Annie narrated every movement like she was reading a manual out loud.I’m going to take your pulse now. I’m going to shine this light in your eyes. I’m going to look at your arms—can you roll up your sleeves for me?
Morgan rolled up her sleeves.
Annie’s face didn’t change when she saw the cuts.Fourteen parallel lines on her left forearm, eleven on her right. Some scabbed over, others still raw, the skin around them red and angry with early infection.
“Can you tell me how you got these?”
The question was gentle. Clinical. Like Annie was asking about a scraped knee instead of systematic torture.
“The man who kidnapped me, the leader, his name was Randall. He had a knife. He cut me.” Morgan heard her own voice from somewhere far away. “Every time I slowed down. Every time I asked a question. Sometimes for no reason at all.” She stared at the latticework of wounds, at the story they told on her skin.
Silence. Annie’s hands had stilled over her medical bag.
“These need to be cleaned and properly dressed,” Annie said finally. “I think we can get away with butterfly closures. No need for stitches.”
“No needles.” Morgan’s voice cracked on the word. “Please. No needles. They would feel like—” She couldn’t finish the sentence. Couldn’t explain that the press of metal into her skin would feel too much like being held down, restrained, waiting for the next cut.
“No needles,” Annie agreed. “I’ll recommend oral rehydration instead of an IV. Can you drink if I give you something?”
Morgan nodded.
The cleaning hurt. Annie was gentle—impossibly gentle, her hands steady and soft—but the antiseptic burned in the open wounds, and Morgan had to bite down on her lip to keep from crying out.
“All done.” Annie secured the last bandage and sat back. “Any other wounds besides your arms and your nose? That’s swollen too. You’ll have a black eye tomorrow.”
“He slammed my head against the desk.”
Annie probed at her nose gently. “Not broken. We’ll getsome cold compresses to reduce swelling, and I’ll give you something for pain.”
“Okay.”
“But Morgan, I need to ask you something. This is a hard question, but I need you to be honest, okay? Were you sexually assaulted in any way?”
“No.” The word came out flat. “They wanted my brain, not my body. Just the cuts and bruises.”
And the box. That hadn’t done any physical damage, but it wasn’t something she was sure she’d ever get over.
Annie stepped back and smiled. “Dehydration, exhaustion, multiple lacerations with early-stage infection. Nothing that won’t heal with time and care.” She paused. “Physically, anyway.”
Morgan didn’t respond. They both knew other damage wouldn’t show up on any examination.
“I want you to drink this.” Annie produced a bottle of something that looked like colored water. “Electrolytes. Sip it slowly over the next few hours. And I want you to try to eat something—crackers, soup, anything gentle. Your stomach won’t tolerate much right now.”
“Okay.”
“I’ll check on you tomorrow.” Annie began packing her bag. “Lincoln has my number if anything changes before then. Is it okay if I share your medical information with him? As it pertains to your injuries.”
Lincoln. Not Binary.Lincoln.
She still couldn’t force herself to think of him as that name yet.
“Yes, that’s fine.”
Annie walked over and opened the door. Sure enough, Binary was still right where he’d said he’d be.
“We’re finished,” Annie said. “She needs rest more than anything.”
“I’ll show you to your room.” He walked over to her. “Can you walk, or should I?—”
