Out of Sight

Of Goodly People

No, I had not ninja raped anyone, as he told me, with all the humor of a cancer ward, that he wouldn't have allowed it to happen even if I had tried. I didn't have the chance to question him further on that thought, as he swiftly charged Father Brown with my protection ("She is not to leave this church, not even a toe, until I return, I'm certain you can understand,") and left with all the gusto of a man on a mission. The hardened, narrowed look to his eyes and the set, clench of his jaw left me stunned.

Oh my. That man was handsome. And terrifying.

"What is he doing?" I asked as John gently led me by the hand to the living quarters hidden in the back of the chapel, the doorway tucked away behind the alter.

"I imagine he is seeing to those that cursed you," said John.

I blinked at him stupidly. "So this is for real. I was cursed, like, voodoo magic cursed."

"I don't know about voodoo, but..." the warmth on his face wavered in the face of consternation. "It wasn't pretty, Mai. If I...if I had had any less sense, I would have done evreything in my power to have taken you to the hospital instead."

That made me pause at the stairs, but another soft tug got me moving.

"You're like ice, Mai. We need to get you to the shower."

I didn't argue with that. I couldn't remember the last time I had been this cold. Though, why I wasn't shivering, I didn't know. I was tired, yes, exhausted, really. If John hadn't kept pulling me forward, I might have remained on that church bench until sleep had taken me.

But soon I found myself in a simple, clean tiled bathroom, with a single bathroom stall in the corner, a tiny closet like, tiled shower, cut off from the rest by a simple green plastic curtain, and a sink.

"We have some second-hand clothes that are being donated to charity in the morning," he said, as he showed me how to work the shower's ancient knobs. "I'll find something that will fit you. Leave your ruined clothes in this bag and I'll burn them."

Burn them?

Only then did I look down at myself.

Congealed, black gunk and blood covered the front of my shirt and pants, splattered around me as though I had walked through flaying noodles of gore.

And then I realized the funny taste in my mouth hadn't been dry mouth from a long sleep, but the coppery tang of blood as well.

My knees gave out from beneath me.

I didn't really know why. My brain wouldn't provide an answer. Nor would my leaden, dead limbs who demanded I stay put.

I could feel more than see the spike in Father Brown's concern, maybe even panic, as he heaved me back to my feet and asked to look for wounds. At my nod, he cautiously peeled off my jacket, revealing my scarred, Frankenstein arms. Tossing my jacket to the side, he wetted up a paper towel from the dispenser to wipe away blood, before carefully lifting my shirt to examine my stomach. At the threatening tremble of my legs, he eased me back down to the floor and set to rolling up my pant legs and taking off my shows.

"Scratches, mostly," he murmured, his thumb tracing the shiny pink bumps of my scars. His fingers lifted my face, pulling down my eyelid to examine my eyes. He pinched my wrist, counting my heartbeats.

"I hurt," I heard, shocked when I heard it from my own mouth, only to find it was true.

"Bruised," he said, more to himself than me. "Yes, Mai, if you could get into the shower and clean off. I can take a closer look when you get out, but right now you're so cold you can hardly feel anything." Before rising, he brushed a thumb on one of my scars one more time. Something like pain crinkled his nose and pinched his eyebrows together. "Spirits caused this...didn't they?"