Page 28 of Hidden
“Ellie?” he said, peeking his head around the edge as he opened it. His gaze landed on nothing. But then, as he let it fall, he caught sight of her dark hair. With the way it fell over her body, it all but hid her in the shadows of the closet.
“It’s okay, Ellie. It’s me, Asher. You’re okay,” he said, opening the door enough that he could kneel in front of her. Her knees were pulled up, her head resting against them.
Keeping his movements slow, he reached forward and brushed her hair back enough so that he could see the side of her face. “Ellie?” He dropped his hand to her shoulder and let it lie there. Letting her feel the heat of his touch and, hopefully, take some comfort from it.
He remained on his knees, wanting to give her the time and space to come out of whatever place she’d gone to in her head. Five minutes passed before her breathing shifted from a staccato rhythm to one both deeper and slower. A few minutes after that, she lifted her head.
Puffy red eyes met his, and he held her gaze as she seemed to take him in. His touch had told her he was there. But her mind needed time to align what she knew with what she saw. And believed.
He saw the moment his presence clicked. A heartbeat later, something clattered to the floor, and she launched herself into his arms.
Unprepared for the sudden burst of movement, he fell onto his ass, but managed to get his arms around her. With a few seconds of awkward maneuvering, he had her in his lap, with his back to the wall and her face buried in the space between his shoulder and neck.
Several minutes passed as he soothed her, stroking her hair and back and murmuring nonsense words. When her breathing slowed to a steady pace, he decided to speak again.
“Ellie?” She nodded against his neck. “Can you tell me what happened? Are you hurt?”
She didn’t respond right away. He remained silent and waited as she gathered her thoughts.
“I’m…” She sat back and withdrew her arms from around his neck. But she didn’t look at him. “I’m okay. I think. I mean, I’m not. But I’m not hurt.” She clenched her fists as she spoke then she winced, her gaze darting to her right hand. He reached for her wrist and turned her palm upward. Slowly, she unfurled her fingers.
His heart shot into his throat. Dried blood covered her palm and tracked down her wrist. Gripping the back of her hand, he turned it toward him for a closer examination.
“You’re cut,” he said. A long, clean slice ran the width of her palm.
She stared at it then looked at him. “I…I don’t remember this happening. I remember grabbing the knife. I remember feeling like something bad was going to happen. And I grabbed the knife and hid. I don’t remember.” Her voice faded as she returned her attention to her hand.
“Can we get it cleaned up? I want to see how deep it is,” he said.
She continued looking at it then lifted her gaze to him and gave a small nod. He didn’t want to let her go. He wouldn’t let her go. And somehow, with determination and fear driving him, he managed to hold on to her as he rose from the floor. Not any more eager to be away from him, she held on, looping her left hand around his neck.
Carrying her to the bathroom, he set her down on the counter. “I want to get my first aid kit; are you going to be okay?” he asked, his hands resting on her hips. She met his gaze and again, gave a small nod. Reluctantly, he let go and dropped down to rummage in his cabinet for the supplies he kept on hand.
She remained still as he unpacked a few things. Then, after dampening some gauze with warm water, he started wiping her hand. And she began to talk.
“I was going to make you carnitas tacos for dinner. Like my dad used to make. I think…the pork should still be in the oven.” Panic laced her tone.
The fact the pork was still in the oven was inconsequential given the current situation. But still, he reassured her. “I’ll check on it in a minute,” he said.
She gave a jerky nod then continued. “I was debating whether to make horchata, too, and I walked into the pantry to see if you had the ingredients. And then…then it just came on again. That horrible feeling of dread. Like something terrible is going to happen. But not just to me, to everyone. It…it feels like the world is going to end. I know how dramatic that sounds. Now, as I sit here with you, I can barely say that without cringing at how dramatic it sounds. But that’s how it feels. Like I’m going to lose everything and everyone I hold dear.
“And then the paranoia set in. Shadows became people out to hurt me. The creaking of the house became the footsteps of intruders. The swaying of a tree branch hid someone spying on me.” She paused as he set the gauze aside and inspected the cut. A clean, but not deep, slice done by the knife that she’d grabbed. The one that must have clattered to the floor when she launched herself at him.
“I remember grabbing the knife and hiding, but I don’t remember this,” she said, nodding to her hand. “Is it bad?”
“I don’t think you need stitches, but it will hurt for a good while,” he answered. “Do you know how long you were in the closet?”
She started to shake her head then stopped. “Was the timer going off when you got home?”
“In the kitchen?” She nodded. “No,” he answered.
“Then less than an hour,” she said. “I remember setting the timer just before I went into the pantry.”
He needed to know how long she’d been hiding. Dr. Garcia would want the information. “Stay here, I’ll be right back,” he said.
She didn’t respond but didn’t indicate that she intended to move. Quickly, he slipped down the hall to the kitchen. There were eight minutes left on the timer and he’d been home about twenty. Which meant she’d likely been hiding less than thirty minutes.
Returning to the bathroom, he found Ellie exactly where he’d left her. His heart ached at the dejected expression on her face. “We’re going to figure this out, Ellie,” he said, picking up her hand again and gently spreading antibiotic ointment on the cut.
