Drawing Blood (19 page)

Chapter Thirty-One

Abigail

Abigail bound the bandage to David’s leg once they were alone again, using the gauze to secure it in place. He sat complacently and let her work. His quiet was likely what she found most comforting about him. When he wasn’t entertaining anyone else he was pleasant to be around.

“I really don’t want you to go upstairs again,” she said with that rough edge to her voice. “But the bathroom is up there. So … please be careful this time.”

He nodded. Abigail took another look at the stitches in the bullet wound. It was healing perfectly, front and back. There was no discolouration to his skin at all.

He took her hand, pressing it to the centre of his chest. Abigail frowned at him. “David.”

“Thank you. You’re taking such good care of me. I’m sorry I made a mess of your kitchen.”

They stared at each other for too long, and Abigail tried to fight that tenderness she felt develop in the centre of her chest. The moment broke when the house seemed to shake with the sound of airplanes overhead. They both looked up stupidly at the ceiling.

“The angels of death are starting the invasion,” David muttered absently. Abigail just nodded. He let go of her hand and stood up. “I’ll see if I can get up to bed on my own. Are you sure I can’t help clean up?”

Abigail hadn’t felt this exhausted in a long time. She shook her head, rubbing her temple. “No, I can -”

“You know what? I’ll help.”

“No, you can’t even crouch down.”

“Please, save your voice. It sounds like it hurts.”

She stood up too, took his arm, and started helping him to the stairs. When she put an arm around his waist to help him up that first step she became aware he was shirtless for the first time.  His arm went around her shoulders, and Abigail closed her eyes against the flood of hormones that washed over her with his warmth and scent. She had been more used to having James around than she thought, and having these men in her house was bringing it all back. She’d been so carefully keeping everyone out—especially men.

Murphy caught them on the third step. He took over for her, and Abigail returned to her kitchen. She looked down at the smeared blood on her hands, then she looked at the far wall, where a lot of Phillipe’s head was splattered, and the puddle that had started to dry on the floor.

She was a nurse. She’d seen so much blood already, but this was someone she had known.

Abigail collected the mop bucket from the cellar and started to run warm water. She got a rag from under the sink, a square cut from a pair of her father’s old work pants, rinsed the blood off her hands then went to work on the wall. There were bits of bone in the blood and other tissue. She had to close her eyes a few times when she felt her stomach heave. She had to keep it together. This wasn’t disgusting, this had been a person.

When she had the wall nearly done she heard Elliot enter the kitchen. He didn’t say a word; he foraged under the sink for another rag then came to help her. She moved over so he could kneel next to her. She kept trying to clear her throat like something was stuck in it, but that just hurt too much. Eventually Elliot said, “We don’t have to talk. I’m sure your throat must really hurt.”

Abigail nodded.

“So, you knew that guy? He was part of the French Resistance?”

She nodded again.

“Had he ever been violent before?”

She shook her head no this time.

“I can’t imagine trying to live day to day alone like this. And I really can’t believe you’ve been okay for this long. As a woman. Not that that should mean you’re not capable, it’s just … you hear things about the Nazis and what they did to people.” He turned a wary eye to her. “And you haven’t even been touched?”

She didn’t meet his gaze, and he felt his blood boil again at an incredible rate. “Phillipe stood there, too scared to help.”

“He watched? And did nothing?”

She shrugged. “If he’d been seen we’d both have been killed. If the man disappeared I would have been killed. Or at least questioned and tortured. He was a German officer.”

“The German officer that brings you gifts?”

“He likes me. For four years he’s been courting me without laying a hand on me until that day. I’ve put up with him to stay alive, and helping the Resistance in case the Germans were pushed out and I was seen as a traitor.” She pointed to her lip, which he noted had a split in it. He hadn’t seen it with the lipstick on. “This must have proved that I wasn’t a willing conquest. People started being even nicer to me. And Phillipe told them that I gave nothing up.”

Elliot set his jaw. “I would have killed him.”

“You aren’t living in an occupied country.” She sighed and wrung out her cloth. “Your family, friends and neighbours are safe at home right now. Your enemies aren’t likely to use them against you. Not now, anyway.”

“That’s true. I never thought of it that way.”

