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“You’re safe now, Lila. We’ve got you,” I reassured her. I glanced back at the soldier beside me. “Cover her up. And let Tucker know we’ve got her as soon as they’ve cleared the upstairs,” I said in low tones, springing to my feet. As I strode out, a medic entered the cell, opening his pack and kneeling at her side.
I moved through the darkness, my eyes scanning for movement. I quietly eliminated threats as they appeared, but by the time I reached the halfway point, the rest of the lower level was silent and empty. The only sound came from a staticky radio on an empty table with two fallen chairs.
I froze outside the last room on the right, unable to breathe as my eyes absorbed the horror in front of me.
It was another makeshift cell, though this door stood open. A nude woman hung motionless, facing away, suspended by her wrists from an overhead pipe. I stared, holding my breath until I saw the slight rise and fall of her upper torso.
She’s alive.
I could see every bony prominence in Charlie’s outline. Her hip bones and vertebrae jutted out like sharp peaks in the dim light. She’d lost so much weight. I drew in a sharp breath as my eyes adjusted further to the darkness in her cell. Her back was raw and bloody, striped with wounds I couldn’t see clearly from this distance. Darker blood stained the back and inner portions of her thighs and lower legs.
A sudden movement in the corner startled me, a man moving inside the cell. Appalled at my stupidity, I berated myself for what could easily have been a fatal mistake. It’s basic training 101 – safety first. Clear the area and always be aware of your surroundings. But the bastard hadn’t noticed me. He was laser-focused on his prize, oblivious to the influx of soldiers and the deaths of his comrades. He stepped behind Charlie, shoving his pants out of the way and grasping her roughly by the hips. She didn’t make a sound.
Rage fired through me, and I planted two bullets in the base of his skull, shoving his falling body away from Charlie.
I turned to her and gasped as the magnitude of her injuries hit me. “Oh, God, Baby Girl.”
She’d been whipped, her back torn into ribbons of raw flesh. I smelled the putrid odors of infection and charred skin. Some sort of intricate pattern had been burned into her back, and it had blistered horribly beneath and between her shoulder blades. Blood trails ran up her wrists and arms from the barbed wire gouging deep into her thin wrists. A bloodied, rusty knife nearly a foot long lay on the floor beneath her, and I suddenly realized why there was so much blood between her thighs and puddled on the floor.
My stomach clenched, and for a horrible second, I thought I might be sick.
I turned her hanging form toward me, and the sight of her beaten face shattered me. Her cheek and nose were broken and swollen, her lips dry and cracked. Her breasts had been mutilated, probably with that same rusty filet knife. She was covered in blood, both fresh and dried, and bright purple bruises from fists and boots were scattered over her abdomen and flanks. The slight rounding of her mottled belly suggested she was bleeding internally.
Dear God.
I scrambled to loosen her wrists, but the wire was wrapped too tightly. I wanted to lift her, to relieve the pressure on her shoulders and wrists, but her back was so raw and infected, I was terrified to touch her with my dusty fatigues, afraid I’d inflict more pain or damage.
I stepped out of the cell. “Jackson!” I said into my mic, my clipped voice piercing the silence.
“Yes, sir!” he answered immediately. The short medic popped out of Lila’s cell with his duffel bag and jogged toward me.
“I need a sterile sheet, now,” I demanded sharply. The medic promptly pulled out a package containing a sterile sheet for burn victims and started toward Charlie’s cell.
“Jackson!” I barked. “Give me the sheet and find bolt cutters to get her down. Now!”
“Yes, sir!” he said, passing the sheet to me before running after the bolt cutters.
I hurried back to Charlie, pulling the sterile sheet from its package. I unfolded it and wrapped it loosely around her bloodied flesh. She struggled when I touched her back, though she was barely conscious. “It’s me, Baby Girl. I’ve got you,” I repeated over and over in a gentle voice, and she’d stilled. She whimpered as I gently lifted her, cradling her in my arms to ease the strain on her wrists and shoulders. She’d pressed her face against my chest, her eyes still closed. “I’ve got you, Baby Girl. I’m here.”
If I live to be a hundred, I’ll never forget the fear I felt when she was taken, the horror of finding her so close to death, and the heartbreak of watching her struggle to recover. I’d have done anything to take away her pain.
But today, I intentionally taunted her with what those bastards did.
With Charlie back at the hotel, I’m alone with my shame, with the memory of my horrific behavior and the brutal words I said to her. Everyone in the vicinity heard what I shouted, and those who didn’t hear it for themselves have certainly heard about it. I’ve endured sidelong glances and stiff responses from staff all day.
I’ve never felt worse. Her wounded expression haunts me – her shock at my words, the devastation in her green eyes. I did that. I hurt her, and I meant to. Just how fucked up am I from my head injury? How much of this shit is permanent?
I need answers that aren’t there yet because brain trauma takes time to heal. The doctors tell me that head injuries are like fingerprints – no two are alike. Everything hinges on which portions of my brain were affected, how much damage was sustained, and how well they heal.
Luckily, I know someone who might be able to offer some insight. Stubb’s injuries were similar to mine. I text him, conscious of the late hour. “Hey man. Call or stop by tomorrow? I need to talk. Thanks for threatening to beat my ass, even though we both know you’d lose.”
I snort. Not likely. Stubbs is built like a Panzer, and he’s solid muscle.
My phone rings immediately. “I didn’t mean to wake you,” I apologize.
“You didn’t. I just ended my evening with a delightful redhead.”
I cringe. “Sorry I interrupted. Just stop by tomorrow.”
