“Why don’t you try to go back to sleep? I gave you a tranquilizer. Just give in to it and let it work. You’re safe here. I’m going to take care of you. We’ll have plenty of time to talk later. There’s nothing for you to worry about, and nothing you need to do. Just sleep now.” His voice was hypnotic, the deep even tones hard to resist. It lulled her against her will.
Still, she fought the medication. In her foggy mind, Brook first became aware that she was dressed and almost wept with gratitude. The man had covered her nakedness. She felt an unwanted tenderness toward the stranger. The second realization was that of warmth. She had been cold for so long. The next thought never made it to the surface as she succumbed once again to the powerful downward pull of the drug.
In her dreams she wandered through shadows of fear and uncertainty. Dreams in which images of Jase and his gang blurred and alternated insanely with Clark’s face, and with the vision of a crazed killer howling over a mangled body in the forest. She barely registered the touch of Lance’s hands on her sore feet, pulling debris from her wounds, cleaning them, and covering them with salve. She was blissfully distant from the physical pain, but trapped in nightmares of terror and confusion.
Lance put away his first aid supplies and cleaned up around the daybed. Only then did his thoughts return to Belinda.
Chapter 21
While the woman slept, Lance grabbed a tarp and his gear, and went back to the clearing. Belinda’s carcass was still there, cold and bloodless. Luckily, the lion had not punctured the gut when she had attacked. Belinda had appeared to be more savaged than she actually was. He burned with the urge to lay an ambush for the big cat. He quickly field-dressed the dead animal, leaving the organs behind, and hauled her back home. He hung the carcass in the shed to age. His mouth set firm as he thought again of the troubles that had beset him of late. His unsuccessful installation of the fence, the cougar, and now, the mysterious, injured woman in his cabin. But mostly, his thoughts were on the woman as his hands performed their routine tasks.
Entering the cabin again, he assured himself she was still sleeping, as peacefully as possible under the circumstances, and then moved to the bathroom to wash up. What a quirk of fate, he thought as he dried his hands and face.
Chapter 22
Brook tossed and turned for several hours. Lance went about his chores, coming in to check on her from time to time. Very late in the evening, Brook awoke, foggy but attentive. Pressure from her bladder had finally wormed its way through the layers of sedation. She became aware of a man moving about in the same room with her. Although she didn’t want to bring attention to herself, she just couldn’t wait. She called out, her voice raspy and barely audible. “Mister, I need to use the bathroom, now. I mean, NOW!” If she didn’t get to a toilet, she was going to wet the bed.
Lance turned from the stove where he was simmering some meat for a stew.
“You’re awake,” he said in a conversational tone. He was relieved to hear she needed the bathroom. He had been worried she might have sustained an injury to her urinary tract, something beyond his basic skill to detect, some internal damage or infection. This was a good sign, in his opinion.
She struggled to sit up. “Please, I need to go, NOW!”
He moved quickly to her bedside. “Better let me help you,” he said. “You probably shouldn’t put any weight on those feet just yet.”
Brook shied back but realized she needed his assistance. She let the man lift and carry her to a small room that held a strange-looking toilet, a table with a large bowl on it equipped with a hand pump, a mirrored cabinet, and several towels hanging from pegs. In the corner was an old claw-foot bathtub partially hidden behind a curtain.
The man stood her carefully in front of the commode, supporting her with one arm to ease the burden on her feet. With efficient movements, he quickly pulled the sweat pants down and lowered her to the toilet. It happened so fast, she was seated before the embarrassment could take hold.
“Please,” she said in a small voice, humiliated by her vulnerability. He looked down at her, his eyebrows raised in query. “Please don’t watch me.”
“I wouldn’t,” he said, surprised. “It never even occurred to me to do so. I’ll wait outside the door. If you need me, I’ll be close by. Just call. I’m just going to go add the vegetables to the stew.” He backed out of the room, closing the door behind him.
Brook worked to release her urine and had to concentrate in order to do so. She was still very sore and the flow, when it finally came, felt like battery acid pouring from her. She squirmed on the seat in an attempt to lessen the pain. After dabbing gently with tissue, she was relieved to see no blood on the paper. She felt somewhat clearer in her mind, but still lethargic and drugged. Her body was a mass of various aches and pains, but her feet seemed to be the worst. Worse even than her privates which throbbed with a dull unrelenting ache. Sharp pains, dull pains, deep pains, surface pains…she had them all.
She remained seated for a few moments. Where am I? She couldn’t remember how she got here, wherever ‘here’ was. And this man, who was he? Why was he being so kind to her? He had obviously cleaned her up and dressed her wounds. She noticed the bandages and gauze wraps on her legs and feet. What did he want with her? She didn’t trust him, not one little bit, although the reason for this was vague and just outside her ability to grasp. She shook her head to clear it, but all she got for her effort was the resurgence of a headache that had been lurking in the background, just waiting for its chance to reemerge. Putting her hand to her head, she was horrified to discover her hair felt matted and filthy. What had happened to her?
She was so confused. With a shudder, she found she easily remembered Jase and his friends. And her captivity, the days of relentless abuse, and her escape as she dashed out the door to sweet freedom. She remembered the deer and the car spinning out of control. She also remembered jumping from the car and then falling down the slope. These incidents were crystal clear. After that, things became hazy. Sorting backwards through what recent memories she could dig up, she recalled running in the forest on painful feet. But how had she gotten here?
Her heart flipped suddenly. The memory of the man outside the door howling over a dead body came rushing back to her with chilling clarity. She had to leave this place! The man in the next room was a killer! Maybe he was even part of the gang that had kidnapped her. For all she knew, he could be their ringleader, the man they answered to. Either way, he was dangerous. She had seen with her own eyes the result of his violence. A sob caught in her throat as she thought of the poor victim, bloody and slashed apart by this vicious stranger. She could be next! Her long nightmarish ordeal was not over. Like a horror movie, it had merely changed locations and actors. She was still not safe.
Brook fought with the baggy sweat pants and managed to pull them up while sitting by lifting first one side of her rear and then the other. Her sore muscles reminded her of the strain she had endured. She tried to stand and was immediately punished with a blinding hurt that shot from the bottoms of her feet up through her thighs. She cried out.
“Hello? Are you alright?” the man called from the other side of the door.
“I’m okay,” she answered, biting her bottom lip. Her heart raced weakly, and she panted from fear and from the sheer effort required not to weep. She had no choice. She would have to play along until she found a chance to escape.