Once the wall and floor in front were cleared of splatter, they moved to the cupboards. Abigail had to run fresh water, dumping out the deep red liquid in to the sink, watching it swirl away. She had an abstract thought about pieces of Phillip’s head being stuck in the drain for who knew how long. The thought unsettled her.

Elliot took her hand off the tap, then turned it off himself. “You should get some sleep.”

“I was sleeping. You’re the one that’s been up all night.”

“You need rest. I can’t sleep unless I know someone’s on watch.”

There it was again: an out of the ordinary statement thrown in to conversation casually, like his declaration that he would have killed Bossong without question. Abigail clearly missed “normal life” more than originally thought.

He put his hand on her lower back, not far from her right hip. An innocent enough gesture, like he meant to usher her away from the sink. She did a terrible job ignoring the way her body thrilled at that touch. She meant to put her hand on the outside of his elbow to push his hand away, but that’s not how it happened. She held his elbow then looked up at him.

Elliot looked like nothing so much as a solider, even though he was about to scrub her kitchen floor. Head to toe in green, every part army issue combat gear, even if it was clean.  When he swallowed, she noticed the way his Adam’s apple bobbed. She put her other hand, dripping water, to the centre of his chest, the same spot David had put her hand earlier. She could feel the dog tags under his clothes, the heat of his skin, the beating of his heart. Or maybe that was just her.

He closed his wet hand over hers, squeezing. Her heart swelled. She would have had trouble breathing if her throat wasn’t injured. When they moved towards each other it was in unison. She was sure she was going to choke on her own pulse. And yet the heat and warmth flooding through her was a relief, invigorating. Proof of life, that’s what it felt like.

Abigail’s eyes were locked on his lips. His eyes were running over her whole face, and she knew it was rude to breathe through her mouth but she found she couldn’t stop.

Another slight movement closer to him. She moved her hand from his chest to the side of his neck, and he slid his other hand around her back, too. He was lean and strong against her, tall so she had to look up to see those pale ocean-blue eyes and that sweet expression he always seemed to wear. She had to stretch up to reach his mouth as he began to lower his lips to hers. The touch was so faint –

Hoarse screaming from upstairs parted them almost violently. Faster than she could track Elliot was through the kitchen and up the stairs. She followed.

He turned on the bedroom light and as she came to the door he was holding David down by his arms. The younger man was thrashing, shouting, and sobbing loudly. His eyes were open but from where she was Abigail knew he wasn’t seeing what was actually happening.

She came forward and circled to the opposite side of the bed. She put a hand to David’s forehead, brushing his hair back like her mother used to do to her when she wasn’t feeling well or having trouble sleeping. At first it was as though he wasn’t aware of her, and then, eventually his body calmed. He still shouted, but it was like a switch being thrown. It was unnerving to see someone wake up when their eyes were already open. His eyes looked vacant and suddenly … they weren’t. Everything “David” snapped in to place and his entire face took on a new relaxed countenance. He frowned, staring up at Elliot.

“You in there, buddy? You’ll be all right,” Elliot was murmuring.

Abigail kept stroking his hair. David was focusing on Elliot, and the realization that he’d been having a nightmare washed over him so suddenly she thought maybe he hadn’t actually woken up. He started sobbing again, loudly, in that way that sounded like it hurt. When David looked at her, she didn’t like the reaction she got. He was embarrassed. He turned his head the opposite way, away from her hand.

“Get her out of here,” David sobbed.

Elliot was startled too, and he looked to her, lost. She got off the mattress, circled the bed and was closing the door behind her when she heard Elliot saying soothingly, “It’s fine. David – she’s gone. It’s just me. Talk to me, Dave. Are you all right?”

She went back downstairs and finished scrubbing the blood from her kitchen floor, the momentary warmth and excitement of that kiss long forgotten. Her hands were shaking for another reason now. She’d never seen anyone that terrified before.

The blood had begun to dry, and she had to scrub until her elbows hurt to get it all. That done, the bucket put away, she stood at the foot of the stairs. She could hear lowered voices in her room, and she could still see the light coming around the bedroom door.

Abigail was alone as she returned to the main floor bedroom, closing the pocket door behind her. Not surprisingly, it was hours before she actually fell asleep.

Chapter Thirty-Two

David

He was weeping and shaking like a child, and he couldn’t even remember what the nightmare had even been about. It had been enough to nearly make him piss himself.

