He stood just inside the door, his back pressed against the wall. His eyes followed her as she hurried from window to window closing the curtains then turned on the light. The room was clean but not lavish. To him these were the most luxurious quarters he had ever seen. There was the ubiquitous bed and small chest to the right, in front of him was a door that led to the bathroom, and to the left was a small kitchen area with a small refrigerator, a two-burner stove and a tiny table with two chairs. All was as neat as a pin with none of the usual disarray of travelers who had stopped for just the night.
The packet of facial tissue was soaked with her blood. Vincent removed it and checked the severity of the wound. It was deep but was beginning to clot already. “We must find something to use as a bandage,” he stated and led her to one of the kitchen chairs.
“I saw a small first aid kit in the glove box. I’ll get it.” She was out the door before he could stop her. With eyes glazed from pain she returned in a few minutes, a small white box in her hands. There were bandages, neosporin, gauze, tape and butterfly bandages as well as capsules of alcohol and betadine. He cleaned the wound with water then told her, “This will hurt,” then poured alcohol on the wound.
She gasped and gritted her teeth. Next, he covered the wound with betadine, making sure it penetrated to the bottom of the wound. Then covered it with neosporin and used the butterfly bandages to hold it together. A light covering of gauze was applied at the last.
“You have amazingly capable hands, Vincent.” She smiled up at him then grimaced from the pain that lanced along her jaw.
“My father is a doctor and I have assisted him many times,” he informed her. “Do you have any aspirin? There will be pain and there may be fever. The aspirin will help.”
The look she gave him said, “No kidding?” and she rummaged through her purse, finally finding a tiny box of aspirin. Vincent leaned wearily against the kitchen counter as he filled a glass of water for her. When he turned back to her, she noticed the tiredness that sat in the slump of his shoulders and the slowness of his step.
“You’re tired, Vincent. Come, sit here. I’m not in that bad shape.” He carefully settled into a chair. Thankfully, it held his considerable weight. “When was the last time you had anything to eat?”
Resting his arms on the table, he bowed his head, the last hour had taken its toll of his spirit and body. “I don’t know, days ago.” Wearily, he laid his head on his arms. “Let me rest for a while then I’ll leave.”
“Leave!? What are you talking about, you can’t leave! It’s too dangerous. They’ll catch you in no time. You know what they will do to you. I thought we had worked this out.”
“Catherine, no! I can’t get you involved in my escape.”
She laughed wryly, “I’d say I’m already involved, wouldn’t you? Who got you away from the carnival, who’s hiding you right now? Whose life did you save?”
He struggled to rise but with surprising ease she pushed him back into the chair. “Look, Vincent, there’s no use arguing about it now. We both need something to eat. Promise me that you will be here when I get back. Please?” Her eyes pleaded with him to stay and he nodded once although hesitantly. “Lock the door after me and don’t let anyone in but me.” Flashing him a bright smile, she ran out the door. He heard the car come to life then the sound of the motor fading off into the distance.
How did she know that he would not break a promise, once given? For that matter, how did he know that she was in danger? Examining the innermost part of him, he found a glowing spark of light that had never been there before. And when he examined his heart, he found the beat of another heart along side his. Was this Catherine? Closely, he examined the light and as he did, it seemed to become a silver thread that attached him to someone and that someone was Catherine. He felt her satisfaction in helping him to escape and the residue of fear from the attack. Behind all this emotion pulsed a fine thread of pain. He also felt her concern for him and her need to protect him. Could he allow her to jeopardize herself in this manner? Could he stop her? Only by breaking his promise, and this he was honor bound not to do. He prowled around the cottage, pacing nervously until she returned.
Lightly, she tapped on the door saying, softly, “It’s me.”
He unlocked the door and she slipped inside laden with several bags from which tantalizing aromas arose to set his stomach rumbling. Highly embarrassed, he caught her grin of delight. “So, you’re more than a little hungry, I take it?”
“It seems my stomach will tell tales out of school,” he observed. Holding the blanket around himself with one hand, he assisted her as much as he could setting the food on the table. When was the last time he had eaten a full meal? He couldn’t remember and all the delicious smells made him a little faint.
“I didn’t know what you liked, so I got a lot of everything. If there’s anything left over you can have it for breakfast. Dig in,” she said, grabbing a hamburger and taking a bite.
Since she had left the cottage to get the food, she had slipped into her lawyers’ mode. Not wanting to draw attention to herself, she had purchased the food at several different cafes. In fact, she had hit every one of them but Tilly’s. If she bought all the food at only one cafe, she knew they would wonder why a small woman like her wanted so much food. She hoped this would throw the authorities off the trail for a while. They would investigate the death of the rapist not knowing what he had attempted.
Waving a leaking hamburger at Vincent, she said, “I’ll find the nearest large town tomorrow and buy some clothes for you. You certainly can’t go around dressed like that.”
For the first time since his capture he felt an easing of the despair that had been his faithful companion for the last six months. He even felt like laughing and said with a grin, “No, I don’t suppose this is the proper attire, is it?” It was amazing how she made him feel, how her mere presence lightened the situation he found himself in.
