Falcon (Kindred, #5)

THREE-2

The next spell of her life was nothing but mottled images, pieces of words and statements intermingled with images of everything and nothing. Devon’s awareness faded in and out. Sometimes she was lucid and remembered exactly what had happened to her. Other times, she struggled to remember her name. Sometimes Bess came with food that she refused, and whenever she was with-it enough, she refused all of Doctor Wren’s treatment.

More time went by and the heaviness faded. One day, morning, noon, or night later, Devon lay in bed wrapped in the thick bedspread and began to speculate about what the lack of sound meant.

All alone in this room, for the first time she felt that her fingers and toes were completely under her control. Seeking water, she found a bottle on the bedside. When she sat up, her body screamed, each joint ached, her muscles were stiff. But she had no idea how long she’d been confined in this room, because she’d been fading in and out of consciousness while she struggled to regain her health.

She was sipping the water when the door opened and Bess came in. The beaming grin on the woman’s face was almost enough to make Devon smile. Except her throat still scratched and still ached, she wasn’t quite herself yet.

“Good morning,” Bess said, full of joy as she came over to smooth the bedspread that was so large it still covered the bed despite being wrapped around Devon. “Did you sleep well?”

“I think so,” Devon said, pushing her hair away before she leaned to the side to put the bottle back on the nightstand. Dragging her fingers through her greasy hair, she craved the comfort and refreshment of a shower but feared how she might handle life outside this bed. “What happened to me? I can’t remember exactly what...” Trying to put the pieces together was too difficult.

“You had a fever,” Bess said. “It’s no surprise. We worried that you might have a parasite or an infection. Wren has chased it away now.”

“A parasite? From where?”

“You didn’t have one, Wren ran tests just to be sure. We have all types of state-of-the-art medical equipment here. You might not remember, but we have been looking after you.”

“I told him not to treat me,” Devon said, only partially aware of the conversation she’d had with the doctor, though she did remember feeling unwell during it, feeling dizzy and struggling to stay upright. “How do I know you didn’t infect me with something?”

“We’ve given you good food and clean water,” Bess said. “I doubt those you were staying with before were so kind.”

That was the truth, and although she still wasn’t at full strength, Devon could tell she was healthier. “Thank you,” she said, because it felt like the right thing to say. “For looking after me. You didn’t have to do that.”

“No,” Bess said, folding her arms. “We didn’t have to do that. We don’t have to do any of this. I told you that you were safe here. We told you that you could trust us. I’ll bring you up some breakfast. I have already put fresh towels and toiletries into the bathroom. So whenever you’re ready, you can feel free to eat something and to bathe, although we wouldn’t advise you to do too much too quickly.

“Did he come here?” Devon asked. “The man who purchased me?”

“No,” Bess said. “You were told that you never have to worry about that.”

Yet, part of her wanted to see this man. Maybe it was the mystery that allured her. Maybe she hoped that by looking into his face that everything would fall into place, that she would suddenly understand why these people would buy her like a pet, keep her locked up and do nothing but feed and care for her.

They could’ve abused her while she was ill, but no intimate part of her body felt as though it had been violated.

“I’ll get your breakfast,” Bess said. “Wren will come to see you too. We will have to keep an eye on you.”

“There aren’t cameras in here, are there?” Devon asked, wondering how they always knew when she awoke. If she was going to shower, she didn’t want them to watch her struggle with something as simple as washing her body.

“For a man so particular about his privacy, the owner of the house wouldn’t offer his guests anything less than his own standards.”

More cryptic comments that increased her curiosity. “No one has explained why I’m locked up,” she said, pushing away the blankets that were constricting her. “Are you afraid I’ll escape? I’ve been too ill to leave this bed.”

Bess paused before she replied, her smile faltered for just a second, but she quickly pasted it back on. “Information unlocks all secrets,” Bess said. “There are things in this house which can reveal more about who we are.”

“And you need anonymity to do what you do,” she said. Devon didn’t like being locked up, but she could understand their need to protect themselves, at least until they knew who they had in their home.

She could be a killer or a thief, and if they unlocked their home to her, she could hurt them. Except given her current state, that seemed like a ridiculous concern for them to have.

“Everything will be explained to you,” Bess said. “For now, we just want you to be well. You sit there and get your bearings.” She retreated to the door. “I’ll come back with your breakfast, and then we’ll leave you alone for a while.”

Devon could do with the chance to center herself. Bess did as she said and came back with some food, some toast, some coffee, some milk, some juice. They seemed determined to replenish her liquids and didn’t provide anything that would be too taxing on her stomach.

