Juliette started. “What? No, I was just—”
“Because you don’t smell like a basket of roses yourself,” the woman finished.
It took Juliette a second to realize she was being teased. She rolled her eyes with a grin and hoisted the woman up. Maraveet gripped the lip of the sink as Juliette quickly stripped her. The ruined clothes were tossed into the corner in a dirty, smelly pile and forgotten.
“Ready?”
Not waiting, she got Maraveet into the tub, helped her kneel and started the water. There wasn’t any shampoo or razors, but there was a bar of soap and Juliette used it liberally.
The jets hit the array of colored skin and rained down into the bottom of the tub in a dark gray smear. The majority of her injuries were collected like badges across her torso. Sharp blossoms of blue, black, red, purple, yellow and green sprung up beneath the pale surface of her skin, a beautiful spray of flowers in the winter. The colors ran along the curve of her waist and splotched along her thighs, back and arms. But none of that was anything compared to the scars. Those ran in deep rivulets across her entire body. Whole areas rose in thick, crude ropes. Others were shallow nicks and faint, shiny slits. Then there were the burn marks, old, but unmistakable. It all jumbled together in a mess of ruined flesh. The sight was horrific. Seeing them made Juliette wonder if maybe Cyril had been right. Maybe Maraveet was stronger than Juliette. She knew for a fact that she would not be nearly as put together had it been her on the receiving end of all that.
“As flattered as I am, I’m not into women.”
Juliette blinked and focused on Maraveet, who was watching her through half lidded eyes. There was the hint of a grin on her face and Juliette realized, with some embarrassment, she’d been staring at the woman’s breasts.
Flushing, Juliette quickly looked away. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t—”
Maraveet snorted. “Although, give me a few more days in that cage and even you might look tempting.”
Despite everything, Juliette laughed. “Come on. Let’s get you out.”
It took no time at all to get Maraveet washed, rinsed, and dressed in the green two piece suit that reminded her of prison attire. Juliette helped her down on the toilet once more before stripping and climbing into the shower herself. It was the fastest cleaning she’d ever done in her life, but she felt semi human by the time the door swung open. Juliette gathered hers and Maraveet’s coats, left the rest and followed Alcorn and Calhoun back below with Maraveet using her as a crutch.
“Better,” Cyril said. “Now get some sleep. We have a long day tomorrow.”
Juliette had no idea what that meant, but whatever it was, Man-Child looked far too happy for her piece of mind.
Chapter 25
It was three days after the first video when the second one arrived with the morning mail. The yellow envelope held the sloppy penmanship of someone in a hurry. Blue ink bled across the front, carving Killian’s name and address in mocking slants. There was no return address. No other name. Not even a stamp.
“It was hand delivered,” Killian noted, prolonging the inevitable. “They came right to the house.”
“I questioned the carrier personally,” Frank said. “His deliveries are sorted at the office and are left waiting for him when he gets to work. The package was there when he picked up his haul this morning.”
Next to Frank, on the other side of Killian’s desk, Vi shifted anxiously. The floorboards creaked beneath her fidgeting feet. Her brown eyes stayed fixed on the envelope the way a dying person waited desperately for news of a cure. Her thumb nail was tucked between her teeth, the skin around it torn and bleeding.
She hadn’t left Killian’s office since her arrival. Even at night while everyone else slept, she sat curled up in the chair, occasionally dozing off for a few minutes before jerking awake. Her face had lost its vibrancy. There were dark bags beneath her eyes and deep grooves cut around her mouth. Occasionally, she’d stumble into his washroom to bathe, then she’d be right back to sitting and waiting for something to happen.
Killian hated her for it. Hated that she was a reminder that he wasn’t doing enough, a reminder that Juliette still wasn’t home. But he couldn’t ask her to leave either. Not because she would refuse, but because he’d promised Juliette that he would protect her sister. It was a sick, cruel joke, asking him to do any such thing when he’d been incapable of protecting Juliette, but he was trying. Plus, it was nice to have someone else suffering with him.
“Are we going to watch it?” she asked, her voice barely a raspy whisper.
Frank looked to Killian, asking the same question without asking.
It was the second video, Killian assured himself while staring at the envelope as though it contained the exact date he would die. They wouldn’t hurt her in the second video. But that wasn’t entirely reassuring. They hadn’t followed the script so far. With his mother, the videos were daily. One every day for two weeks. In a week, they had only sent Killian two. He wasn’t sure what to make of that, but it seemed infinitely important. Them not playing by the same rules, while simultaneously giving hints to it, left Killian in the dark, unable to foresee what would come next. It gave them an edge he didn’t like.
“Sir?”
Killian pulled in a breath and exhaled. “Put it in.”
Vi’s breathing grew faster and thicker the longer it took Frank to insert the CD, to bring up the video and step aside. Her nostrils flared with every second that passed and nothing happened. Killian couldn’t be sure, but he could have sworn he could hear her heart drumming in her chest, or was that his? Unsure and not caring, he turned his attention to the flicker of movement on his screen. The black opened to Juliette in that same chair, in front of that same, grimy wall. There was no color on her face, except her eyes. Whether it was the stress of what was happening or the harsh light drowning her, she reminded him of a ghost. She sat so small with her shoulders pulled up around her ears. Her hair was a tangled mess hanging limp along her back. She poked a tongue out and traced it unsteadily across dry, cracked lips.
“Go!” someone instructed.
The camera gave a slight jitter.
“My name is Juliette Romero and I have not been injured. Not yet. But my time is running out. If you ever wish to see me alive again, I will be waiting for you under the golden arches.”
The hint was no help at all.
“She looked okay,” Vi choked out, sounding shaken and relieved all at the same time. “Didn’t she? I mean, she wasn’t hurt or dead, so that’s good, right?” She sucked on her bottom lip, pulling it in tight when her chin wobbled. “They still haven’t asked for money. Aren’t they supposed to…?”
“This isn’t about money.” Killian rose out of his chair and paced to the window and a world too big on the other side.
Bones popped as Vi cracked her knuckles and fretted. Frank stood stoic and silent next to her. But it was the look on the man’s face that perked Killian’s curiosity.
“What is it?” he asked.
Frank lowered his narrowed gaze to the table, but his brows remained knitted. “It could be nothing, sir.”
“I don’t care,” he prompted. “Even the smallest thing might help us.”
Frank inclined his head. “I was simply wondering if perhaps you were mistaken about … taking care of all that were involved.”
Killian frowned. “I was very thorough. Whoever these people are, they are not the same ones from before.”
“Are you sure, sir?”
He was about to tell the man that he was sure beyond a shadow of a doubt, when a thought came to him. It was distant and faded and so small in the sea of black he’d been crashing through since his father’s death that it hadn’t even properly registered.
“No…”
“Sir?”
It had been so long ago.