She grinned back at him then sobered, “I’ll bet you would like to have a bath and get clean.”
“Oh, yes,” he said, fervently.
“When you’re ready, I’ll draw a bath for you or would you rather have a shower?”
“A shower, I’ve never had one,” he confessed.
Astonishment sat in her eyes, “Never?”
“Never.” He shook his head in amusement at her look of surprise.
“Well, do you have a treat in store for you. There’s nothing like a shower to wash the grit and grime off and leave you feeling clean through and through.”
Rising, she went to the bathroom to prepare the shower for him. He thought How good it would be to wash all the humiliation and pain of the carnival off his body and down the drain. He followed her into the bathroom. She adjusted the water temperature and handed him a bar of soap, washcloth, and shampoo. The bedspread lay folded on top of the commode for him to use in place of the blanket. Closing the door behind her, she told him to enjoy his first shower.
While Vincent was taking his shower, Catherine put the remaining food--there would be enough for his breakfast tomorrow--in the refrigerator and prepared for bed, changing into her peach silk pajamas and robe. She sat at the table making a list of all she would need tomorrow. She had to find out what size clothing he wore and the size of his shoes. Every once in a while she would stop and listen to the sounds coming from the bathroom. Now that she had time to think about all that had happened, she realized that if she had flown home this unique man (?) would still be in captivity. He was not safe yet, but somehow they would find a way to get him home, wherever home was.
A startled yelp emanated from behind the closed bathroom door. Chuckling softly, Catherine put a pan of water on the stove to heat, Vincent would need a hot cup of tea. In a few minutes the door opened and a slightly damp Vincent emerged toweling his hair. He had folded the bedspread three fourths of the way down and wrapped it sarong-like around his impressive chest. The leftover quarter was pulled up and over his shoulders like a shawl and held closed by his right hand. He was more completely covered than she had ever seen him and it seemed to have put him more at ease with her.
“Run out of hot water?” she asked, innocently. The tea water was hot and she poured it over the bags that rested in two mugs on the small kitchen counter.
Ducking his head, he smiled a little boy smile at her and took the cup she handed him.
“May I brush your hair?” She pulled a silver backed hairbrush from her make up case.
“Usually, I just let it dry,” he said.
“You have such beautiful hair. Please?”
He could refuse her nothing and soon found himself sitting on the floor in front of her nursing his steaming cup of tea. He relaxed and placed himself entirely in her hands. Occasionally, she would take a sip of tea as she worked diligently and gently, teasing the snarls and birds-nests out of his hair. After a long and pleasant hour his hair was snarl-free and wondrously soft. Suddenly, he was unable to stifle a huge yawn.
“Tired?” she asked, softly
He nodded, “Yes.”
“We can share the bed,” she offered, but at his wide-eyed dismay, quickly amended it to say, “or not.”
“No,” he breathed in consternation, “I will sleep on the floor.”
“But it’s so hard.” It hurt her to think of him sleeping on the cold, hard floor.
“I have slept on the floor for six months or longer. A few nights more is a small compensation to pay to be free.”
Gracefully, she nodded that she understood. “But . . . you will use a pillow,” she ordered.
He bowed to her wishes and caught the pillow she threw to him.
Catherine crawled into bed as he settled onto the floor beside the bed. “Don’t go, Vincent?” she asked drowsily. “Please?”
In someway, this beautiful woman understood him and knew what he had planned. Sighing deeply, he answered, “I won’t.”
“Promise?”
“Promise.” She knew just how to tie him to her. He laid awake for some time listening to her soft, even breathing marveling at the trust she had in him. He would make it his charge never to break that trust . . . ever.
Catherine awoke from the most refreshing sleep she had had in a long time, deep and dreamless. She wondered briefly at the deep breathing she heard then remembered that He was sleeping on the floor. Quietly, she leaned over the edge of the bed to behold a wondrous sight. With an arm flung above his head, he was laying on his back. One leg bent at the knee protruded out of the covering bedspread. Asleep, he looked so young and vulnerable and she was struck once again at the miracle of him.
Slowly opening his eyes, the first thing he saw was the sleep-flushed eyes of his rescuer. “Good morning,” he smiled his unique smile back at her.
She grinned at him. “Good morning, yourself. You’re still here?”
“Yes,” he gazed at her seriously, “I keep my promises.”
“So do I,” she said then asked, “Sleep well?”
“Amazingly, yes. It’s wondrous what freedom does to one.”
“Yes, isn’t it?” she replied so softly he could barely hear her. Bolting out of bed she sped to the bathroom calling over her shoulder, “Dibs on the bathroom.”
‘Dibs?’ That was new to him. He stretched languorously, reveling in the new found freedom he had gained. Father’s face rose before his eyes. What anguish and worry he must be suffering. Soon, Father, I hope to be home soon.
“Your turn,” Catherine announced, emerging from the bathroom and heading for the chest for a change of clothing.