Page 40 of Unnatural
She nodded solemnly. “Yes, it’s me. And it’s you. Sam.”
“You know my name.” He was wondrous. He didn’t know where he was or even who he was or if this was reality or some version of insanity or a fever dream or a medication he’d been given. But whatever it was, he didn’t want it to end.
“Yes, you told me your name. Do you remember?”
He cast his mind back, wincing from the pain in his head. “No.”
She took a step closer. “That’s not surprising. You’ve been very sick.”
He glanced down at his chest. “You helped me.”
She bit at her lip, a worried look coming into her eyes. “Yes. I’m a registered nurse. I removed the bullets. It didn’tappear they’d hit anything vital. I stitched you up. I administered antibiotics, and I’ve been here monitoring you. It was a risk, Sam. I thought you might die, and if you had…”
“Thank you,” he said, a whisper again. “Thank you.” He felt strange. Something he couldn’t identify.Like crying.He felt like crying. It was unusual. He didn’t think he knew what crying felt like anymore. “Autumn,” he said. “Your name is Autumn.” It had been written at the front of the book with the red velvet cover, the one he’d been forced to leave behind when he was banished. His treasure. His only treasure. Yet he’d carried it with him anyway, secure in the vault of his mind.
She nodded slowly, taking another step toward him. “Yes. Did they tell you my name?”
“They?”
Her forehead dipped. “The people at the hospital all those years ago? The ones who sent you out into the woods?”
“No. It was in the front of your book.”
She looked confused for a moment, and then understanding dawned, and she released a short breath. “My journal,” she said. “Soyou’rethe one who stole it?”
“I didn’t steal it. I found it.”
“Did you read it?”
He cast his eyes down. “Yes.”A thousand times, and then again.
She set her hands on her hips. “Hmm. You shouldn’t have done that. Those were my private thoughts.”
He felt embarrassed. Ashamed. Mostly because her words had meant so much to him, and she hadn’t wanted him to read them. He felt a quivering inside, a different sort of hurt than he’d experienced before. “Sorry,” he mumbled. The words he’d cherished so much had been stolen words,not meant for him at all. He’d known that, of course. But to hear it out loud from her created a piercing pain.
In his peripheral vision, she took a step toward him. She was within arm’s reach now. “It’s okay. Listen…we’re at my father’s lake cottage right now. Sam, he’s worried about me helping you. About me being alone out here with you.”
His gaze flew to hers. “I won’t hurt you,” he said. Could he if he wanted to? Even wounded like he was? Yes. But he had no desire to hurt Autumn.
She watched him for several moments, and he felt his face heat. It surprised him. He didn’t usually get embarrassed, but he felt exposed under her stare. Because he cared what she thought of him. Down deep in a hidden place where he stored the few valuables that mattered to him. He knew she must be thinking that he looked like a freak and a monster, even while he was so stunned by her beauty he could barely speak.
“My father believed I’d tie you up,” she said.
His stomach lurched. He’d been tied up before—strapped down—while they’d done horrific things to his body…as he’d screamed and begged them to stop. He wouldn’t hurt Autumn, and he wouldn’t beg, but he’d turn this house upside down before he’d let her tie him down.
But before he could respond, she said, “I didn’t tie you down. Not even when you were unconscious. And I’m not going to attempt it now.” She gave him the side-eye. “I have a feeling you’d try to leave if I did. But I’m going to trust you, Sam, because I have good reason to believe you’re kind and that you won’t hurt me even if you could.”
“I’m not kind,” he said, because he wasn’t, and though it hurt and embarrassed him to know she saw him as themonster he was, he also didn’t want to lie or mislead.
She looked thoughtful for a moment. “Decent then.”
“No, I’m not that either.”
She let out a small laugh that quickly died. “Well, honest anyway.”
He considered that. “Yes. I’m honest.” Or rather he’d never had much reason to lie. His job had not required words meant to deceive. Only brute force action had been necessary.
“Good. Can I trust you?”