She hadn’t eaten properly in a long time. Devon did exactly as Bess said and took her time to eat her breakfast, which filled her up after just a few bites, and she was almost ready to sleep again. Except, after delivering the breakfast tray, Bess had turned on the shower in preparation for her. The bellowing steam that poured out of the bathroom created such an enticing mist that she couldn’t resist.

Luxuriating in the hot jets of water that came at her from every angle, Devon washed and conditioned her hair, twice. She exfoliated using all the products and accessories that Bess had laid out and took her time while shaving so as to smooth every spot.

The experience of grooming took her a long time, and she was grateful for the built-in, tiled seat in the corner that allowed her to sit and catch her breath when she tired. After she was out, she combed her hair and donned the new nightgown that Bess had put onto the vanity for her.

Having taken her time in the bathroom, she’d filled a vast portion of her day. It wasn’t like she had anywhere else to be or anything better to do. Going through the motions of doing something so ordinary was a comfort.

It was probably the normalcy of grooming that made her take advantage of every tool available to her. Usually, she’d have done these things every day. Having the free rein to do them again, and to take as long as she wanted in the bathroom, helped her to regain some of her identity.

It was only when she exited the bathroom that she paused, because there was Wren, sitting on the bed.

He leaped up and smiled. “Hello,” he declared. “How are you feeling today?”

Suspicious of him and how long he might have been there waiting for her, she felt uneasy standing red-skinned and damp-haired in front of a man who had treated her, which meant he could have seen every part of her body and examined it in detail.

“Much better,” she said because if he was the one responsible for ridding her of her illness, she should be grateful instead of hostile. “Thank you.”

Wren went around the bed to the other side and picked up his first-aid box to hold it aloft. “Can I check you out?”

Fighting him, after all he’d already seen, was a battle she didn’t have the energy for. Giving in, she tossed her damp towel and previous nightgown to the corner of the room.

Devon went over to the bed to sit. “What do you want to do?” she asked.

“Just a few routine checks,” he said and put the case on the end of the bed to open it. On the nightstand was a clipboard, and as he went through a basic check-up routine, he noted his findings.

“How are your other wounds?” he asked, examining the bruising on her wrists.

“The one on my hip itches a bit, but it’s ok.”

“Can I see it?” he asked, and he didn’t seem as condescending this time.

Leaning back, she gathered up the gown. Keeping her intimacy covered, she took the fabric up over the wound to allow him to take a closer look.

He touched the edge and she flinched. Examining it closely, he then leaned back to retrieve something from his box. “Yes, there was a bit of an infection in it,” he said. “It’s cleared up for the most part and you’ve cleaned it already today, which is good. I’ll apply some antiseptic and dress it, and then we’ll give you some antibiotics, ok?”

She nodded at his smile and let him do his work because he carried an air of professionalism now. Acting detached from her, yet caring, he was thorough but not overbearing. If she’d come across him in a normal doctor’s office or hospital, she’d probably be quite impressed.

As it stood, she didn’t know exactly what to think about a man who was good at his caregiving job but chose to spend his free time at human slave auctions. “How do you hold down a job if you’re always here?” she asked.

Her shower had made her feel more human, and bonding with her captors could be important. If she could cultivate a connection with them, they may be more inclined to let her go or at least may think twice before hurting her.

“I’m not always here,” he said. “This isn’t my house. This house belongs to my colleague.”

“Your cousin?” His attention leaped from her wound. “I heard you and Bess talking, just bits and pieces,” she said. “Your secret is safe.”

Although it took him another moment, he did go back to his work. Examining the moldings and white walls, she tried to block out what he was doing. It wasn’t like there was anyone around here she could tell. Even if she wanted to scream his secrets out loud, no one would be able to hear her, no one except those who already knew them.

When it became obvious that he wasn’t going to say anything in response, she continued. “So where do you live?” she asked.

It might seem as though this was a typical doctor-patient conversation and that couldn’t be further from the truth. But the more she could find out, the better her chances of finding some kind of weakness.

“You ask a lot of questions,” he said.

“Valid questions I think,” she said, sensing his barriers going up. “I don’t mean you and your friends any harm. Isn’t that what you keep saying to me? Isn’t that what’s meant to make me feel better? So shouldn’t it make you feel better too? What could I possibly do to hurt you even if I wanted to? You have all the power.”

