Chapter 30
Katelina woke from darkness. She found herself in a cheap motel room, a light shining in her eyes. She raised her hands and saw gore caked in the lines of her palms and the subtle patterns of her fingerprints. She looked down the length of herself to see that was still dressed in the tattered white dress. It was flecked and smeared with blood, and in the center of her skirt was one small, perfect handprint: the reminder of a bloody child.
Screams echoed through her mind and the smell of burning flesh lingered in her nose. She shuddered.
"It's all right," a soothing voice whispered. She looked up quickly to see Jorick. He stood next to the bed shirtless, his longhair wet and a towel thrown over his naked shoulder. He gave her an encouraging nod and brushed loose strands of hair back from her face. "It's all right."
"No," she murmured. "No, it's not all right."
"Your bath is ready." He gently tugged her to her feet. Her legs shook beneath her and she swayed and fell against him.
"No," she murmured into his bare chest. "No..."
"Shhhhhhhhh." His fingers tangled in her long hair as he stroked her head. "Come on."
She allowed him to step back from her and peel the ruined white dress away. He dropped it to the floor where it lay like a symbol of ruined innocence - white and red, purity stained by darkening blood, reality stained by nightmares.
He stripped her naked, but she didn't fight him. She was too distraught to focus, and only threw one thin arm over her breasts by instinct. Jorick gently led her to the bathroom and maneuvered her into a blue chipped bathtub where he lowered her slowly into the warm water.
She closed her eyes and leaned back against the porcelain. Her mind was still swirling and raging with what she'd seen, but it was swirling and raging without her. She was there, floating above it all, uncomprehending and numb. She tried to drown the memories out with thoughts of the dark car trip that had followed, but she'd fallen asleep, soothed into dreamless slumber by Jorick in an effort to end her hysterics.
Warm water splashed across her stomach and she looked up to see Jorick hovering over her like a concerned mother. He quickly washed the blood from her hands and her face. His touch was soft and smooth; comforting.
"Dip your head forward, keep your eyes closed." His words interrupted her thoughts, but she did as he said. She felt the water run over her hair and then his long fingers worked in the shampoo and rinsed it out again. The water trickled over her face and she squeezed her eyes shut until she could see little stars exploding behind them. She let him wash her arms, her shoulders, her neck. The wet washrag was warm against her bare skin as it swiped away all the gore and memories.
When she was clean, she opened her eyes and stared at the water around her. It was red with the mess that had been washed from her and looked like a pool of pale blood.
"Stand up," Jorick said quietly, and she stood. He held her steady and pulled the drain plug to let the hateful red water swirl away, then he rinsed her clean under the showerhead.
He wrapped a fluffy white towel around her, then gently scooped her up and carried her into the bedroom. She stared dully at the bedspread as he laid her on it. It was red like blood - red like her nightmares.
"Close your eyes," he murmured softly as he leaned over her and stroked her wet hair. "Rest now."
He started to go but she grabbed his bare arm. Fear had taken over and destroyed any hope she had of pride. "No, don't leave me alone."
"You'll be fine," he assured her. "The sun will come soon." He looked pale and in desperate need of rest.
"Please," she half whimpered, pleading.
He sighed in defeat and looked around the room. Gently, he tugged his arm free. With very little effort he moved the pressboard desk in front of the window, and then heaved the dresser on top of it. He reached around them and pulled the flowered drapes over the mound, effectively blocking most of the window.
He slipped off his shoes and, as he climbed onto the bed, he reached for her. She rolled towards him and buried her face in his naked chest. With a sigh, he curled around her and tightened his arms until he nearly crushed her against him. "It's all right, Katelina," he whispered. His hands tangled in her wet hair. "It's going to be all right."
She closed her eyes and whimpered softly as tears fell from her eyes. She listened to his heart beat and thought that nothing would ever be all right again.
***
When Katelina woke the room was shrouded in darkness. The clock on the nightstand read 7:45 pm in electric red numbers. She closed her eyes and opened them again, half hoping she'd be somewhere different, but she wasn't.
She rolled over, and found herself staring into the dark, unblinking eyes of Jorick. A memory flashed through her mind: Jorick's black hair laying against the smooth, white porcelain of the bathtub, his eyes closed, his features so still that she'd thought he was dead. The memory pressed an odd expression onto her face.
"Are you all right?" he asked softly.
His question played through her mind, but no answer presented itself. Her head ached as the events of the previous night came back in a screaming rush. Though most of it was a hazy red blur set to a soundtrack of screams, she still wished she hadn't remembered. "I guess," she answered at last.
"I thought you might be feeling better tonight." He held her eyes. His body lay mere inches from hers, the back of his hand against her hip.
She looked away first, to discover and remember at the same moment that she was wearing nothing but a towel. "Oh! My clothes..." she began, but stopped. Memories of the bath began to surface. They stained her cheeks scarlet and left her speechless.
"I'll have to get you some," he said quietly, though he made no effort to move. "The ones you were wearing..." he trailed off but she knew what he was going to say: they were ruined.
She felt his fingers flex through the towel and swallowed hard. A strange buzzing of blood pounded in her ears. She tried to collect her thoughts but failed, so she just said, "Okay." His nearness was too distracting for any other words, and it made her body tingle. Her cheeks grew an even deeper shade of red as she thought about how thin the towel was, and that it was the only thing that kept his knuckles from grazing her naked hip. Once more the certainty whispered through her brain that he'd seen her naked last night. In fact, he'd touched her. Just thinking about it, even filtered through dim, sleepy memories, made her heart pound.
"I'll find you something to eat, too," he added. "You're probably hungry." He closed his eyes for a moment, and drew a reluctant breath.
She waited, uncertain if she should say something or not. Before she could decide, he pulled away to stand, seeking his cast off shirt.
She lay still and clutched at her towel. Her breath caught in her throat as she stared at his naked back. Thoughts and images rose unbidden, most notably a vision of his hand on her stomach while his warm voiced soothed her. The memory left her insides fluttering.
Jorick disappeared into the bathroom and returned, tugging his black shirt over his head. He glanced at her as he deftly slid his shoes on. "I'll be back." He started toward the door, but stopped suddenly and turned back to her. "When I leave, fasten all the locks, and don't answer the door unless I say it's me."
Worry overrode her raging, hormonal thoughts. The fear of death seemed more important than lustful, half-formed ideas. "Do you think someone will come here?" she asked, though she didn't know where "here" was.
"I don't know, but it's always better to be safe than dead." With those words he left and closed the door behind him.
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