The Hollow - Sign Of Seven 2 Part 19

"We're up here!" Quinn called down at the sound of the door opening, closing again. "Be down in a minute. Coffee's on the stove, c.o.ke's in the fridge, depending on who you are."

The bruising on his windpipe was still too severe. He didn't have it in him to call back, so he made his way painfully to the kitchen.

He started to reach for the refrigerator, frowned at his broken wrist.

"Come on, you b.a.s.t.a.r.d, finish it up." While the bones knit, he used his left hand to get out a c.o.ke, then fought bitterly with the tab of the can.

"We're getting a late start. I guess we were- Oh my G.o.d." Layla rushed forward. "Fox! G.o.d. Quinn, Cybil, Cal! Get down here. Fox is hurt!"

She tried to get an arm around him, take his weight. "Just open this, will you? Open the stupid can."

"Sit down. You need to sit down. Your face. Your poor face. Here, sit down here."

"Just open the G.o.dd.a.m.n can." He snapped it out, but she only pulled out a chair. The fact that she could ease him down on it with little effort told him he was still in bad shape.

She opened the can, started to cup his hands around it. Her voice was thin, but steady when she spoke. "Your wrist is broken."

"Not for long."

He took his first long, desperate sip as Cal ran in. One look had Cal cursing. "Layla, get some water, some towels to clean him up some." He crouched, put a hand on Fox's thigh. "How bad?"

"Worst in a long time."

"Napper?" "Indirectly."

"Quinn," Cal said with his eyes still on Fox. "Call Gage. If he isn't on his way, tell him to get here."

"I'm getting ice." She dragged the ice bin out of the freezer. "Cybil."

"I'll call." But first she bent over, laid her lips gently on Fox's b.l.o.o.d.y cheek. "We'll take care of you, baby."

Layla brought a basin and cloth. "It hurts. Can we give him anything for the pain?"

"You have to go through it, even use it. It helps if the three of us are together." Cal's eyes never left Fox's face. "Give me something."

"Ribs, left side. He got three, one's finished, one's working."

"Okay."

"They should go." He hissed on a fresh flood of pain. "Tell them to go."

"We're not going anywhere." Gently, efficiently, Layla began to stroke the cold damp cloth over Fox's face.

"Here, honey." Quinn held the ice bag to Fox's swollen eye.

"I got him on his cell." Cybil hurried back in. "He was already in town.

He'll be here any second." She stopped, and despite her horror at Fox's condition, watched in fascination as the raw bruises on his throat began to fade.

"He messed me up inside," Fox managed. "Can't focus, can't find it, but something's bleeding. Concussion. Can't think clear through it."

Cal kept his gaze steady on Fox's face. "Focus on that first, the concussion. You have to push the rest of it back."

"Trying."

"Let me." Layla shoved the bloodied cloths at Cybil before kneeling at Fox's feet. "I can see if you let me in. But I need you to let me. Let me see the pain, Fox, so I can help you focus on it, heal it. We're connected.

I can help."

"You can't help if you freak. Remember that." He closed his eyes, and opened for her. "Just the head. I can handle the rest once I clear that."

He felt her shock, her horror, then her compa.s.sion. That was warm, soft.

She guided him to where he needed to go just as she'd guided him to the chair. And there, the pain was fierce and full, a monster with jagged teeth and stiletto claws. They bit, and mauled. They tore. For an instant he s.h.i.+ed from it, started to struggle back. But she nudged him on.

A hand gripped his sweaty fist, and he knew it was Gage.

So he opened to himself, to them, rode on the pain, on the hot, bucking back of it, as he knew he must. When it ebbed enough for him to speak again, perspiration soaked him.

"Ease back now," he said to Layla. "Ease back. It's a little too much, a little too fast."

He kept riding the pain. Bones, muscles, organs. And clung unashamed to Gage's hand, to Cal's. When the worst had pa.s.sed, and he could take his first easy breath, he stopped. His own nature would do the rest.

"Okay. It's okay."

"You don't look okay."

He looked at Cybil, saw there were tears running down her cheeks. "The rest is just surface. It'll take care of itself."

When she nodded, turned away, he looked down at Layla. Her eyes were swimming, but to his relief, no tears fell. "Thanks."

"Who did this to you?"

"That's the question." His voice raw, Gage straightened, then walked to the stove for coffee. "The second being, and when are we going to go kick the s.h.i.+t out of him?"

"I'd like to help with that." Cybil got a mug for Gage herself, then laid a hand over his, squeezed hard.

"It was Block," Fox told them as Quinn brought fresh water to clean the healing cuts and sc.r.a.pes on his face.

"Block Kholer?" Gage tore his gaze from his hand, still warm from Cybil's though she now stood two feet away. "What the h.e.l.l for?"

"Napper convinced him I'd screwed his wife."

Cal shook his head. "Block might be stupid enough to believe that a.s.shole, which makes him monumentally stupid. And if he did, I could see him looking for some pushy-shovey, maybe even taking a swing at you. But, bro, he d.a.m.n near killed you. That's just not ..."

Fox managed a small, slow sip of the c.o.ke when he saw Cal understood.

