Absolution(116)

Ally drove slowly. The muscles in her shoulders burned and the thought of Jimmy’s huge hands on her made her skin crawl. She glanced briefly over at Jack, but his gaze was firmly fixed on the road ahead.

What the hell is going on here?

It felt like something out of a movie – heavies turn up, demanding cash or else. Ten thousand dollars was a lot of money – how had he racked up that much of a debt? What had he done?

She stole another glance at him, her gaze lingering briefly on the blood clotting on the side of his head. Where would he find that kind of money in forty-eight hours? She replayed what she had seen and heard, trying in vain to fit the puzzle pieces together as they approached her street.

They’re watching my house.

She peered at every parked car and up every side street, slowing down to a near-crawl. Nothing looked out of place. They could be anywhere. Goosebumps pricked her skin.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Jack run a hand over his mouth, scrutinizing his hand briefly.

She pulled into her driveway slowly, turning off the ignition. Leaning back against the head rest, she closed her eyes. She felt branded – like Jimmy’s fingers had burned her skin, seeping into the muscles. Wincing, she tried to wipe the image from her mind.

“I still think you should see a doctor,” she said, turning to Jack.

He sighed, deep and long, as if the weight of the world were resting on his shoulders. “I’m fine.”

She heeded the silent caution and waited. He didn’t move for several moments and she shivered as the night air began to leach into the car.

“I’m sorry,” he said finally, turning to her. “I never wanted you to get involved in any of this.”

Angry red marks shone just above his collar and his eyes seemed hollow, somehow. He looked like a man with a death sentence hanging over his head and the analogy made her uncomfortable.

“I’ll figure out a way to fix this,” he promised huskily. “Please – just trust me.”

She desperately needed answers but she didn’t dare ask him anything because he literally looked like he was hanging onto sanity by his fingertips.

“Let’s go inside,” she said.

The air of fatality that surrounded them was palpable. Jack eased out of the car as she unpacked her wheelchair, reassembling it slowly, her shoulders aching.

Transferring into the chair, they made their way up to the house. Glancing behind her as she unlocked the door, she got her first decent look at his battered face in the porch light and froze, her hand on the key in the lock.

“That looks really nasty. I mean it, you have to let me clean that up,” she insisted. “No arguments.”

He didn’t seem to have any. She pushed the door open, pulling herself over the threshold. Jack made his way into the living room, a low moan escaping as he sat down on the couch.

“Don’t move,” she ordered, even though he didn’t look capable of it.

In the bathroom, she dug the first aid kit out of the cupboard along with a clean, damp washcloth, and a towel. Piling everything onto her lap, she made her way through to the bedroom and picked up a small bottle of water and the painkillers from her bedside table, adding them to the mounting pile as she headed for the living room. Having a purpose helped to keep the fear at bay, and she hung on to the mental list in her head, repeating it over and over.

First aid kit. Washcloth. Towel. Painkillers. Water.

Jack sat on the couch where she’d left him, staring at the floor. He looked so much the worse for wear, and it wasn’t just the blood. As much as she wanted to know what was going on, he looked too fragile to survive a proper conversation. She positioned herself in front of him and began to unload the contents of her lap onto the coffee table.

“Look at me,” she instructed gently, her attention consumed by the angry lump on his forehead.

Doing as he was told, his eyes finally met hers and it felt like entire conversations took place without either of them uttering a word aloud. The pain she saw went deeper than physical pain, cutting to the very core of him. It was raw, as if it had been dragged to the surface kicking and screaming, and it stared back at her, shocked to be so close to the light once more.

She tried to concentrate on his wounds and not the look of pure desolation before her, as she began dabbing gently at them.

His face contorted in pain as she wiped away the blood from his face, trying not to aggravate the rapidly rising bruises. She gently applied antiseptic cream, working slowly and methodically.