He finished taping the dressing onto her hip and sat up on the bed beside her, keeping a respectful distance. “I’ll give you some salve for the wounds on your wrist. Can I see the injury on your back?”

His expectation created anxiety, and this moment was a crossroads in their relationship. She had to give trust in order to gain it, so she flipped onto her front and folded her arms under her head. Closing her eyes, Devon tried not to think about her a*s being out there on show for him after she pulled up her gown.

“How long have you been practicing medicine?” she asked, trying to hold onto the normality.

“All my adult life,” he said, tracing his fingers down her vertebrae. “Have you had any pain in your joints or difficulty with movement today?”

“I’ve been a bit stiff,” she said. “My shoulders ache, but I figured that’s what comes from being restrained in a confined space for so long.”

“A massage might help,” he said, checking the bones and muscles in her shoulders, arms, and neck. “I don’t see redness or swelling. I’ve been keeping an eye on it. We’ll check your range of movement once I’ve finished with the wound on your back.” He went to work on it. “You’re lucky, they don’t appear to have beaten you as often as others. Not to diminish what you went through, it was horrific, but we have seen worse.”

“I learned to keep my mouth shut,” she said. “And one of the guards said something on my last day there about not being allowed to mark my body. They sold me as unblemished, I guess that was important.”

Although he’d managed to s***h her hip and injure her back. Maybe that was standard breakage factored into the trade. Even if her body had been unmarked, her soul was certainly tarnished.

“Were you sexually assaulted?” he asked, in that doctor voice of his.

Tensing, she was pleased when his hands withdrew but because she couldn’t see him, she didn’t know exactly what he was doing. “Not me, but others were. That’s the reason I kept quiet. I heard what was done to them, what the men threatened. Some of the girls didn’t come back after annoying the guards, and the men would boast about what they put those poor women through. To hear their stories was t*****e enough.”

Devon noted that his hands didn’t return to work on her, so she assumed he was finished. Turning her cheek onto her forearm, she opened her eyes to try to see him. “Wren?”

“You speak Spanish?” he asked in a rush of breath.

“Yes.”

A kind of hope and happiness merged in his voice, and it perplexed her. His next words flowed fast out of him. “Did they know that?”

Rolling over onto her back, she pulled down her gown and sat up. “No, they didn’t engage me in much direct conversation. Why?”

His wide eyes and frozen forehead made her frown. He licked his lips and swallowed, trying hard to pace his words as though this wasn’t a major deal. But she could tell from the way he’d reacted already that it was.

“Did you hear them talking to each other?”

Well obviously, she thought to herself, because the only words the women spoke in Spanish, English or any other language were the same pleadings for life as they begged for mercy in their desperation for liberation. Devon didn’t have to speak every one of their languages to know that’s what the women wanted.

“Yes,” she said. “The men hung out in the hallways during and after their rounds. They talked to each other when they fed us. It was as if we weren’t there. I wanted to stay alive, so I didn’t interrupt them. I kept my mouth shut.”

At the time, it had been a great idea to stay quiet, under the radar, and out of the way. But since she’d been here, Devon had been dealing with her own type of survivor’s guilt.

While she’d been in the shower, trying to relax her weary self, she’d experienced gratitude for the fresh, clean water coating her body, washing away her woes. The fight mode she’d been in since waking here was fading. More at ease now that she could feel the sickness slipping from her, she was rested and clean, and that made a huge amount of difference to her mood. It was then she began to put herself together again.

The negative side of that was embracing the reality that some of the other girls who were sold on the same night as her were probably dead or being abused and tortured. Devon didn’t know what was going on here. She was still suspicious, so she would keep her guard up. But after living in a metal box for months, this place was like a palace.

Whatever these people wanted from her, Devon would make no promises to them. But she’d learned not to take even one minute of peace for granted. She wasn’t shackled, there was food and clean water, giving her little to complain about, even if she was still under lock and key.

Wren began to toss his things into the first-aid box, without much thought for where they landed. He sealed it up and surged to his feet. “I’ll come back for the blood in a minute,” he said, whipping off his latex gloves and balling them into his pocket as he dashed for the door.

“Wait, what did I say?” she asked because his entire demeanor was different, his mood had changed in an instant and she wasn’t sure of the significance of what she’d said.

“I’ll be back, Devon, just... just wait here.”

Wren darted out and the door slammed. Rolling her eyes left and right, she took a minute to herself then exhaled. “Hmm,” she said. “Ok.”

There was nowhere she could go, so she’d just have to hope that Wren came back to explain himself soon.