The Song of David(43)

“MILLIE!” THE HOUSE was pitch black. No light on the porch, no glow from the windows. I couldn’t get the damn gate to unlatch though I’d unlatched it without trouble before. I hurdled it and was up the walk in three flying steps, clearing the stairs in another one, bolting through the unlocked door, my heart playing a base drum, complete with bashing cymbals in my head.

It was so dark inside, and the darkness convinced me that when I found the light I would see something I didn’t want to see.

“Millie!”

I felt for the light, and my hand brushed against Millie’s stick, toppling it. If Millie’s stick was here, propped in its regular place, she was here too. I found the switch and light flooded the foyer, illuminating the drops of blood that tiptoed across the entryway and headed up the stairs, missing a step only to collect in a heavier pattern on another.

I was up the stairs and banging down the hall without knowing where I was going. I’d never been in this part of the house. I pushed doors open, flipping on lights until I found a room that had to be Millie’s. The walls were bare, the wooden floor neat—no strewn belongings or tossed clothing that Millie could trip over. There were drops of blood leading to a closed door across from her neatly made bed.

“Millie?” I said, but it came out a whisper. I couldn’t shout anymore. I was too afraid. I crossed the room and pushed open the door, bracing myself for the worst, only to find the bathroom dark, just like the rest of the house. Light from the bedroom spilled into the small space, and I found myself staring at Millie, perched on the edge of the tub in a tank top and shorts, her hair piled on her head like she was preparing to bathe and didn’t want to get it wet. Blood was smeared all over the sink and across the splash tiles in a macabre finger painting. I slid my hand along the wall beside the door and the light I switched on turned the burgundy blood into a cheery red.

Millie had ear buds stuck in her ears and her head bobbed like she was just chilling out instead of bleeding out. She had wrapped one set of fingers in a ratty washcloth and was gripping them tightly. Her eyes were opened, blankly staring, and she was completely unaware that I was there.

I yanked the earbuds from her ears and she yelped a little, clearly startled.

“Amelie,” I growled.

“David?” she cried, but her voice carried more surprise than pain.

“What the hell are you doing?”

“What the hell are YOU doing?” she shot back, immediately matching my angry tone.

“The house is dark, there’s a trail of blood up the stairs, this bathroom looks like you attempted suicide, and you’re sitting here zoning out to your iPod—”

“I sliced my finger open. I don’t think it’s that bad. It’s throbbing a little, but that’s all. It was bleeding a lot, so I’m just trying to get it to stop enough to put a band aid on it.”

“Let me see.” I knelt in front of her and eased the washcloth away from her fingers. The blood immediately welled and spilled over, but not before I got a decent look at the injury on the fleshy pad of her pointer finger.

“It’s pretty deep, but you could probably get away with a band aid if you aren’t afraid of a little scar.” I wrapped her finger back up tightly and instructed her to keep it raised. “Where are the bandages?

“I thought there were some in my cabinet above the sink. I couldn’t find any. But I didn’t look very long. I was bleeding and wanted to get it stopped before I made a huge mess. Henry hates blood and I didn’t want to wake him.”

“Too late.”

“What?”

“You scared him to death, Millie. Henry came into the bar in his pajamas, babbling about blood and the number of stitches on a baseball. He was completely freaked out. I thought something terrible had happened to you. I didn’t know what I’d find.” I suddenly felt the room swim around me and I sank down onto the toilet seat before I passed out and created a whole different emergency.

“Henry did?” she asked, dumbfounded. “I thought he was in bed! I didn’t hear him. I was . . .”

“Listening to music?” I barked.

“Yes! It’s not a crime, Tag. I’m in my own home! I don’t have to explain myself to you! And my house is always dark when Henry’s asleep! I’m blind, remember? I don’t need the lights on!” Her lower lip trembled, and I groaned.

“Damn it, Amelie. Don’t cry, sweetheart. I was scared. Okay?” Scared was putting it mildly. I stood and opened the mirrored medicine cabinet above the sink. I could see where Amelie had searched from the bloody fingerprints and the blood streaked items crowded on the little shelves. There were three loose band aids on the top shelf, and I pulled them down gratefully, shutting the cabinet with a mental promise to scrub it down when I was done doctoring Millie.