Page 120 of Misery
The main room is full of members but I don't see them.
Don't see anything except the couch in the corner where my father sits.
Sits.
Alive.
But Rio was right to warn me.
His face shows the horrors he’s been through.
One eye swollen shut, the other bloodshot.
His lips are split in multiple places.
There's a bandage around his head, another around his ribs visible through his open shirt.
But it's his hands that make me stop walking.
His left hand is wrapped in heavy gauze, but I can see the shape is wrong.
Fingers missing.
At least two, maybe three.
Gwen kneels beside him, working on a gash on his arm with careful stitches.
She looks up when she hears us, offers a small smile. "He's stable. Hurt like hell, but stable."
"Elfe?" My father's good eye finds me. His voice is rough, like he's been screaming. "Is that—baby girl?"
The nickname breaks something in me. I cross the room in three steps, falling to my knees beside him. "Dad. Oh God, Dad."
I want to hug him but I'm afraid I'll hurt him more.
He solves the problem by reaching out with his good hand, pulling me against his less damaged side.
"I'm okay," he whispers into my hair. "I'm okay. You're safe. That's what matters."
"Your hand?—"
"Will heal. Most of it anyway." He pulls back enough to look at me with his good eye. "Thiago?"
"I don't know. No one's told me?—"
"Dead."
I turn. Oskar stands in the doorway.
He's changed clothes but there's still blood under his fingernails.
A cut on his cheek.
His eyes find mine and hold.
"Thiago's dead," he repeats. "He won't hurt anyone again."
The relief hits so hard I almost throw up. Or maybe that's the bourbon. "You killed him?"
