"I'll be right back," and he left the room. Everyone seemed to be doing that today. He was gone long enough that Edward came in to see what the hold up was. I lifted the taped arm, and he produced a switchblade from his pocket. The blade cut through the tape like paper. Edward always did take good care of his tools.
I was still left with having to peel the tape off my arm, and the IV itself had to come out, mustn't forget that.
"If you want it fast, I'll do it," Edward said.
I nodded, and he ripped the tape off my arm along with the IV. "Ow!"
He smiled. "Sissy."
"Sociopath."
Doctor Cunningham came in carrying a large hand mirror. His gaze flicked to Edward and my now free arm. It was not a friendly look. "If you'll step back for a moment, Mr. Forrester?"
"You're the doctor," Edward said, moving back to the foot of the bed.
"Nice of you to remember that," Doctor Cunningham said. He held the mirror in front of my face.
I looked startled, eyes too wide and so dark they looked black. I'm naturally pale, but my skin was ghost-white, ethereal like flexible ivory. It was what made my eyes look even darker than normal, or maybe it was the bruise.
I'd known my face hurt, and I'd even known why. Being hit hard enough to slam into a wall should leave a mark.
The bruise went up to the edge of my cheek, just under the eye, and catty-corner down to my jaw line just under the ear. My skin was a rainbow of purple-black with a core of red skin with darker red scattered across it. It was one of those really deep bruises that probably hadn't even shown much of a mark for the first day, but it would go through all the color changes once it started. I had shades of green, yellow, and brown to look forward to. If I hadn't had three vampire marks on me, I'd have had at least a broken jaw, or maybe a broken neck.
There were moments when I'd give almost anything to be free of the marks, but staring at the bruise, knowing that I healed faster than normal for a human and it still looked this bad, was not one of them. I was grateful to be alive.
I said a brief silent prayer while I stared at my face. "Thank you, dear God, for me not being dead." Aloud, I said, "Nasty," and handed the mirror to the doctor.
He frowned; obviously it wasn't the reaction he'd wanted. "You've got over forty stitches in your back."
My eyes went wide before I could stop them. "Gee, that's a record even for me."
"This isn't a joke, Ms. Blake."
"It might as well be funny, doctor."
"If you start moving around, you're going to rip the stitches open. Right now, if you're careful, the scars won't be bad, but if you start moving around, you'll scar."
I sighed. "It'll have plenty of company, doctor."
He stood there, shaking his head slowly, face set in harsh lines. "Nothing I can say is going to make any difference, is it?"
"No," I said.
"You're a fool," he said.
"If I stay in here until I'm healed, what am I going to say to myself when I'm staring down at the next round of bodies?"
"Saving the world is not your job, Ms. Blake."
"I'm not that ambitious," I said. "I'm just trying to save a few lives."
"And you truly believe that only you can solve this case?"
"No, but I know that I am the only one that … this man will talk to." I'd almost said Nicky Baco, but I didn't want Doctor Cunningham calling the police and telling them where we were going. Not that he would do that, but better safe than sorry.
"I told you that I'd check you out if you looked at your injuries. I keep my word."
"I appreciate that in a person, Doctor Cunningham. Thank you."
"Don't thank me, Ms. Blake. Don't thank me." He moved towards the door, giving both the makeshift altar and Edward a medium-wide berth, as if both made him uncomfortable. At the door he turned. "I'll send a nurse in to help you dress because you will need the help." He walked out before I could say thank you again. Probably just as well.
Edward stayed until the nurse arrived. It was a different nurse, tall, light brunette, if that wasn't an oxymoron. Her gaze stayed on my bruised face longer than was politic, and when she helped me slip out of the gown, she gave a low hiss at my back. It was unprofessional and sort of unnurselike. They were usually blankly cheerful to the point of nausea when you were hurt or blunt. Anything to cover that what had happened to you bothered them.
"You'll never be able to wear a bra over the stitches in your back," she said.
I sighed. I hated to go without a bra. It always made me feel underdressed no matter what else I was wearing. "Let's just get the shirt on."
She held it and helped me slip it over my head. Putting my arms up to go through the sleeves made the pain in my back sharp and immediate, as if the skin would pull apart if I moved too quickly. I wondered if that would have been the analogy that I'd chosen if Doctor Cunningham hadn't warned me about the stitches pulling apart. I'd have shrugged if I hadn't been sure it would hurt.
"I normally work in the nursery," the nurse said as she helped me straighten the shirt, buttoning the first two buttons.
I looked up at her, not sure what to say. But I didn't need to worry. She knew exactly what to say. "They called me in after you destroyed the monster. For the … cleanup." She helped me sit on the edge of the bed. I sat there for a few seconds with my legs dangling off the edge, letting my body adjust to the fact that we were getting dressed, we were going to stand … in just a second.
"I'm sorry you had to see it," I said, because I had to say something, I wasn't even comfortable with her saying I'd «destroyed» the monster. It made it sound entirely too heroic, and what it had felt like was desperate. Desperation is the true mother of invention, at least for me.
She started to help me into the black panties, but I took them from her hands. If I couldn't even put on my own underwear, I was in serious trouble. And if I was truly that hurt, I needed to know it. It would cut down on my urge to be heroic.
I started to simply bend at the waist, but it just wasn't that easy. I lowered myself downward a little bit at a time, and I was still nowhere near low enough.
"Let me start them up your legs, so you don't have to bend all the way down," the nurse said.
I finally let her, and even pulling them only part way up my body turned my back into one great big hurt. I leaned against the bed when they were on, and didn't even argue when she bent down to put on my socks. She never argued that I was too hurt to be leaving. It was too obvious to argue about it.
"I'd worked with Vicki for two years. It was Meg's first job." Her eyes were dry, wide, and I noticed the dark circles under them like purplish smudges, as if she hadn't slept much in the last three days.
I remembered the body that had blocked the door into the nursery, and the nurse that had been thrown through the window. Vicki and Meg, though I'd probably never know which had been which, not that it mattered. They were dead and didn't care, and the nurse helping me slip into a pair of black jeans looked too fragile for questions. My job was to listen, and make encouraging noises where needed.
I slipped the jeans over my butt without help, buttoned them and zipped them all by myself. Things were looking up. I'd tried tucking the shirt into my pants out of habit, but that required more back movement than I thought.
Besides, untucked, my braless state would be a little less noticeable. I was really too well endowed to go without, but my modesty wasn't worth the pain, not today.
"Every time I close my eyes, I see the babies." She was kneeling with one of my shoes in her hands, when she looked up. "I keep thinking I should be dreaming about my friends, but I only see the babies, their little bodies, and they cry. Every time I close my eyes, I hear the babies screaming. I wasn't there, and I hear them, every night." The tears were finally there, sliding soundlessly down her face as if she didn't know she was crying. She slid the shoe on my foot and looked down, paying attention to what she was doing.