Deep Redemption (Hades Hangmen 4)

My heart seemed to miss a beat. Ducking my head, I said, “Yes.”

The woman nodded and a flicker of a smile pulled on her lips. “He is a good man,” she said, and then her smile faded. She looked straight into my eyes. “He is good, you must remember that. No matter what. He is not a bad man. He is like us, beaten down and confused about how we have all been raised . . . but he is good. No matter what you hear.” She huffed a mirthless laugh. “I have encountered the opposite, the bad one, and know with crystal clarity the difference.”

I shook my head in confusion. But the woman suddenly jumped to her feet when music began playing from the speakers outside—the Lord’s Sharing call. “I must go,” she said. “I am needed in the Sharing hall. You must hurry. The guards may be a long time in their meeting, but you do not want to be caught.” Her eyes fell on the scissors. “You are going to cut his hair?”

“He needs more cleaning than he has been getting. He can barely breathe or see through this hair and beard. The heat is too much for him to bear.”

She cast her eyes down. “I will tell them I cut it. I will tell them today’s beating made it essential for his hair to be cut so I could tend to his wounds.”

“Why?” I asked. “Why would you do that for me . . . for him?”

The woman shrugged. “Because, despite it all, he deserves this help. He has been kept in this terrible state for too long for doing what was right.” She smiled a weak smile. “There is not much else they could do to hurt me anyway. One more punishment would not be so hard for me to bear.”

My heart broke for her.

“Thank you,” I said as she went to leave.

She paused in her step, and looking over her shoulder, said, “Remember, he is not bad.”

I opened my mouth, wanting her to explain what she meant, but she was gone. Rushing to finish the task, I cleaned all the blood from Rider’s arms, stomach and chest. I moved to his face. His eyes were shut, and on more than one occasion I had to put my ear to his mouth to check he was still breathing. He was so still I worried that he would pass.

I needed to move fast.

Sister Ruth and Brother Stephen stood watch at the doorway as I tried to wash Rider’s hair and beard. Sister Ruth eventually came to hold up his head when she saw I could not both hold him and clean his hair. It took four washes to loosen the knots and clumped strands of hair into manageable pieces. Taking the scissors, I cut inches off his hair, then proceeded to comb it through. When I was done, I helped Sister Ruth guide his head to my lap. I smiled at the feel of him so close. My heart felt like it was swelling to an impossible size as I stroked my finger along his clean cheek—I was pleased to see that it looked as though the bruising and swelling was mostly on his body. His face appeared mostly unharmed.

It felt strange to touch a man of my own accord, to stare at him so entirely. It was my choice to do this . . . and it was . . . freeing.

I knew it felt different because it was Rider. I . . . I trusted him. Impossible as that was for me to comprehend, it was true. I had not even realized it until that very moment. The fellow sinner had formed a bond with me that I had never had before. Two prisoners, finding solace in the other’s voice and the simple touch of a hand.

“Here.” I looked up to see Sister Ruth holding out a razor. I took it from her hand and brought it to Rider’s cheeks. His beard had risen too high, hiding much of his skin. Taking the blade, I delicately drew it downward. As his cheeks came into view, excitement grew inside me. I would soon see how he truly looked.

I would finally see his face.

As I cut and combed Rider’s beard, his hands began to twitch. My pulse began to race. My eyes darted to Sister Ruth. “He is waking.”

Sister Ruth’s eyes were bright as we watched him begin to stir. Wanting to finish the job I had started, I ran the comb quickly through the rest of his beard. Once the final stroke was made, I glanced down and let myself truly take him in. His eyelids fluttered open, revealing beautiful brown eyes, the pupils struggling to focus.

Rider’s long lashes brushed his cheeks. His eyes met mine. And my world stopped. But it did not stop for the reason I thought it would. My heart shattered apart and my breathing became too quick for me to find air.

I scrambled back in fear and panic, knocking his head from my lap. I crawled away on hands and knees until I reached his feet. Sister Ruth held out her hand to help me stand, but the sound of Rider’s voice stopped me dead.

“Harmony?” Rider’s voice was croaked and weak, but I caught the hint of panic in it. I took a deep breath and slowly turned to face him. I felt the blood drain from my cheeks when I saw his face. There was no mistaking what I was seeing.