Page 43 of Stray

“I’m sorry,” I cry into his chest. I feel him try to pull back, but I cry in protest. “Don’t! Please, stay here.”

“Baby, I don’t want to hurt you.” He kisses the top of my head, and I whimper.

“Then don’t let me go,” he tightens his hold on me, and I love it. I love the strength, the feeling of security and warmth. I love the feeling that I’m home. I freeze as I hear the tiny thought whispering in the back of my head.

I’m falling in love with this man.

Jackson

Staring down at Ozzy’s sleeping form, I let out a sigh before covering her up and slipping out of the bedroom. It’s three in the morning, and I can’t sleep. All I keep thinking about is what has happened to Ozzy. What I know is bad enough, but what I don’t know… It’s killing me. I want to lay in bed with her and cuddle her close to me as we sleep. And I was, except she had been the only one sleeping, and fuck, she has a god-awful snore that I hadn’t expected. So, instead, I laid there, staring at her scars in the dark. They cover her from the neck down. Some are thin and straight; others are thick and jagged. And that brand made me want to cry, vomit, and murder someone all in the same instant.

While lying in the bed, all I could think was, what did those fuckers look like? How many? Are they in prison? What all did they do?

Turning on the light in the garage, I let out a sigh. What am I supposed to do? How am I supposed to be okay with feeling those scars? Seeing her “brand” and not being allowed to go and kill the people who did this to her? I grab my phone and do something I’ve gone to do a thousand times but never could. I pull up the web browser and tap out her name before hitting enter. It doesn’t take but a second to locate her; with that kind of original name, I knew it wouldn’t.

I look over the news article, and my heart sinks.

Local nurse missing for five months appears in a hospital one city over, assaulted, drugged, and screaming about being kidnapped. Ms. Ozzy Davenport claims to have been held captive in a small shack on the outskirts of town for months while being sexually assaulted, beaten, drugged, and forced to wear a correction collar.

I skim through several more articles until I find one about the trial. So, she did press charges. Jesus, they were just put away, right before she came here? That must’ve been why she couldn’t come here sooner when Mama broke her hip. I continue to read over the information on the site, and… oh my god.

My phone falls from my hand when the “evidence photo” appears. How? How can they put that on a website for anyone to see? I cover my mouth as I look at the photo of my Ozzy. She’s so skinny with sunken and bruised eyes, highly infected wounds, cut lips, and snarled hair. I want to cry while looking over her tattoo-free body. The picture has her privates blurred, but all the cuts, burns, bites, and what looks like stab wounds are fully displayed. It’s her eyes, though. The fear in her eyes… curling my lip, I pick up my phone and am about to hurl it against the wall when I hear talking from it. Looking down, I realize I’m playing a police interview with Ozzy. Quickly, I rewind the video to start from the beginning.

“Can you state your name for the record?” The female officer asks, and the camera sits on Ozzy. Her hair is cut to almost nothing, and she has bandages around her neck. I can see sores on her face and arms.

“Ozzy Davenport,” she says, her voice small and timid.

“Ozzy, can you tell us what happened to you during your captivity?” I watch as a woman- presumably Ozzy’s lawyer, looks at another woman sitting on the other side of Ozzy. The other woman speaks.

“As her psychiatrist, I will say that Ozzy’s mental state is fragile, and while she’s free to answer, we will end this interview if we feel it begins to cause harm to her.”

Ozzy scoffs, and it’s the first time I see my girl in there. “Right, because she can hurt me? Please, ain’t nothing you can say could hurt me.”

“Ozzy,” The therapist touches her arm, but Ozzy jerks away, causing the chair to screech across the floor.

“Alright, Officer McCallister, what do you want to know? How did they drug me and took me from the bar? How they chained me up like a dog? How I was their carving board? How they branded me? How I was starved or fed rotting food? How my body was sold? Huh? Tell me!” Ozzy screams while smacking the table. “You interested in hearing how they tore my cunt to shreds when they raped me with their gun?” I fall to my knees, unable to stand anymore. With their gun?

“Or would you like to hear how Officer Reynolds over there enjoyed fucking me in the ass with his nightstick after shooting me up with heroin?” There are gasps and shouting before the video cuts off, and I’m left staring at the phone screen. A cop knew? And he…

Running my hands through my hair, I stumble back as the picture enters my head. How could they do that to her? My beautiful Ozzy…

“Goddamn it!” I roar as I grab my hammer and drive it into Jensen’s truck that we’ve been fixing. I’m about to try and calm myself when I see it in the reflection of the truck’s window—the modified correction collar for the animals they made her wear. Anger floods through me again as I heave an empty oil drum over my head and slam it down.

I don’t know how long I’m out here before Derek and Jensen walk in, but I’m barely able to stand or breathe when they do. The garage is destroyed, I’m bleeding from my hands, and I think I’m crying.

“What the fuck?” Derek looks around before his eyes land on me. “Jackson, what’s going on?”

“I need…” I wheeze out, trying to catch my breath. “I need help,” I mumble, and both my brothers’ expressions soften.

“Jackson,” Jensen walks forward. “What can we do to help you?” I shake my head as another sob emerges, and I fall back to my knees.

“She’s been so badly hurt… I’m so scared I’m going to hurt her. I’m so scared that this is too much. I-I don’t want it to be. I care about her, but… how am I supposed to look at her after seeing what I did?”

“What are you talking about?” Derek asks while looking around as if they’re trying to figure out what was in here that caused me to freak out.

“Ozzy was… attacked by men years ago,” I tell them. “I looked up her name and saw the evidence photos from her trial. And…interviews with police.”

“You did what?” Jensen gasps, and Derek shakes his head.

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