Sympathy for the Devil

35

I woke up before water could startle me to alertness. My mouth was free of the muzzle.

My eyes blinked open slowly, readjusting to my harshened conditions.

I moved my jaw around and loosened it up while a softened face came into view. A reminder of home.

I grabbed the bottle of water held over me like a suspended wake-up call with twitching anticipatory fingers. I drank it fast, knowing it could all disappear at a moment's notice. My chapped lips had minor relief as I let the water not only enter my mouth, but drip over my lips like a soothing aloe. Hunger and dehydration can no longer kill me. I am only staving off the pain by indulging.

"Sally?" I want her to be real. Please be real. Don't take her away from me, too.

Sally smoothed her hands over my face as I stood up from the bed shakily. "How?" I fell into her outstretched arms. Exhaustion overwhelmed my limbs. "How did you find me?"

"Your blood," She admitted solemnly. "There was a Hansel and Gretel trail of your blood leading here to this room. I didn't know it was your blood until I used a bobby pin to open the door and found you subdued. You're not healing." She pointed it out, knowing that I should heal. She knows what I am.

I looked down at my stomach lining. Fresh blood. Not the matte staining of blood that has been dried up over time. Fresh and damning. The wound should have healed by now. Arawn wouldn't stand for me bleeding out. Not yet. Perhaps my vows to die are working their way through my system internally. I'm not healing because I no longer want to. I want to join the legions of others who have been massacred.

I felt the warmth circulating around my neck. Dry. Healed up. My stomach injury, which must have occurred after I had long since passed out, was gushing with life spilling out of the open, exposed area. I felt woozy at the sight.

I paled, ready to pass out again.

Sally took saline to wash out the wound. It stung when she dabbed the exposed area with cautious precision. Light patting motions to soak up the blood and get to the root cause of the skin irritation.

I winced at the contact as she ripped through my shirt to keep it away from the injury while she applied pressure. She sealed the wound off as she tied a bandage over my stomach.

I capped the water bottle as she put it back in her small gray backpack. Resourceful and planned. She has every supply. Medical. Water. Even a protein bar to make sure I eat something substantial to help me regain my strength.

I should feel overwhelmed by hope. In turn, hope shed from me like snakeskin. An unsuspecting sheep has only been lured into the wolf's den.

Her affection felt maternal. All she cared about was my safety. It was the reunion I once craved with my own mother. This was the remedy for what my mother lacked.

My stomach tightened.

Sally noticed my obvious unease. "It's okay, Ellie." She cupped my cheeks. They were warm and soft. Not like mine, which are cold and calloused. I really am in need of moisturizer. "I found you. You're going to be okay. Let's get you home." It is Sally. Real and in the flesh. Not a púca or some other demonic poser. Bennett's Mom. My Dad's partner on the force.

My aching bones soothed slightly. I get to go home now. It's finally over. Deep in my gut, I knew that this form of wishful thinking has deadly consequences. Nobody will ever truly be safe. Not when they are protecting me from him.

Sally pulled away from me. "Sally," I began as I took in her skintight black leggings and tight black tank top covered by a short-sleeved black jacket. She looked like Buffy the Vampire Slayer. Actually, Buffy probably wishes she looked more like Sally. "You look hot." I was used to her uniform or modest mom jeans and blouses on her days off. This was Sally in a very different light. It's not the time to point any of this out. It's a comment old Ellie would have observed. Old Ellie would have been more snide about it, though. The Ellie before that would have been in awe. This Ellie just wants to get the fuck out of here. Three shades of Ellie all morphed into one. Pessimism, optimism, and realism swirled in my blood.