Page 38 of The Otherworld

“Oh, thank God,” I whisper, blinking away the tears that spring to my eyes. “Thank God…”

He’s alive, but he’s far from all right. He’s bleeding.

As my gaze sweeps over his body, I find blotches of red everywhere, staining his clothes. I spread a hand over his forehead—cold.

I need to get him out of these wet things. I need to see where he’s bleeding.

Lucius sniffs Adam cautiously as I unbutton his flannel overshirt and begin pulling the sleeves off his muscular arms. That’s when I see a dark red bloodstain near his lower ribs.

My pulse quickens as I reach for the hem of his T-shirt and pull it up, revealing his abdomen. Sure enough, a sticky open wound slashes across his lower ribs, leaving a cloud of dark bruises in its wake. I don’t try to peel off his wet T-shirt—instead, I run into the kitchen and fetch a pair of scissors, then carefully slip the blades under his shirt and slice it to the collar and sleeves.

The shirt peels away in two halves, and I cast the scraps of bloody fabric away to better examine his bare chest and stomach. His skin is clammy and cold. The light of the fire casts flickering shadows over the hard, chiseled planes of his chest as I inspect his injuries.

Aside from scratches and bruises, the gash on his side seems to be the worst of it. I run my fingertips over the wound again, feeling for any broken bones. One spot on his lower ribs feels knotted and swollen, but I’m not sure if it’s a fracture or just a deep bruise.

All things considered, his injuries don’t seem too serious. I’ll need to take off his pants to complete the examination.

I crawl down to his feet and unlace his boots, sliding them off and tossing them aside. Lucius stares at me, head tilted, as I reach for the clasp of his pants. They’re made from a heavy cotton canvas material, thoroughly soaked, and freezing cold. I pull down the zipper, tugging gently to ease the pants off his body. His underwear slides off with them, and suddenly there is a naked man lying on my floor.

I’ve never seen Papa even half-naked, so the exposed anatomy of a male human is a bizarre sight. I try to direct my attention solely to examining him for wounds, but I can’t stop my curious gaze from roaming every inch of his body, every etch and angle that constructs his arms, his legs, and all the strangeness in between.

More dark bruises wrap his shins and knees, and his left ankle is swollen to twice its size. I gently feel the bones and don’t find anything too alarming—but how can I know how much pain he feels until he wakes up?

I rush to the bathroom to grab a roll of clean bandage, a wet cloth, a jar of aloe vera, and a bottle of witch hazel. In my bedroom, I pull the blanket and the quilt off my bed, then hurry back to the living room, where Lucius is keeping watch over Adam.

Once I’ve covered him up to the waist with the blanket and quilt, I get to work cleaning his wounds. I cut a strip of bandage and soak it in the witch hazel before gently washing away the blood from his abdomen. The bruise is worse than the cut itself, discoloring half his side with a shade of angry, throbbing purple.

He’s still unconscious, eyes shut, shallow breaths, short dark hair a mess. The waning fire casts honey-colored light across his unshaven face, the sharp line of his cheekbones, the smooth skin of his neck. Even in such a state, Adam Stevenson is a thing of beauty.

I clean his wounds, apply aloe vera, and wrap them in fresh bandages. When I’m finished, I pull the blankets up to his neck and gently wash the dirt off his face using a damp cloth.

“Adam,” I murmur close to his ear. “Adam, can you hear me?”

Evidently not. He lies as still as ever, his breath shallow but steady.

I want to call Jack and tell him that I found his brother and he’s alive—but that’s when I remember: the cell phone is no longer working. Should I use the satellite phone? Should I call the coast guard?

It would probably be the right thing to do.

But it’s the very last thing I want to do.

Adam is here, and he’s alive, and I have helped him… even if he was the one who found me. I don’t need the coast guard to come and get him—I can take care of him just as well. When he wakes up, he can tell me the severity of his symptoms, and then we can alert the coast guard.

Besides, it’s too stormy to take a boat or a plane out to the island. They will have to wait until the weather clears, so why bother them about it now?

I will call if Adam doesn’t wake up in a few hours. But for now, I can manage.

I am capable.

I am strong.

I need to be.

For Adam.

For Jack.

For Papa.

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