“Don’t worry about him. He’s not around too much, and when he is, Cole watches him carefully.”Cole?“There isn’t a thing that goes on that Cole doesn’t know about. That’s what makes him so good at what he does.”
And what is that, exactly?I want to ask questions, but I can’t find my voice…or the strength to stay awake, for that matter. I am spent. I close my eyes and listen to the comforting sound of Abigail’s rocking chair.
I remain in my bed the next four days, feeling a little better every day. I am helped considerably, I’m sure, by the fluids they are giving me. I haven’t had any more unexpected visitors, and Abigail has become a constant, comforting presence as she nurses me back to health. She is kind to me, but so was Maria. I still keep my guard up.Everyone has their own agenda.She tries to get me to talk, but I can’t; silence is easier for now. She comes and goes throughout the day, opening windows and doors, letting the warm sun find its way to me. The air itself is chilly, but I don’t care. It is lovely. Sometimes a bird lands outside the window, its song reminding me how much I miss the outdoors.
I am pleased on the eighth day—wow, I am finally able to keep track of days again—to awaken IV free. I test out my body, limb by limb. My back still hurts like hell, but at least the throbbing headache is gone. I feel like I need to stand and move around, so I slowly slide my legs off the bed. They shake when they begin to bear weight, but they don’t let me down. The door opens, and Abigail enters with a beaming smile.
“Well, look at you,” she says, both hands to her face. “You’re standing!” I feel a small smile tug at my lips but quickly chase it away. I can’t let myself be too comfortable. I can trust no one. She comes to my side and wraps my arm carefully around her shoulders. I cry out in pain, and she quickly drops her arm back down. “Your back?”
I don’t look at her. I want to cry on her shoulder and let her in, but I can’t. I know better. Abigail guides me into the bathroom. I surprise myself with how steady I am by the time we get there. She turns me around and gently pulls my button-up nightgown off my shoulders. I let it fall to just above my bottom while I cover my front with my arms still in the sleeves. She pulls my hair up into a clip. I can see her eye me, but she doesn’t say anything.
“Abby, I wanted—” The voice stops suddenly. In the mirror, I see the wide-eyed stare of my rescuer taking in my back. Abigail quickly shields me with a towel.
“Please, Logan, give us a moment.” His reflected eyes meet mine, showing sadness, then…anger? He steps back and retreats toward the bedroom door.
“Yes, of course, forgive me,” he mutters on his way out. So now I know my carrier’s name is Logan.
Abigail runs warm water and helps me into the deep tub. I cry out as the water touches my wounds, and she continues to pour Epsom salts around me.
“Soak, darling. The pain will ease in time.” She gently washes my hair, helps scrub my body clean, and empties the tub, refilling it with fresh, warm water. It crosses my mind that in my earlier life I would be very uncomfortable with a stranger washing me. After my experiences in my former prison, I hardly think of it now.
I hold a piece of my hair in front of me, noting how ratty it looks. My nails are dirty, and my feet are in rough shape. All things I took for granted in the past. I wasn’t one of those girls who went to the spa monthly, but I did look after myself. But now…I close my eyes and let a few tears slip. I look and feel nothing like my old self. I am someone else now, and I have no idea who that is. I feel completely lost.
Abigail leaves me to my tears, later returning to dry my hair and tuck me back into bed. I notice she has changed the sheets. It feels wonderful to be clean.
She places a bowl of fresh grapes and strawberries next to the bed.
“Only if you feel up to it, dear,” she cautions then leaves me to rest.
The next day, Abigail escorts a new visitor in to see me. She is a tall woman wearing thick, green, trendy glasses. She smiles down at me.
“Hello, Savannah. I’m Mel. Someone told me you could use a little pick-me-up.” She beams, patting a medium-sized polka-dotted suitcase she pulled behind her. I turn quickly to Abigail, who also grins happily. She moves forward to help me out of bed and slips a cozy bathrobe over my shoulders.
I am settled in a leather chair in the middle of my huge suite, feet propped up on a stool, looking out at the mountains. I let out a comfortable sigh.Wow, is this really happening?It still feels like a happy dream.
“Every woman deserves to be pampered now and then,” Abigail explains. “It helps us on the inside even more than it shows on the outside, so just relax and let Mel work her magic.” I’m nervous to be alone with someone new, but feel better when Abigail pulls up a chair to oversee the proceedings.
Mel treats me like a delicate flower that will crumble if she is too rough. Little does she know I have been treated like someone’sperrafor God knows how long. Her actions calm my nerves, and I soon relax and enjoy the flow of the comb through my freshly washed hair. She snips here and layers there, not asking how I normally wear it. After my hair is blow-dried and styled, she moves to my nails, buffing and polishing. She paints them a deep purple then does the same to my toes. When Mel finishes, Abigail beams at me with delight. She thanks Mel and shows her out.
I sit in the chair and look at my hands and feet. All the dirt and stains are gone, and they look pretty.Wow, they look normal again.
“I hope that was all right, Savannah,” Abigail says, coming back in the bathroom. “I’m not sure if you’re tired or not, but I need to go start lunch. I’ll leave you be. If you need anything, just call for me.” She points to the intercom. With that, she leaves.
I look in the mirror, and my heart leaps. There I am, the old Savannah, hair cut long to the middle of her back, loose curls halfway up, natural highlights peeking through. I reach up, running my fingers through what feels like silk. If only I felt like the old Savannah on the inside.No, don’t sweat it. This is a start.I look down, remembering the last time someone washed me and did my hair. I shake my head and force that memory back down.Okay, I need to get out of this room.
I find myself heading into the closet, hoping something might fit. To my surprise, everything is my size, even the shoes. I slip on a pink cashmere sweater, which is perfect for my back, and a pair of tan jeggings with flats. I take in how small my waist has become. Christ, how long was I gone? One last look in the mirror, and I think I might be able to face people now that I’m feeling a little more human.
I open the door and step out into a long hallway. My hands grow cold when I realize I have no clue where I am going. I take a deep breath and head to my left. Luckily, after a few minutes, I find a large staircase that spirals around to an entryway. My stomach churns as I hear a low voice. I want to turn around and go back upstairs, but I push on.Breathe, Savi.
“Must have been about ten to fifteen slashes across her poor back, and she’s such a tiny thing,” I hear Abigail say. “I think you’re wrong about this one, Logan. She’s as innocent as they come.”
Wrong?
Both heads turn when I step around the corner into the kitchen. My carrier—I mean, Logan—catches my eye. His jaw drops as he looks at me. I realize he really is a good-looking man with his gelled black hair, dark eyes, and broad shoulders. I instinctively lower my gaze, having learned to avoid eye contact from my prior captors. Sensing my reaction is making them uncomfortable, I force myself to look up.
“Savannah,” Abigail says warmly, “you look beautiful. I’m glad you found the clothes.”
Logan pulls out a chair for me. “Hello again, Savannah. You look lovely. I see Mel got her hands on you. Please have a seat.”