Before she could ask about Matthew’s family, there was a knock at the door and a nurse stuck her head in. “Pizza’s here.”
“Thanks,” Matthew said as he stood and took the steaming box. “One cheese pizza for the lady.” He bowed and held it out to her, and she giggled.
“You have certainly been doing your homework, Detective Greer. You knew my favorite burger joint, that pancakes are my favorite breakfast, and that I only eat cheese pizza.” She opened the box and took a slice, her eyes closing as the taste consumed her as she took her first bite.
“All part of the service.” Matthew took his own slice and the expression on his face as he watched her was one she couldn’t read.
Suddenly self-conscious, she lowered the pizza slice. “What service is that exactly?”
Matthew drew in a long breath and looked like he was debating what to tell her. There was only one thing she wanted. The truth. It might be hypocritical of her not to have told him everything that she’d done to survive. She hadn't outright said that she had actually shot and killed some of Emmanuel’s other victims, but she needed him to be honest with her.
“I like you, Grace. I know it’s not appropriate given everything you’ve been through, but I can't help it. I really like you, and I want to be your friend, and when you're ready I'd like to be more than friends,” he blurted out as though scared he’d lose his nerve.
Her breath whooshed out in a rush.
Had he really just said he liked her?
That he wanted to date her?
“I really do know my timing sucks,” he added when she didn't say anything. “And I won't be offended if you tell me to get out and not come back. I’ll be disappointed but I promise I’ll understand.”
“Disappointed, huh?”
“Definitely.”
“Well,” she dragged the word out, “considering you’ve brought me meals three times now I wouldn’t want that. Matthew,” she sighed and knew she had to tell him, “when I said I was responsible for some of the victim’s deaths I meant that Emmanuel gave me a gun and told me to shoot them or he’d kill me. I wanted to shoot him so badly, but I was chained up and the key was in the other room, if I took him out, I was dead.”
Instead of looking shocked at her admission he reached over and rested a hand on her knee, his fingers tracing absent circles. There was an understanding in his eyes that she didn't quite get.
“Grace, my dad walked out on me, my mom, and sister when I was four and my sister was eight. After that things were really rough. My mom did her best, worked three jobs, but we barely had enough to eat. When I was nine my mom met a guy, he wasn’t rich, but he was well off and he opened up his home to us. My sister and I each had our own room, we had toys and clothes, and we never went to bed hungry. It was great. For a while. Then he started getting violent with my mom. He’d tell her she wasn’t doing enough to keep up her looks, that she was looking old, letting herself go. He made her work out for hours every day, restricted what she could eat, picked out all her clothes for her. Then I started noticing he paid a lot of attention to my sister. I saw him coming out of her room late at night a few times and I knew. Bessie was only fifteen, he was forty-five, it was wrong. I told my mom but instead of being sickened at the thought of that man touching her daughter like I was, she was jealous. Bessie looked just like mom only younger. Mom tried to insist that Bessie date boys her own age and my stepfather started beating on her, worse than I'd ever seen, I thought she was dead. When he grabbed Bessie and dragged her toward the garage I panicked. I thought he was going to kidnap her and take her away, I knew it was only a matter of time before he started beating her like he did mom, killed her too. So, I got his gun and shot him. Killed him with a lucky shot to the heart.”
Her heart pounded in her chest as she listened to Matthew’s story, it ached for the little boy who had gone through so much. Without her even realizing it, she’d claimed his hand, entwined their fingers, and was clinging to it tightly. Matthew lifted their joined hands and touched a kiss to hers.
“So you see, Grace, I understand what you did and how it felt. You did what you had to do but you didn't like doing it. It changed something in you, left you with guilt you don’t know how to deal with. But you did the right thing, the only thing you could do. I understand you in a way not many people can or will, and I want to be there for you. Not just to help you deal with it, but to see the joy on your face like this morning outside. I want to make you feel that way every day. I want to help you learn about happiness again, watch as you realize your own strength, learn everything there is to know about you. But I can wait, I can be patient, for as long as you need I'm happy to be just your friend.”
Tears blurred her vision but didn't tumble down her cheeks, and she set the pizza down and leaned across the small table to touch a chaste kiss to his lips. “Thank you.” The words didn't seem like enough for the peace he’d given her by truly understanding her, but for now they were all she had to offer.
July 9th
1:16 A.M.
Emmanuel couldn’t decide if he was more angry or in pain.
Both were pretty high off the charts.
He’d twisted his knee jumping out the hospital room window and had a pretty nasty cut on his side from the glass. Then there were all the bumps and bruises. He felt like he’d been tossed into the back of a cement truck and spun around.
The bumps and bruises he couldn’t do anything about. The wrecked knee was currently propped up on a pillow with an ice pack resting on it, but he was worried about the gash along his side. The wound was still bleeding sluggishly, the torn skin was jagged, and he knew there was a good chance infection would set in if he didn't close the gash.
First thing he’d done after fleeing the hospital was come back here and clean it out. He’d flushed it with warm, salty water and then slathered it with antibiotic cream and wrapped a bandage around his middle. At first, he’d hoped that was enough but every time he looked the bandage was stained red with his blood. Didn't matter how much pressure he applied, or how many times he bandaged it, or how many hours passed, the stupid wound wouldn’t stop bleeding.
What he needed was a hospital, the gash obviously needed stitches. He had actually contemplated circling the hospital and going into the ER, but he’d garnered an audience with his stunt and had been worried someone would recognize him. So, he’d thought of driving to another hospital, but the fear that they might have alerted hospitals to be on the lookout for someone matching his description and with injuries consistent with a fall had stopped him from doing it.
He was on his own for this one.
Going to a hospital, even going to a clinic or a doctor, was too risky. There was no way he could allow the cops to get his real name. If they did it would be game over, so he was going to have to find a way to deal with his injury himself.
Maybe he could stitch himself.