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talking about healing wouldn't aid the healing in any way, and we had decisions to make. I dragged the blanket off and swung my legs over the side, fighting a wave of vertigo at the sudden movement.
“Maybe try it a little slower,” Mouse said. She reached out and tried to take my hand to offer support but I left her hanging. I needed to do this myself.
When the room stopped spinning I stood, this time moving a little slower. The walls stayed where they were meant to be and though I was a little shaky I succeeded. Bolstered by this triumph, I took a step toward the bathroom, and tripped over my own foot. I landed in Mouse's arms.
“You can rest, you know.”
“We either need to finish the job or leave town,” I said as I got my feet back under me. “Either course of action requires me to be mobile.”
“Still.”
“Let me try.” She let me go and stepped away, crossing her arms to let me know she wouldn't help the next time I fell.
The first step was difficult, as muscles in my chest objected to my legs moving, for some reason, and the world went a little wobbly again. The next step was easier and the one after that was practically normal. It also brought me to the bathroom of our tiny space, and I stepped inside and closed the door for some privacy.
Looking in the mirror was a shock. I thought I had an idea what I looked like based on the state of the bed, but in the harsh light of the overhead fluorescent I got a much better picture of the beating I’d suffered.
My chest was a patchwork of dark bruises and barely healed cuts, my chest hair matted with dried blood. My face was relatively unscathed but there was a haunted look around my bloodshot eyes. When I went to poke at one of the bruises my hand shook uncontrollably and I paused, waiting for it to go away. I stared at the hand, willing it to calm down and obey, and in a few minutes it did.
I took that as a win and began cleaning up, turning on the shower to let the water heat up while I used the sink to clean some of the blood from my face and hands. Not all of it was mine and I realized I must have lain beside the deputy and soaked in some of his.
Mouse had been wise not to take me to the hospital. The evidence splattered over my body and the timing would have let everyone know who was to blame for the murder.
Still, I wondered, what would she have done if I hadn't miraculously started healing? What was her plan when she turned away from the hospital and brought me back to the motel?
I knew what it had been, and a brief moment of emotional pain joined the moaning of my muscles. She would have waited for me to die and then left. It would have hurt her and she would have regretted it for the rest of her life, but she would have left me.
I wouldn't trade her for anything, but she was a professional with more time on the job than me. She knew the risks and had seen more action than my cloistered life had afforded me. We were partners, and we would fight for each other if required, but we knew the limits of our partnership.
I shook it off, stripped off my blood-caked briefs, and stepping into the scalding water of the shower. Whatever benevolent deity was keeping me alive had arranged for the tiny hot water tank to actually have something left for me, and steam quickly filled the room. Washing off the remnants of the fight at the distillery was therapeutic and I stepped out clean and ready for the next challenge.
Mouse had kept busy while I was showering and she barely looked up from her laptop when I stepped back into the room.
“Anything interesting?” I said. I toweled off and began rummaging through my small suitcase for fresh clothes.
“The cops are blaming the unknown criminals. The great boogeymen of the county killed a fine officer when he stopped to check on a disturbance at the historic old building.”
“They could be lying, trying to draw us out.”
“They know where we live.” When we arrived there'd been plenty of gossip
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