He had to unstick the rest of thisfoutubandage, fast.
After what felt like forever, he got them off with a little more tugging and exposed her back.
Nom de Dieu, her poor, poor skin, defiled.
“Thank you,” Abby whispered.
Mouth open, all he could do was take it in. The brands covered every inch of skin up her arms and across her back. Fresh burns and old ones, scars that had whitened with age, shiny on the raised parts. In places, the brands overlapped.
Luc took in the damage, and his only lucid thought wasI’m going to beat that bastard to a pulp.
* * *
It was getting light by the time they made it out of the bathroom. Abby let Luc take her upstairs, half-naked, with her back in full view. He’d run up to get her a button-down shirt, helped her slip it on backward, and left it undone in the back while he smeared some ointment over the new brands. He made her drink water before having her lie facedown on his bed, where he reapplied clean bandages and presented her with a small, white stick.
“Here,” he said, handing it to her, clearly expecting something.
“I don’t…” As she examined the object, memories came back—sweet ones she’d lost beneath layers of fire and brimstone: sick in bed, Mama’s cool lips on her forehead, one of these sticking out of her mouth. Another flash: a white room at school, back when she still attended school— posters on the walls and a nurse shaking her head, tutting at whatever she read on the…the…
“Thermometer,” Abby said, the word suddenly clear, along with the feeling of safety it engendered. Once this was inserted into her mouth, things would be taken care of.
“You know how it works?”
“I remember.”
“Under your tongue,” said Luc. When she hesitated, he moved to sit beside her on the bed. “Open your mouth. Like this.”
He stuck it in and waited until it beeped, then removed it and looked at the small, red, flashing screen.
“Merde,” he exhaled. “Here, take two more of these, and we’ll check again in a bit.”
“Okay,” Abby said, watching as he shook two more pills out of their bottle and put them on the table beside her glass of water.
“Get some sleep,chérie. I’ll be back.”
“Wait!” she called as he moved to go. “I have to get Sammy out.”
“Not tonight, Abby. You can’t tonight.”
“But he’ll die, Luc. He’ll die.”
“He could die trying to escape, Abby. Just like you came close to dying out in this weather.”
Blinking, she nodded.
“Where is he, do you think, tonight?”
“Possibly with the Cruddups? Or with Benji and Brigid.”
“You think Isaiah doesn’t have him under lock and key?”
Luc’s words chilled her for their truth. Slowly, it dawned on her. Things were different now. Totally, inexorably changed. Forever.
“You’re right,” she whispered.
“We’ll get Sammy out.” She opened her mouth to protest thatwe, but he kept right on going. “But not tonight. Not until you’re well enough and the weather is clear enough. Otherwise, it’s suicide.”
And she was tired. So tired. “Okay, Luc,” she whispered. With one last caress of his hand to her forehead, he went back downstairs.