"It was there. The little f.u.c.ker. Across the street. I had my attention on Block, since I sensed he wanted to pound me to pulp, so I missed it. I saw it in Block's face though, in his eyes. The infection. If Wayne Hawbaker hadn't come by, he wouldn't have d.a.m.n near killed me. I'd be dead."

"It's stronger." Quinn gripped Cal's shoulder. "It's gotten stronger."

"We had to figure it would. Everything's accelerated this time. You said Wayne came by. What did he do?"

"I was out of it at first. When I got it together, he had Block cuffed, locked in the car. He said he had to just about knock him cold to get him there. He was fine-Wayne-he was fine. Himself. Concerned, a little p.i.s.sed, a lot confused. It didn't affect him."

"Maybe it couldn't." Layla pushed to her feet. She took the bloodied water to dump because if her hands were in the sink, no one could see them shake. "I think if it could have, it would have. You said Block meant to kill you. It wouldn't want the police, wouldn't want anyone to stop that from happening."

"One at a time." Composed again, Cybil pursed her lips. "Not good news, but not all bad." She brushed at Fox's wet, tangled hair. "Your eye's healing. You're almost back to full handsome again."

"What are you going to do about Block?" Quinn asked.

"I'll go over and talk to him, and Wayne later. Right now, I could really use a shower, if you ladies don't mind."

"I'll take you up." Layla held out a hand.

"You need to sleep," Cal said.

"A shower's probably enough."

"That kind of healing empties you out. You know that."

"I'll start with the shower." He walked out with Layla. The pain still nipped, but its teeth were dull, its claws stunted.

"I'll wash your clothes while you're in there," she told him. "There are a few things of Cal's around here you can use. Those jeans are toast now anyway."

He glanced down at his torn, ripped, and b.l.o.o.d.y Levi's. "Toast? They're just broken in."

She tried for a smile as they climbed the stairs, but couldn't quite pull it off. "Does it still hurt?" "Mostly just sore now."

"Then ..." She turned at the top of the stairs, put her arms around him and held close.

"It's all right now."

"Of course it's not all right now. None of it's all right. So I'm just going to hold on to you until I can handle it again."

"You handled it just fine." He lifted a hand, stroked it down her hair.

"Right down the line."

Needing to be steady for him, Layla eased back to take his face carefully in her hands. His left eye looked red and painful, but the swelling was nearly gone. She kissed it, then his cheeks, his temples. "I was scared to death."

"I know. That's what heroism is, isn't it? Doing what has to be done when you're scared to death."

"Fox." She kissed his lips now, gently. "Take off your clothes."

"I've been waiting to hear you say that for weeks."

Now she was able to smile. "And get in the shower."

"Better and better."

"If you need someone to wash your back ... I'll send Cal."

"And my dreams are crushed."

In the end, she untied his shoes while he sat on the side of the tub. She helped him out of his s.h.i.+rt and jeans with a depressingly sisterly affection. When he stood in his boxers, and she said, "Oh, Fox," he knew by the tone it wasn't due to delight in his manly physique, but to the bruises that covered it.

"When so much is internal, it just takes longer for the outside to heal."

She only nodded, and carrying his clothes, left him to shower.

It felt like glory-the hot water, the soft spray. It felt like glory to be alive. He stayed under the water, his hands braced on the shower wall, until it ran cool, until the pain circled the drain and slid away like the water. Jeans and a sweats.h.i.+rt sat neatly folded on the counter when he stepped out. He managed to get them on, forced to pause several times to rest, to wait until nasty little bouts of dizziness pa.s.sed. Once he'd wiped the steam from the mirror over the sink and taken stock of his face, the still-fading bruises, the raw look of his eye, the cuts not quite healed, he had to admit Cal was right, as usual.

He needed to sleep.

So he walked-felt like floating-into Layla's room. He crawled onto her bed and fell asleep with the comforting scent of her all around him.

When he woke, there was a throw tucked around him, the shades were drawn and the door shut. He sat up carefully to take fresh stock. No pain, he thought, no aches. Not even when he poked his fingers around his left eye. The dragging fatigue no longer weighed on him. And he was starving. All good signs.

He stepped out, found Layla in the office with Quinn. "I dropped out awhile."

"Five hours." Layla moved to him immediately, searched his face. "You look perfect. The sleep did you good."

"Five hours?"

"And change," Quinn added. "It's good to have you back."

"Somebody should've shoved me out of bed. We were supposed to go through the rest of the first journal, at least."

"We did. And we're putting the notes together." Layla gestured to Quinn's laptop. "We'll have the CliffsNotes version for you later. It's enough for now, Fox."

"I guess it has to be."

"Give yourself a break. Isn't that what you tell me? Cybil made some amazing leek and potato soup."

"Please tell me there's some left."

"Plenty, even for you. Come on, I'll fix you a bowl."

Downstairs, Gage stood at the living room window. He glanced over.

"Rain stopped. I see you're back to your ugly self."

"Still prettier than you. Where's Cal?"

"He headed over to the bowling alley a few minutes ago. He wants us to let him know when you decide to join the living again."

"I'll get the soup."