Page 164 of Two Guys, a Girl, and a Tripod

“The fuck does that mean?” Brody asks, frowning.

“Areyougoing to stitch up those wounds?” Booker pauses at the end of the hallway, crossing his arms when he turns to face us. “Check to make sure nothing worse has been done?”

“You could’ve just said doctor,” I mutter. “What the fuck happened?” My voice cracks, my mind going into overdrive, thinking of the depraved things that could have been done to her.

“I can’t be sure.” Booker shakes his head, his tone a little softer. “I have to make a call about the bodies.” He slips his phone from his pocket to check his messages. “The doctor will be here soon. She’ll be ok.” He tries to sound convincing when he looks back at us, but I know it’s going to take more than just a few stitches and some ice on those bruises.

The older woman who arrives just a few minutes after Booker departs looks like a funeral director, but her long-sleeve, black dress hugs her body from her neck to her waist. Brody lets her in while I sit with Sophie and the two of us watch, helpless, while she examines Sophie’s body.

“It’s all right, love.” She speaks softly as her gloved hands hover over Sophie’s arm. “I’m Caroline. I’m here to help.” Caroline looks over at the two of us. “Hot water,” she orders, snapping open her ancient-looking leather bag. “And clean washcloths.”

Brody hurries to comply while I kneel on the floor on the opposite side of the bed. I watch while Caroline uses medical scissors to cut one side of the leggings from Sophie’s body, slowly revealing angry red marks with hues of blue and purple.

“Can you tell me anything about what happened?”

Why is she making Sophie relive this nightmare? I want to tell her to stop asking questions and get to work, but she’s doing us a favor. I bite my tongue.

“They hit me.” Sophie’s whisper is barely audible, facing away from me and toward Caroline.

“Do you know what they used?”

“B-board,” Sophie croaks. “C-c-crop.” Her voice is getting weaker. I’m surprised Caroline can hear her.

“I see.” Caroline nods and lifts Sophie’s hand to examine the cut on her forearm.

Brody reappears with a steaming bowl and a handful of clean washcloths. He sets it on the table beside the bed and then steps back, as if unsure what to do.

“Sophie, I’m going to clean this cut first,” Caroline explains, reaching for a cloth and dipping it into the water. “Then you’re going to need stitches,” she continues. Sophie hisses and flinches when the cloth makes contact. “It’s ok. Hush, it’s ok.”

While Caroline works, we move the armchair from my studio into my bedroom. We situate it as close to the end of the bed as possible so as not to crowd the doctor–she hasn’t called herself that, but Booker didn’t correct me earlier. Brody takes the armchair and I pull my desk chair beside him.

Once Sophie’s arm is clean, Caroline takes supplies from her bag to begin stitching the wound. At Sophie’s first flinch, my hand shoots out to find Brody’s. His other hand covers me and he squeezes.

“She’s going to be ok.” His words are soft, spoken like his throat is constricting.

“She is,” Caroline confirms without taking her eyes off of her work.

When she’s finished with the cut on Sophie’s forearm, Caroline stands and circles the bed to focus her attention on the other knife wound. This one in Sophie’s bicep is longer but looks shallower.

Caroline cleans and stitches the second wound before returning her focus to Sophie’s legs. She finishes cutting off the leggings and I have to look away from the marks. I’d love to get my hands on the fuckers who did this, but since I’m not a necromancer, I have to be content knowing they’re dead. The world is better off.

I force myself to look back at Sophie. Caroline has cut through her shirt, revealing thinner marks on her back. I can tell which instrument was used where, imagine just how hard Caleb and Jesse hit her, and I taste bile in the back of my throat. This isn’t impact play, this isn’t kink. They wanted her to suffer because they were absolute psychopaths bent on revenge.

Caroline stands and I have to look away again when she reaches between Sophie’s legs. It feels indecent, somehow, to watch her examination. When I turn back, Caroline’s hands are prodding gently at Sophie’s legs, trying not to press directly onto any of the darkened and red spots.

“Her skin isn’t broken,” Caroline explains, reaching for a new cloth to gently clean the areas she just examined. I realize she’s speaking to us. “I recommend icing the worst spots,” she continues. “But there’s not much to be done for bruises.”

Bruises. Such a simple, everyday word for the sadistic, violent marks on Sophie’s body.

“Keep her on her stomach as much as possible. You may need to help her use the facilities and to bathe. It’ll take more than a week until she can sit comfortably again.”

Caroline closes her bag and meets Brody’s gaze first, then mine as she pulls off her gloves.

“Make sure she drinks plenty of fluids. Leafy greens like spinach will help as will citrus. Miss Ashcroft has my number should you need anything else.”

“I’ll walk you out.” I stand and we leave Brody alone with Sophie. Her eyes are closed, her breathing even. The last thing I see is Brody reaching out to place a gentle hand on her unmarked foot.

“It’s going to take some time,” says Caroline while we walk. “Not just physically,” she adds and I nod.

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