Wanting Winter(57)

I keep holding her, Candice holding one of her hands, and its then that we see cuts and bruises along her arms. I inspect her body a little and I sob when I see how black and blue she is. Her whole body is covered in marks.

Oh, Winter.

Soon the ambulance arrives. We fill them in, telling them she has been missing, that Patrick found her and then we found them. We mention the bruises and marks on her body that we noticed. They take hold of her and I step back and when they lift her shirt, inspecting her.

I feel almost sick.

It's healing but there’s a word cut just above her stomach.

Mine.

“What kind of sick fucker would do this to her?” Joshua asks when the ambulance leaves with her, Candice wanting to be the one to go with her. “I hardly recognized her. What she must have dealt with.”

“That’s the whole point, though. Whoever did this didn’t want her to be found. They wanted to change her appearance. With the beating up part, the fucker probably enjoyed it. Hearing her scream, cry and beg.” I sniff trying not to cry.

“She looked like she hardly ate. She is all skin and bones.” Drake adds.

“It’s to keep her weak. Whoever did this, really did think everything through. They must have been trying to move her, knowing the police are looking for her.” I shake my head, and we all head to my car.

“Why bring her back to the apartment?” Joshua asks once we are on the road.

“He could have had her close by? Or was going to bring her back. I don’t know. Let's just thank our luck that we found her when we did.” I look in the rear-view mirror to see Patrick fidgeting with his fingers. I bet he is happy he found her. “Patrick, you did good in finding her; she is going to wake up and thank you,” I tell him.

“Yeah,” is all he says. “Maybe I shouldn’t go. I don’t want to overwhelm her,” he adds after a few minutes.

“Don’t be silly, you are not going anywhere,” Joshua tells him. “Hopefully we will find out what happened to her, and why she passed out. But I have an idea. She’ll be dehydrated. Her lips were almost blue and dry.”

“I just want her to wake up,” Drake says looking out the window.

“Yeah, me too.”





Twenty





Winter





I open my eyes slowly, them feeling a little heavy. The bright light isn’t helping, but it’s the bright light I’m confused about.

Why isn’t it dark?

Where am I?

Then it all comes back. I was outside; we were going somewhere else. Did he drug me again?

I open my eyes more when I feel my hand being held, and with an impulsive reaction, I pull it away, sitting up. Shit, I’m going to get punished, I just pulled away from his touch. But when I look in front of me, tears fall down my cheeks when I see my mom.

“Winter,” she whispers, her hands raised up, not wanting to scare me. “Winter you’re safe. You’re in the hospital.”

I look around the room. I see my dad and a doctor watching me.

“Sweetie, no one is going to hurt you.” I see tears fall down his cheeks.

I look at my arms seeing the cuts and bruises.

“Oh, honey who did this to you?”

I don’t say anything. I just look at them.

I’m dreaming. This is my sick subconscious trying to make me feel better, but it's all fake. I am going to wake up, completely naked, waiting for him to start his games.

“Winter, I am Doctor Simpson. Your body shut down: it was dehydrated. You haven’t been getting enough vitamin D, which is why your legs couldn’t hold you up for long as your bones had softened. The dehydration made you feel faint and weak. If this had continued, you would have been in a worse shape.”

“She could have died?” My mom asks.

“That would have been the worst-case scenario, yes, but we are giving her plenty of fluids now and giving her something for the vitamin D. It’s the bruises and cuts I am also concerned with. We did some tests, and nothing is broken, but she has been beaten up quite badly.” He looks to my parents then back to me. “Winter, can you tell us what happened to you?” he asks me, but I just look at him.

“Why isn’t she speaking?” my dad asks him, concerned.

“Winter, can you talk?”

I don’t, I just keep looking at him.

“Baby, please say something,” Mom cries.

I look to her, tears in my eyes but I don’t say a word.

“It seems whatever happened to her has affected her mentally as well as emotionally and physically.”

“What do you think happened to her?” Dad asks him.

“Just on guesswork, it looks like she was beaten daily, she has cuts, slashes, which look like they’re from a belt. I’m afraid she was also raped, we have taken some blood work, and we are just waiting on the results.”

“My baby.” My mom pulls me into her chest, sobbing.

“I did some psychology back at college, I may be wrong but whoever did this is the reason why she won’t speak. I see no reason why she can’t, which means she won’t. It could be the only strength and power she had: the control of her own speech. In her mind if she talks, everything will probably crumble around her so you will have to be patient with her. Let her heal.”