It wouldn’t be the first time he’d stitched someone, just the first time he’d done it to himself. Some of his games had gotten a little out of hand, and on more than one occasion he had tended to Grace’s wounds. It didn't matter what test he gave her, what he put her through, she always managed to come out on top.
Emmanuel was starting to believe she was less human and more angel.
Salvation.
She was his salvation.
It was why he was so desperate to get her back, although he was pretty sure that was going to be next to impossible now. He’d been so careful at the hospital, making sure nobody—including the CCTV cameras—got a good look at him. He’d waited patiently until she was alone before making his move. He had hoped to be able to take her out of the hospital through the front door but been prepared to have to jump out the window. It was a high risk move but he was desperate, grabbing her at the hospital was easier than trying to figure out where she would be living and targeting her there.
But now they knew he wanted her back, they would be extra cautious. It was unlikely she’d ever be alone until they apprehended him and without her steady, calming presence, he could already feel himself falling apart.
Didn't they understand that she was his only hope at redemption?
It was meant to be. If it wasn’t, she would have failed before now.
How could she keep winning time after time, against different women, with different tests? The only explanation was that the Universe was giving him a second chance. A chance to save this time where he had failed so dismally in the past.
When he had started his lessons, he had never expected that one woman would keep winning. He thought they would all fail, that it was all women did, they failed and failed and failed.
But not Grace.
His Grace was a survivor.
She was the key.
He needed her.
“I need her,” he screamed at the top of his lungs. No one would hear him, this place was soundproofed just like Mable White’s house had been. He’d done it himself. When he’d gone into the building trade, he had never expected to need those skills for anything other than his job, and yet here he was. Those very skills had come in so handy, and now he not only had a successful business, but he was able to custom renovate houses to be exactly what he needed.
But they wouldn’t find him here.
How could they?
It was just a fluke that they had found the last place, nothing that could happen twice, especially not when he had the Universe on his side.
Carefully levering himself out of bed, he staggered to the bathroom and removed the bandages. He’d stitch himself up and then he was going to have to do something to alleviate the ball of pressure sitting on his chest.
All that fear and guilt he had managed to stamp down and lock in a box while he had Grace in his possession was forcing its way back out. If he didn't deal with it, then it was going to consume him all over again.
Pulling out his first aid kit, fully equipped with several suture kits, he set about laying out what he would need. This wasn’t going to be fun but knowing he could go and blow off a little steam afterward was definite motivation.
Opening up the kit, he doused his wound with saline before preparing the needle. It was an awkward angle, the wound running from just below his ribs on his right side, down to just above his hip, but it wasn’t like there was any other option, so he gritted his teeth and began.
The first stab of the needle hurt a whole lot more than he thought it would and he cursed himself for not stocking local anesthetic. It had never been an issue before because he’d never had to do it on himself, and he’d looked at Grace handling pain as just another lesson.
But he couldn’t hold back a howl as he pulled the threat tight and moved on to the second stich. How had Grace managed to not make a sound when he was stitching her up? She might have winced, but she’d never so much as grunted in pain the few times he’d had to put in sutures.
More proof that the woman was more angel than human.
The wound was long, at least six inches, and it seemed to hurt worse with each stitch he put in. By the time he got to the last one he was sweating, breathing heavily, his hands shaking so much he could hardly get the stitch in.
That was hell.
While he certainly didn't plan on getting banged up again, he was adding a stock of local anesthetic to his supplies. If he ever had to put sutures in a wound of Grace’s again, there was no way he could do it without getting queasy if he knew first-hand the pain he was inflicting on her.
Bandaging himself to protect the stitches, he sighed in relief that it was done and sagged down onto the toilet for a moment to catch his breath. He couldn’t go far in his current condition, but he didn't need to. There was a woman across the street who looked similar to Grace. For tonight she could take his angel’s place and help him banish the bad thoughts and feelings that wanted to destroy him.
Smiling now, Emmanuel shoved to his feet, cleaned up, then dressed in a loose-fitting t-shirt and jeans, careful to keep them slung low on his hips so they didn't add pressure to his wound. Then he swallowed a couple of painkillers and a glass of water and headed downstairs. He felt a little lightheaded, no doubt due to the blood he had lost, but he didn't care, he needed to kill.