Page 151 of Finding Noah

The guy beside me chuckled. “Batman. I bet he’d love that. Actually, I am wearing a mask,” he replied. “But there's more to be protected here than our identities. I can't let you know our location.”

“And what if I found out?”

“Then I can't ensure your safety or survival.”

I swallowed, then reluctantly nodded.

“So, do I have your word? You will not touch that blindfold.”

“You have my word.”

“Thank you,” he replied graciously. Then he untied one wrist before rounding the bed to untie the other.

It felt good to be unbound, to have the freedom of using my hands, but as I rotated my sore, bandaged wrists, I winced and hissed against a pain I hadn’t anticipated.

“Your shoulders were dislocated,” the man explained. “And the bullet Benjamin fired at you hit your arm. You’re lucky it didn’t do more damage than it did. You’ll be fine, but it needs time to rest.”

I exhaled, nodding silently as I absorbed the words. It barely brushed the surface of my injuries, I was sure, and this man … these men … had taken care of me.

“So, what can I call you? Batman’s taken,” I tried to joke as he moved around the room.

“Outside of providing you with the tools to heal, I'm nobody,” he said, never faltering in his tone of kindness.

His bedside manner was impeccable, and as he assessed the bullet wound on my arm, I nodded thoughtfully.

“Whatever you say, Doc.”

He huffed a chuckle. “I'll accept it.”

As he fiddled with the bandages on my wrists, a door opened to the room, somewhere off to the left, and I turned in that direction, as if I could see who had entered the room. The man now known as Doc halted his administrations, and I assumed he was silently acknowledging the new presence in the room. Whatever communication was passed between them was quick, and moments later, the door closed again.

“Who was that?” I asked, not expecting much of an answer.

But Doc replied, “Batman,” then chuckled as though the name was hilarious to him. “He wanted to make sure you were awake.”

“He doesn't want to say hi?”

“He's not very social.”

“Fooled me.”

Then I fell silent, allowing my thoughts to take over as Doc moved around the bed, pulling the covers from my body and gently instructing me on where to move and how as he assessed my various injuries.

I knew the man in the plague doctor mask had spared me, but I still couldn't understand why. If secrecy was of such importance, why not just end my life? What did it matter to him or any of them if I lived or died? It just didn't seem worth the trouble, when I put myself in their shoes.

Doc spoke about the extent of my injuries. The gunshot to my arm. The swelling in my shoulders due to them being bound and dislocated. The minimal internal bleeding caused by the beatings. He'd stitched up the open cuts on my face and administered intravenous fluids to fight the dehydration.

Quietly, as if to prevent anyone else from hearing, he spoke of the injuries I'd suffered from the repeated counts of rape, and somewhere along the way, my mind made the decision to tune him out.

And it wasn't that I didn’t appreciate his discretion and display of respect. But I also knew that, if I gave permission to think about it now, to relive it, I wasn't sure I'd survive it again. I wasn't sure I knew how to acknowledge what had happened and still find the ability to move forward as an unbroken man. The pain would fade, the physical evidence would disappear with time, until all that was left was what existed heavily on my psyche. It was the largest of the burdens to bear—I understood that—and maybe, one day, I'd be able to speak of it. But I knew it wouldn't be until I could prove to myself that I was able to be whole, even having lived through what I had.

One day, when I was sure I stood on steady legs, I'd allow them to buckle. But that wasn't today.

So, I just nodded, not yet putting a voice to the things I felt.

“I know it's hard to imagine now,” Doc said quietly, “but time does have a way of fading the scars. It doesn't go away, and you'll fight to keep your head above water, but put your trust in your strength, Noah. You've survived more than most. You can survive this too.”

I sucked in a deep breath. “You sound like you're speaking from experience,” I dared to murmur.