“Well, this is going to be like that, only worse. I don't have anything to numb it completely, just some lidocaine. You'll be able to feel it, sort of like a really bad bee sting.”
“How is she?” Porter's voice caused us both to snap our heads in his direction.
“She'll live, I'm going to stitch it up, then she needs to just rest until everything else heals. I don't think there are any broken ribs, they're probably just bruised. She's moving too smoothly for them to really be broken.” Rolling out a long black cloth, she straightened up the metal utensils. “Have you seen your father this morning?”
His father?
Is this. . . his mother?
Porter sighed, and rolled his eyes. “No, thank god. And stop calling him that, you know how I feel about it.”
Arching a brow, she shifted her eyes from him to me. “He got the car towed here—or what's left of it, you should thank him for that.” Her thin fingers pinched the cut on my forehead in a few different directions, eyes never leaving her work. “If you remember what it means to thank someone anymore.”
Staying quiet, I just listened. I didn't have a clue what the relationship was like between these two. If it was good or bad, strained and cracking. I wasn't sure if she had any idea about what he was capable of, or if she was blind to who the person standing in the doorway truly was.
People have their social side, the side they want you to see and know, the person you expect them to be every day. Then there is the real person, the man behind the thoughts and actions that they keep hidden and secret.
I was trying to figure out which person was here with us. Was it the killer or the kind boy this woman had known and loved?
My previous uncertainty about her had vanished as the realization set in that she wasn't just his cousin or sister, but his mother. She held herself with poise, sophisticated and gentle, she was definitely not a killer, not the root of evil that her son had been subjected to at some point in his life.
Whatever demon had caused Porter to cross over to the dark side did not resonate from that woman.
“Thank yous go to people who deserve it, he doesn't deserve shit.” Stalking to the bed, he kept his eyes on his feet. “Do you need help?”
“Do I need help?” she asked back sarcastically, pushing her hands into the tops of her thighs. “What I need is for you to occupy her, talk to her so she doesn't focus on what I'm doing. Can you do that?”
Dragging his hand through his hair, Porter looked up at me, uncertainty sitting in his dead glare. “Talk, you want me to talk?”
“Yeah, talk. You remember what that is, don't you?” Threading a needle, Jo took out a small bottle of alcohol and dipped the sharp tip inside. “I don't care if you talk about the weather, just make sure she stays still, and doesn't move her head too much.”
“Alright.” Stepping to the bed, Porter sat down and placed his large hands on either side of my face firmly. “I'm going to hold you tight so you don't move. You don't want her accidentally poking your eye or something.”
“Porter,” Jo snapped, scowling at him. “I said occupy her, not scare her.”
Chuckling, his smile grew wide as he winked at me. “I'm kidding, she knows what she's doing. See the scar above my eyebrow?” Wriggling his brow, I spotted a thin strip of white skin, hidden almost beneath the hair. “When I was about thirteen, my brother and I were out in the yard throwing rocks at each other. It sounds stupid now, but back then we thought it was fun. The fucker hit me with one, and split my head wide open. My mom was the one who fixed it up, she took great care of me.”
His mom giggled, and I felt her fingertips as they held my skin shut. A sharp pinch jolted the nerves in my face, causing my eyes to water. A slow burn radiated across my forehead as she slid the needle through my skin.
“Ahh,” I groaned, closing my eyes tight, and biting the inside of my cheek. “Yeah, that's not what I remember feeling as a kid.”
“Sorry, Honey, I wish I didn't have to do it this way.” Tugging on the string, she grabbed a pair of small scissors and cut it loose. “There's one, I'm going to do two more.”
“Okay,” Porter said, drawing my attention back to him. “See this scar?” he asked, turning his head so I could see the thick scar on the back of his neck. “I tried to jump off the roof into our pool, I ended up missing and hitting a sharp metal corner on the edge instead. I thought that one was going to kill me.”
“You—ahh,” I said, hissing as the needle pierced my head like a nail in wood. “You really made some poor decisions as a kid, huh?”
“I guess you could say that.” Rocking his head on his shoulders, he shrugged. “And I guess some might say that hasn't changed.” His eyes met mine, and we stared at each other for a long second. Neither one of us said anything as voiceless words were exchanged.
I knew what he was getting at, how he was pointing out last night and what had happened. I just wasn't sure which part he was talking about. Was he referring to me and taking me? Was he talking about what he had done to that man?
“All done,” Jo said, slicing the silence into bits and forcing us to break our stare. “I'm not going to cover it, it should be fine. They can come out in a week or so, I'd give it at least five days. But right now, you need to rest. I can't do anything for your ribs, those need to heal on their own.”
“When can I go home?” Glancing between Jo and Porter, my hands nervously tumbled around each other.
I had been holding onto that question, waiting for the right moment to ask. I knew that Porter would probably have a different answer than his mother. But this was the perfect time to try and get the truth, when the answer would show me my future.
Jo stood from her seat, giving me a small grin. “Soon, Sweetheart, let's get you a little better first. But you can call home, and let them know you're alright. Porter will get the phone, and I'll bring you lunch in a bit.”
