Page 166 of The Doll and The Domination

“That was kind of them,” I say.

“It was,” Dessin agrees.

Niles dips a white cloth in the bucket of water and begins dabbing Ruth’s forehead with it. It breaks my heart the way he frowns at her appearance, blotting her cheeks with the utmost tenderness.

“We need to wake her so she can get some fluids in her system.” Dessin pushes a tray near Warrose.

“Ruthie,” Niles coos, kissing her knuckles. “Open your eyes. Just for a little while.”

Warrose taps her shoulder softly, whispering something in her ear.

It takes her several minutes to stir, groan, whimper, then finally open her eyes. They’re bloodshot, unfocused. She finally makes eye contact with each person surrounding her, wincing in pain, and finally gazing down at her bloody bandages.

“No,” she whines.

“We just need you to eat something. Then you can go back to sleep,” Marilynn says, and it’s the first time I’ve noticed how hard she’s trying to keep her facial expression slack and unmoving. A steel guard that she’s taken time to build and strengthen.

Ruth sniffles, turning her head, closing her eyes, and letting tears drip down the side of her face. Her moans are threaded with both agony and devastation.

Warrose doesn’t wait for her to come around. Instead, he lifts her head and signals to Marilynn to feed her. Spoonfuls of soup and a few sips of water later, they let Ruth settle back into Warrose’s lap.

It’s hard to watch.

Hard to listen to her groans.

Hard to stand by and do nothing.

“What good am I to you all now?” Ruth mutters against Warrose’s thigh.

“What?” Dessin blurts out first.

“They’ve taken my legs,” she whimpers. “I’m dead weight to you all.”

I grasp at my chest to contain the pain. It radiates down my spine. How can she think that? How can I help her when she’s feeling this hopeless?

Niles interjects, then Warrose, then Dessin. But a feeling hollow and gray fills my senses. That creeping suspicion that I’m being watched. An unsuspecting pair of eyes burning into me. I raise my sight to the corner of the cage behind Marilynn.

My posture stiffens. The hairs on my neck stand upright. And it’s close to the same feeling I had with Scarlett.

He’s here. But he’s not.

An old man, appearing to be in his seventies with thin tuffs of white hair, olive skin, and wise, brown eyes watches me intently. He’s dressed like a farmer, trousers rolled up mid-calf and a dirty cotton tunic with a drawstring around the neck.

I debate pretending he isn’t here. But it’s just as Scarlett said…I’ve reached a new level in my mind after Ruth’s tragedy. I’ve broken a barrier that allows me to see this old man now. Someone who has passed on.

“She’s very pretty,” he comments thoughtfully.

I look away, hoping he won’t realize I can see him. I’m not sure how this works. Do I have control over it? Is this invisible veil now lifted, and I can see them all the time? I wonder if I’ll ever have these answers to my new abilities.

“I never got to meet her, you know. Died of a heart attack in my chair when she was a baby.”

My breath hitches.

The old man laughs with a slow nod. His crow’s feet pinching together like compressed clay. He has her smile. The one with the upturned, scrunching nose. I relax a little.

“That’s my granddaughter. Can’t you see the resemblance?”

My eyes dart between them, processing their similarities and their differences.

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