The Devil's Mercy

Chapter 7

She should be panicking.

She should be fighting to get out of this bed and out of this house.

These were normal responses to what she had just been through. But hearing Hope's giggles and the happy chatter of people from somewhere up the hall. It didn't soothe her, but it helped her to remain calm and logical.

Replaying the conversation with the man as she watched the sun through the windows above rise slowly in the sky. Her intuition told her he was telling the truth.

Seeing Hope. Taken care of, happy, accepting. That proved it. The sisters were finally safe.

Somewhat.

Her thoughts shifted from the warm and fuzzy to the weirdly intense. The look in the man's eyes. The way he watched her before Hope entered. He hadn't been waiting really. He had been holding himself back.

The tension in his stance. The intensity of his gaze. Like he had been forcing himself to remain by the wall. Forcing the distance between them.

Again, it should've scared her. But it hadn't. His restraint had been...a relief. The emotions in his eyes as the sun lit the room had been all too clear. He hadn't wanted to scare her. Then when he told who he was.

Hope's clear voice in the hallway broke her through her thoughts, "Can I eat in the room with Mercy, please?"

The answer didn't come from the voice Mercy expected. This one was a soft tenor to the other man's raspy baritone, "I think your sister would love that."

Her head snapped to the right and the voices. A man with dark brown hair slicked back from his face, white lab coat over a white shirt falling to the knees of his black trousers. His brown eyes were warm.

Hope was in the lead with a purple tumbler in one hand, her other was in the man's. Behind him an older woman in light blue scrubs had a tray with a blue tumbler and bowl of something. It smelled heavy from where Mercy lay.

Releasing the doctor's hand, Hope took a seat at a small table purple table with two stuffed animals sitting across from each other. The doctor and nurse continued to the bed.

He stopped a few inches from Mercy's right as the nurse continued around the foot of the narrow bed. "Silly question, but how is your pain? One to ten?"

A sculpted chestnut brow rose in question, "Pain?" She had pushed all of that to the back of her mind. Her back burned, but it reminded her that she lived. "There is an uncomfortable burn and tightening of the stitching, a two at the worst."

The only sign of his skepticism was a sharpening of his eyes. A two? That was insane for how deep the cuts were. Three weeks should've taken the pain from unbearable to a six at least. He was about to coax the truth from her until he recalled the scars that littered her body. Choosing a different tact to confirm her stubborn strength.

"A two in comparison to which previous injury?"

The question didn't faze her. Holding the doctor's eyes she answered evenly, "Four broken ribs two years ago." She whispered too low for Hope to hear her.

A flicker of something replaced the skepticism, gone too quickly for her to understand it. A warm smile broke his professional façade, "Then I will take your word for what you can handle, Ms. James."

The nurse set the tray on a medical table on wheels. It slid across Mercy's lap as the head of the bed was adjusted with a touch of a button on the plastic guard rail. The scent of the oatmeal was inviting. Her stomach twisted with hunger.

Lifting her right hand to take the spoon from the cinnamon, brown sugar, and raisin mass in front of her. It was one of her favorite breakfast foods. Her eyes moved to her sister seated at the table watching her intently. Her eyes filled with encouragement.

The spoon shook slightly on its path to her mouth. Summoning every ounce of her strength, the spoon landed in her mouth without dropping a single morsel.

The nurse and doctor exchanged a glance of approval before meeting Mercy's eyes. The doctor gave her a nod and stepped back to allow het to eat. "When you are finished we'll remove your IV needle and the catheter. How soon do you think you will want to start walking again?"

The second scoop paused in midair, her gaze leveled on the man, "Three weeks ago." She answered and took the second bite. The cinnamon and sugar rolled over her tongue pungent and sweet. The raisins in the mouthful released their juicy tartness under her teeth.

A giggle erupted from the small table, "Told you, Jace. She is a lioness."

In the shadows of the hallway, Oskar listened to the conversation. As you wish, sweetheart. I will see it done. And when you are ready, I'll teach you to fight like a proper lioness. Love like one as well.

Silently, he returned to the kitchen to get Hope's breakfast. An omelet and cup of fruit. Melanie's attention shifted from Roy at the dining room table across a narrow hallway to watch him. "How is Mercy?"

"She is awake and eating her oatmeal," Oskar replied pausing with the plate from Hope in one hand. One for himself in the other. "I will let you know when she is dressed."

They would move Mercia upstairs to the adjoining room to his. A calculated risk if she found the adjoining door. Which, undoubtedly, she would. But he didn't want her away from him. Now that she was awake and out of harm's way. He had to set his plan in motion.

He didn't plan for a physical relationship with her. That would be asking too much. But her trust. That he needed. Hope had already set the foundation for that. His own actions and honesty would solidify the bond. Let Mercia decide how far she wanted to go. He would patiently wait.

He allowed his steps to echo in the hallway to the room. Hope was telling Mercia everything that had happened since that fateful night. As he anticipated, Hope was painting him as a hero. Saving her and Melanie, with exaggerated actions that he was sure were simply a six-year-old's fantasy of damsels and dragons.

He rounded into the room as Hope got to the part of Tank taking Melanie and Hope on a six hour shopping trip for their rooms. Oskar had given Roy his card for Hope's things. Melanie was Roy's responsibility now. Truly the pair had hit it off easily. Melanie being a lonely widow of the last seven years.

Mercia had finished her breakfast and was allowing Alice to remove the IV. The catheter would wait until Hope had eaten and would be taken outside for her morning playtime. Melanie insisted on Hope having a strict routine. One that Mercia would easily be able to continue.

The adoption papers Mercia would need to sign for full custody of Hope were already in Oskar's study across the hall. He hadn't wanted to fabricate those. Knowing Mercia would be ecstatic at the prospect of finally being Hope's sole relative and legal guardian.

"A room is ready for you as well, Mercia," he interjected when Hope finally stopped chattering at his approach with the food. "Hope picked out your furnishings and wardrobe personally."

The warm expression on Mercia's face shifted to a mask of mild curiosity at his words. He set Hope's plate down in front of her with a fork then took the small chair across from her at the tiny table. Not comfortable, but what keeps the kid happy was worth the discomfort. His knees touched his chest when he leaned over his own plate to cut into the omelet with red salsa and sour cream on top.

Mercy watched the tall man eating with her sister. Showing her slowly how to cut into the omelet by example. His movements precise but slow. Hope didn't look away from him. Clear hero worship sparkling from her little sister's eyes.

A sharp twist of Mercy's stomach brought a wave of nausea. It was the oldest trick in the book. He was setting Hope up to get hurt and showing no remorse. Warmth and kindness shining in his deep-set eyes.

Mercy watched him carefully. The look seemed genuine. The way he spoke with Hope as they ate while the nurse and doctor pushed the medical supplies away from the bed. A wheelchair was pushed to the foot of the bed on the right side. Her transport to the stairs.

The movement broke her concentration on the scene. Her face and voice giving nothing away of her distress. "I thought I was to recover down here?" If she was brought upstairs then she would be a prisoner.

The chatter at the table stopped. Major's head swung to look at her, that same warmth in his eyes. "Mercia, the bed upstairs is more comfortable. The privacy will offer you a stress-free environment." He informed her gently. "Physical therapy equipment are already in place up there. The air in this room was for your sickroom. The room upstairs is where you will find your strength."

Her eyes searched his for a long moment before she let her gaze drop to her sister. "Very well."