Chapter 4

“Jesus,” Jon flipped on the outside light and crouched down before the woman on his porch. He hurried down the stairs and rolled her, dirt and scratches marred the perfect porcelain of her skin and her hair fell in thick ropes of ice and caked mud around her face but he recognized her immediately. “Cam, can you hear me?”

The dim porch light didn’t give him much to go on, but he could see there was a lot of blood on her clothes. When she didn’t respond he brushed a lock of hair away from her face. “What happened to you?” he said more to himself than anything. Her face was nearly colorless and her lips tinged with blue. He glanced out into the darkness, but it was eerily silent save the howling wind. Even the animals were smart enough to stay out of a storm like this.

Not wanting to hurt her, but knowing he needed to get her out of the weather he slid his arm beneath her knees and gasped when she moaned. Long, deep scratches tracked down her thighs and blood welled in a slow trickle into her already soaked jeans. He gathered her into him gently, not wanting to hurt her anymore than he had to and lifted her into his arms.

She was bulky with her winter layers but he managed to get back up the stairs with only a little help leaning on the railing. His bare feet ached immediately with the cold of the outside and his heart broke when her head lolled into his chest as a shiver ran through her. God, she must be freezing.

Jesus, he was a rockstar not a doctor. He didn’t know what to do here. He backed into the cabin, careful not to jar her feet and legs as he maneuvered them inside. He took one last look at the icy slash of rain and the promise of snow in the air. The radio had droned on about staying inside and limiting travel that power outages were likely with the early storm.

The trees weren’t strong enough to support the ice and snow that was heading their way in a rare October snowstorm. He’d lost cell reception early into the evening and the cabins weren’t outfitted with phones. He’d been prepared to wait out the storm with the fireplace and his notebook. His well loved acoustic lay discarded on the old rocker with his pro-tools laptop program open just in case he’d sparked something to record.

He set her down on the overstuffed couch and started stripping her out of her soaking wet clothes. A once white parka was now ripped and muddy, blood soaking one arm. He gingerly peeled the material away and hissed when she whimpered in a barely there voice.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart but I have to get you out of these wet clothes.” She quieted at the sound of his voice and he began to murmur nonsensical things to her as he got down to her corduroy button down shirt and finally to the turtleneck that was her final layer. Every article of clothing was soaked through. The gash on her arm seemed pretty superficial compared to the wounds on her legs, but the way she shivered had him worried.

He lifted her turtleneck and after a bit of a struggle, managed to get it up and off of her. He tried desperately not to look at her breasts, treating her as clinically as he could but the peach lace was see through and the cold temperature was obvious. He grabbed the quilt off the back of the couch and covered her from waist to…

“Oh God, Cam.” An angry pink scar was now visible as he settled her back on the couch once more. It ran from her clavicle up in a slashing arc behind her right ear. What kind of monster could do this to a woman? His heart bled as he covered her, hoping to get her warm.

Pushing the image firmly from his head he moved on to her jeans. He’d never get her warm if he didn’t get her dry. Her jeans were shredded and gashes wept blood into the couch from the soaked denim. Knowing the only way to get them off and fix her with the least amount of pain was to do it quickly he unzipped them and peeled back quickly.

She cried out and his gut rolled because he had caused the pain. “Sweet Mary,” he whispered at her ravaged skin. Bits of dirt and shale from the mountain were mixed in with the blood. “Shit, what the fuck do I do?” he asked the empty room.

He stood over her, anger and fear mixed into an awful brew in his belly but he leaned down again and unzipped her boots and got her fully undressed. He spun around the room, not knowing what to do for her. He didn’t know the first thing about first aid. Panic started to block out any thoughts until he heard the soft whimper come from her again.

“Pull it the fuck together, Jon,” he ordered himself. He tucked the blanket around her shoulders and huddled her into him and lifted her off the couch. Each tiny whimper and sigh of distress ripped at him, but he managed to make it up the stairs. He laid her on his bed and started up the jumbo spa tub in his master suite. It was the only way he could get her clean. He grabbed another throw blanket from the chair set next to the upstairs fireplace and covered her up.

He opened every drawer and every closet in the bathroom until he found a first aid kit and popped the top. Digging through he found gauze pads, tape and a tube of A & D ointment. He turned and tested the temperature of the water and turned off the taps.

Turning back to his room he took a deep breath. “You can do this,” he said to himself and uncovered her. Lifting her into his arms once more, he didn’t know if it was bad or good that she had stopped whimpering. Leaving her underwear on in case she woke up he lowered her into the water. She cried out when her skin came into contact with the water.

“Shh,” he whispered into her temple. “You’re alright now. I’m going to take care of you, okay?”

“Lucas! No! Stay away!”

She thrashed against him and he held her still. “Shh, Cam, it’s not Lucas. It’s me, okay? It’s Jon. I’m Jon, not him.”

Her wide, lake blue eyes flew open, wild with terror and pupils as small as pinpricks. “No! Please no!” She tried to push against him, tried to get away.

“Oh baby, what did he do to you?” he whispered and gathered her in. “You’re safe. He’s gone. I swear he’s gone. You’re safe,” he murmured against her hair. Her fingers gripped his t-shirt and the terror started to recede. He held her close as much for himself as for her and rocked her gently. “He’s not going to hurt you again, I promise.”

She sighed against him and he slowly began to wash her. He gently worked the bits of shale and dirt from her cuts and tried not to notice that the water had gone pink with her blood. God, how much was too much to lose? It seemed like a lot to him. He was having a hard time maneuvering her to wash her hair so he just climbed in behind her, jeans and t-shirt and all. Bracing her with his thigh muscles he soaped her hair and pulled down the handheld shower head and set the tub to drain.

Turning the shower setting to a gentle pulse he managed to get her hair clean and the shampoo out. He twisted the setting to a barely there trickle and rinsed off the last bits of the outside and the storm away. He unsnapped her bra and shucked her out of her underwear and lifting her yet again, he climbed from the tub to the safety of the bathroom rug.

He gathered her now pink body into the biggest towel he could find and yanked down the comforter before laying her back on the bed. He rounded the bed and stoked the fire to keep her warm then went back for the first aid kit.

Doing the best he could to treat her wounds. He remembered the butterfly tape trick his mom had used on his boyhood cuts that had been scary but not quite ER worthy and did the best he could with the deeper wounds on her legs. She’d either passed out or settled into a deep sleep and he kept checking for the steady rise of her chest to make sure she was alive.

She’d gone from distressing whines and cries to nothing and he almost wanted the cries back. At least then he knew she was feeling something. This near nothing was scaring him. He pulled one of his t-shirts out of his case and a pair of his gym shorts and gingerly dressed her. When she still didn’t make a move or a sound he sighed. “C’mon, Sweetheart, just open those pretty blue eyes so I can make sure you’re okay.”

But she didn’t, just kept sleeping and God, did he hope the sleep was putting her back together again.