Page 96 of Judas

“Coming, Sunshine.”

Back at her side, she sits up straight in her seat. Bare feet skimming the basic tiled floor. Every time she grabs and squeezes the edge of the seat cushion, digging her nails into it, dry blood flakes off of her and onto the vinyl material.

“You took too long,” she says sharply, losing the playful edge that I have come to recognize as the volatile side of her. Can’t remember what the others called her, but she’s concerning.

Lowering back into my seat, my eyes meet hers. Unwaveringly, I hold her stare. Silently establishing hierarchy with this unruly young woman. This side shows itself when she is threatened which, if she felt intimidated by me, she would be attacking. Sitting there, giving me grief about not coming back soon enough? I think I’m in the clear—for now, at least. We will see how long that lasts. Leaning closer to her and propping my elbow on the armrest, I give her my undivided attention, jaw tight, showing her I’m just as stubborn. Hoping she doesn’tget too rowdy and the staff takes her back before the damage becomes too much.

“I’m a big boy, Sadie, I don’t need you to micromanage the things I do. I was only trying to get you back so the doctor can see you and fix your arms.”

“Don’t you like my pretty work?” she asks, her blood-stained teeth capturing her fuller bottom lip in an attempt to look innocent—but I’ve never met a nice devil. Raising her arms, she looks at me, head tilted to the left when I refuse to respond to her. She’s attempting to goad me, and I don’t want to play. Instead, we have a staring contest for a few seconds until she gets uncomfortable—wrenching herself away with a huff. Petulant like.

Praying that’s the child in her trying to come back out. I’d rather her be immature than trying to commit a homicide.

“Why did you do that to yourself? People are going to want to lock you in a padded room when they see you acting this way and figuring out you hurt yourself.”

“No one is going to lock me away, if they do, I’ll kill them.” All matter of fact, she is.

“Your days of taking someone’s life are over. You’re going to get better; your parents are going to protect you, too. Keep you safe from Lucien and all of the other people who have hurt you. As long as you don’t cut yourself anymore.”

“D… don’t cut.” The change in her tone gives me whiplash.

Sadie sinks back in her chair, drawing her legs up to her chest and instantly tries to wrap her arms around her folded limbs. When she winces, letting them drop to her sides, my heart lurches. I find myself wishing I could take the pain away from her, to heal the damage she’s done to her alabaster skin—if only shit were that easy. This though? Asking questions and finding out the truth is what I’m good at. She’s a job, nothing more, and jobs come paired with duty I have swore to uphold.

“What happened, Sadie?” Asking again, I let my voice lower while keeping it even. Little psychological technique I picked up over the years. De-escalates and makes your detainee pay attention. Now, I know she’s not a hostage but it works on everyone.

A louder, more chipper, voice calls out from over my shoulder, “Sadie Wilson?”

Maintaining eye contact with her, she starts to shiver and sag in her chair—the spiritual adrenaline in her body dipping, causing her to crash. Shifting, I slide my hand under her knees, the other behind her back and lift her slight frame. We both vacate our seats and turn to the nurse who’s holding the door open with a tight smile and furrowed brows. How dare we interrupt her job for her to do… her job? Marching over, Sadie tilts her head to my bicep and speaks in a hushed tone as if she’s trying to throw my questioning approach in my face.

“Will get you all patched up, Sunshine. Promise. Hang in there for me, alright?”

“A… alright,” she sighs.

The nurse, who I learn is named Della, ushers us back to one of the trauma rooms that’s already set up for suturing Sadie's angry skin back together. Stepping inside, I walk her over to the gurney—my senses assaulted by the uneasy atmosphere of a medical facility. It’s cold as expected; the scent of antiseptic and sterile cleaning supplies making my stomach roll like an old butter churn. I hate this shit. Hospitals are not my thing, a trait I share with millions of other people. Traumatized by the shit we’ve seen and experienced in places such as hospitals—watched loved ones stop breathing, families be torn apart by illness, or the violent way people are brought back to life.

“Set her down on the bed, I’m going to get an IV started on her and draw some blood at the same time,” Della informs me.

“She’s had enough blood come out of her body, is that necessary?”

“If she needs a transfusion, yes. We need to make sure we get the correct blood for her. In the event her levels are too low, the doctor may go ahead and order a few pints of emergency bags while waiting for the results on her antibody screening.”

“Whatever, just get it done and over with,” I grunt when laying Sadie down. She’s shivering more but her eyes are closed now. Skin a bit more pale than it usually is, missing the rosy color girls her age should have.

Della calls in a few other people in different colored scrubs and they end up swarming Sadie like bees. Lifting, pulling, placing lines that pump clear liquid into her severed veins. When Della ushers the men out, me included, I can’t help but look over my shoulder at her. What the fuck do I do if she doesn’t wake up? I can’t go back to Mav and tell him this mission was a failure; sure as hell can’t tell Havok and Nadia their kid didn’t make it. They’ve suffered enough—this would break and end what’s left of both of ‘em.

Standing outside of her door, arms crossed over the bulk of my chest, my hands squeeze my biceps while the left foot goes back to bouncing like it was doing in the SUV. A lively hustle and bustle in the emergency room persists around me; this is the everyday life of the employees here. It’s not out of the ordinary for them to see people of all walks of life come in and never leave. It’s strange, their lives are normal while Sadie’s is falling apart. Which puts a few things into perspective for me. Still, I remain focused, trying to hear what’s going on inside the ER-room. Praying that the crazed side of her doesn’t rear its ugly head and go off the deep end—attack people. We may never get her back then. Even if she physically survives someone else will have her locked away and it will kill all that’s left of the girl I know Sadie wants to be.

“Mr. Wilson?” Della's growing familiar voice calls for me.

Giving a shake of my head, I turn and glare at her.

“Sullivan.”

“Pardon me?”

“I’m not a Wilson, she’s not my daughter.”

“Oh, apologies. The paperwork said Patton and Pierce as the last names, I assumed…”

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