He felt sick to his stomach now and his head was throbbing … it felt like the champagne’s fault but he couldn’t be sure. All he knew was Murphy was staring at him with much too much concern. David was awake enough to feel embarrassed about that, and about Abby seeing him like this.

“Cleary?” David squeezed his eyes shut in response. “Hey, it’s okay. You’re here, not … wherever you were.”

“I know.” He took a deep breath, hearing how it shook when he did. “I’m sorry. I probably scared you both.”

“We were worried,” Murphy admitted. “But … your timing was perfect.”

There was a story on Murphy’s mind. David was pretty sure he didn’t want to know it.

“I should check and see if the leg’s okay. It bleeds so damn easily.” Murphy helped him get unwrapped from the blanket and sheet, and that alone made him feel better.

No fresh blood. At least one thing was looking up.

“Is it hurting?”

“It’s fine.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

“It’s fine, okay? Honestly.” He waited while Elliot finished looking at the hamburger that was his thigh.

“Good.”

David covered back up, sighing as he settled in to his pillows. Everything was too warm: him, the clothes he had on, the sheets, even the damn pillow was damp from his sweat.

“I hope help comes soon,” he muttered, aware of the crankiness in his voice.

“I thought you liked it here.”

“I keep embarrassing myself.”

“It was just a nightmare, I keep having them, too -”

David shook his head as he cut him off. “It’s not just them.”

Murphy waited, his usual damn calm and collected self. David was wishing he could dislike the guy, but Murphy was the reason he was still alive. David wasn’t that much of an asshole.

“I need to get out of here. Away from Abby,” he finally muttered like a petulant child.

Elliot looked surprised. “What? Why?”

“I admitted that I was in love with her.”

“Oh, David -”

“Then I told her that I knew she preferred you.”

Elliot frowned, but David was sure he didn’t imagine Elliot’s reddening face. “What?”

“She wanted to sleep next to me. Like she did last night. I slept without a single dream, like a dead man. It was the best sleep I’d had since … fuck, who knows. I would have cut this leg off to sleep with her again but … but she doesn’t see me the same way I see her. So I asked her to just … leave me alone. I mean … what an asshole. You should have seen her face.”

Elliot’s look made him even more uncomfortable. It felt like pity.

“She was so upset and embarrassed. I made everything worse.” David hated the next thing out of his mouth. “She wants you. You should go to her. She needs … comforting more than anything.”

Elliot sat up, his face stony. “Don’t be ridiculous. She’s married, I’m married.”

“I know -”

“And I don’t need your permission anyway.”

“Fuck, Murphy. That’s not what I was getting at.”

“Not your business, any of it.”

David was mad now, too. “What are you jumping down my throat for? You think I’m fucking blind?”

They were both pissed, arms crossed, not looking at each other. David felt as ridiculous as he probably looked right then. He really had to learn to keep his yap shut.

“I kissed her,” Elliot finally whispered, and David knew his head snapped around in shock.

“What?”

“I just kissed her downstairs in the kitchen. After she just told me she’d been raped. I fucking kissed her.” He slumped over, elbows on knees, rubbing the back of his neck. “There is something so wrong with me.”

“She kissed you back, I’m willing to bet my life on it. She sees comfort in you, Murphy.”

“I’m fucking married.” His voice was breaking and David realized his friend was crying. Now he was really uncomfortable. “I can’t let that go. Janet’s the only woman I’ve even kissed … well, until …”

“Hey, Murphy.” He didn’t look up but David kept talking anyway. “We are living in intense times. You’re not the same person here. None of us are.”

Elliot wiped his eyes. “I can deal with a lot around here. But this … I just … I can’t.”

“Then don’t. Sleep here. Keep me company.”

Elliot laughed at that, leaning back and popping his feet up on to the bed. “If you need me to protect you …”

“I do. Thanks.”

Elliot closed his eyes, setting his head back in the armchair and sighing. David just studied the man, watching him doze off while he himself stayed almost too awake. He didn’t want to go back to the nightmares.

Murphy had kissed Abigail. Well if that didn’t feel like a slug to the gut … David had no reason to be jealous. She’d admitted she didn’t feel that way about him. She’d been mature and honest. David obviously couldn’t handle adult conversations where he wasn’t getting his own way.

Murphy seemed to have no problem sleeping. David had two reasons to be inexplicably jealous now.