right back," she said.
When she opened the door, the man with the goatee was on the other side. He had a silver tray weighed down with food balanced on one hand.
"I'm Vishous, by the way. Is he awake?"
"Hey, V," Rhage said.
Vishous walked right past her and put the meal on the dresser. As he headed for the bed, she wished she were as big as he was so she could keep him out of the room.
The guy propped his hip on the side of the mattress. "How you doing, Hollywood?"
"I'm okay."
"Pain fading yet?"
"Yeah."
"So you're healing up good."
"Can't happen fast enough for me." Rhage closed his eyes in exhaustion.
Vishous stared down at him for a moment, lips drawn thin. "I'll come back later, my brother. All right?"
"Thanks, man."
The guy turned around and met her eyes, which couldn't have been easy. At the moment, she was wishing he had a taste of the pain he'd inflicted. And she knew the desire for vengeance was showing in her face.
"Tough cookie, aren't you?" Vishous murmured.
"If he's your brother, why did you hurt him?"
"Mary, don't," Rhage cut in hoarsely. "I told you - "
"You told me nothing." She squeezed her eyes shut. It was not fair to yell at him when he was flat on his back with a chest that looked like a grid map.
"Maybe we should just let it all out," Vishous said.
Mary crossed her arms over her chest. "Now there's an idea. Why don't you tell me the whole damn thing? Help me understand why you did this to him."
Rhage spoke up. "Mary, I don't want you to - "
"So tell me. If you don't want me to hate them, then explain this to me."
Vishous looked over to the bed, and Rhage must have nodded or shrugged, because the man said, "He betrayed the Brotherhood to be with you. He had to make amends if he wanted to stay with us and keep you here."
Mary stopped breathing. This was all for her? Because of her?
Oh, God. He'd allowed himself to be whipped raw for her...
I'll make it safe for you, how about that?
She had absolutely no context for this kind of sacrifice.
For the pain he was enduring for her. For what had been done to him by people who supposedly cared for him.
"I can't... I feel a little light-headed. Will you excuse..."
She backed away, hoping to stumble into the bathroom, but Rhage struggled up on the bed, as if he were going to come after her.
"No, you stay there, Rhage." She went back to him, sitting down in the chair and stroking his hair. "Stay where you are. Shh... Easy, big man."
When he'd relaxed a little, she looked at Vishous. "I don't understand any of this."
"Why would you?"
The vampire's eyes were steady on hers, the silver depths somehow frightening. She focused on the tattoo that bled out onto his face for a moment and then glanced at Rhage. She brushed his hair with her fingertips and murmured until he slid back into sleep.
"Did it hurt you to do this to him?" she demanded softly, knowing Vishous hadn't left. "Tell me it hurt you."
She heard a whispering of cloth. When she glanced over her shoulder, Vishous had taken off his shirt. On his muscular chest there was a fresh wound, a slice, as if a blade had cut into his skin.
"It killed each one of us."
"Good."
The vampire smiled rather fiercely. "You understand us better than you think. And that food is not just for him when he wants it. I brought it for you, too."
Yeah, well, she didn't want anything from them. "Thank you. I'll see that he eats."
Vishous paused on his way out. "Have you told him about your name?"
Her head snapped around. "What?"
"Rhage. Does he know?"
Shivers crept up the back of her neck. "Obviously he knows my name."
"No, the why of it. You might tell him." Vishous frowned. "And no, I didn't find out on the Internet. How could I?"
Good lord, that had been exactly what was going through her... "Do you read minds?"
"When I want to and sometimes when I have no choice." Vishous left, shutting the door quietly.
Rhage tried to roll over onto his side and woke up with a moan. "Mary?"
"I'm right here." She placed his hand between both of hers.