“H-hurts,” I choke out, adding a groan for effect as I clutch my stomach. “N-need h-hospital.”
Guilt pricks at me when he moves his hand to my cheek again, stroking softly. “I know it hurts, baby, but you’re going to be okay. Uncle Ford is on his way. Daddy isn’t going to let anything happen to you.”
That’s what I’m counting on.
It seems like forever before the nursery door opens and Ford strolls in, carrying what looks to be an old-fashioned doctor’sbag. One of those old black ones like you see in the movies sometimes.
Setting the bag down beside the strange table I’ve been placed on, he reaches for my arms, gently tugging at them. “Hi, sweetheart. I heard you’re not feeling very well this morning.”
Another prickle of guilt as his calm, soothing voice washes over me. But I shove the guilt aside and focus on my task at hand. “Hurts.”
“Where does it hurt, little one? Can you show me?”
“Tummy,” I croak out instead, figuring that covers pretty much everything in that general area without trying to decide what kind of illness or injury I should be feigning. Appendicitis? A kidney stone? What will force them to take me to a hospital?
“All right,” Ford says, still in that same calm voice that feels a bit like a warm hug. He tugs again at my hands, a bit more firmly this time, but I refuse to budge.
“Melanie.” Uh-oh. Daddy sounds mad. “Move your hands so Uncle Ford can examine you, or I will move them for you.”
Well that sounds appropriately ominous. With a dramatic sniffle, I slowly move my hands away from my stomach. Ford smiles down at me, and again those little needles of guilt stab at my chest.
“Good girl. Does this hurt?”
He presses on the same spot Axel did earlier, so I cry out. “Yes, yes it hurts!”
“I’m sorry, sweetheart. What about this?”
His hands shift upward and for a split second I’m not sure how to react. But the more desperate I can make this situation seem, the more likely they are to whisk me off to the hospital, so surely that means I should just act likeeverythinghurts, right?
With that in mind, I let out another sharp cry. “Please, stop! It hurts!”
“I know, honey. I know. What about here?” He moves his hands to the left and I again cry out.
Over and over we repeat the dance, him pressing on random spots in my abdominal area with me crying and assuring him that yes, yes,everythinghurts.
“Goddammit, Ford, what’s wrong with my baby?”
The worry in Axel’s tone is even more feverish than before. But I can’t let that get to me. I’m so close to escape, so close I swear I can taste it. I just need to keep pretending a little while longer.
Just a little longer, and I can get the fuck out of this house, and away from this cruel family.
Axel
Terror clawsat my throat as I watch my Little girl writhe in pain. She seemed fine last night. What the hell could have come on this quickly? Is it some kind of delayed reaction to being caught in the cold yesterday?
It feels like a thousand lifetimes before Ford gives Lanie’s thigh a gentle pat. “I’m going to go talk to your Daddy in the other room, little one. You lay right here and do not move. Understood?”
Anger joins terror in my chest, and I snarl at my brother when he turns to face me. “I’m not fucking leaving her. Tell me what’s wrong.”
But Ford doesn’t flinch. “I need to talk to you in theotherroom, Axel.”
It’s the emphasis he puts on the words that has me smothering another snarl. Something’s up, but I’m not sure what.
Even though it feels like my heart’s being ripped from my chest, I force myself to follow him out of the nursery to my bedroom. Letting the door close behind us, I turn on him, the anger and fear pouring out of me. “Tell me what’s wrong with my Little girl right fucking now or I swear to god, Ford.”
“The only disease your little Lanie has is a case of lie-abetes. Look.”
Picking up the video monitor from beside my bed, he holds it out to me. Sure enough, there’s my naughty babygirl, sitting up on the changing table, looking around the room as if nothing has happened.
