Page 33 of This for That (The Edge of Retaliation 1)
Madeline came back, but I pretended to be asleep. Soon she fell asleep herself.
I then endured the worst night of my life, feeling more than once like my body was going to give up on me, and kind of hoping it would at the same time.
When morning rolled around, I knew I was going to have to tell someone.
“Callie?”
The male voice and the sound of my door opening has me rolling and then crying out in pain. Officer Corel walks into the room, his eyes on me. He notices the blood when the blanket moves, and he rushes over. “What happened?”
“I . . . I just hurt myself. It’s nothing,” I whisper, sweat trickling down my face. A cold, clammy sweat.
I don’t feel so well. Not at all.
“You need to tell me what happened right now. I’m taking you to the nurse. You should have been take immediately. Someone will answer for this.”
Madeline sits up, rubbing her eyes. “What’s going on?”
“I was hoping you could tell me?” Officer Corel asks, helping me out of the bed.
I buckle over and cry out as pain shoots through my side. It’s then Officer Corel notices my hand. “What the hell has happened here?”
“It’s nothing. I’m accident prone,” I grind out through clenched teeth. “Don’t worry about it.”
“We’re going to the nurse.”
He helps me out of the room, his arm supporting me. I wince the entire way to the nurse’s office, and when we get in, and I lie on that bed, a tear rolls down my cheek. Officer Corel calls Mary. She rushes in after a few minutes, and her eyes fall on me. “Oh no. Not again.”
“What’s been happening, Mary? Speak to me.”
“She came in only a few days ago with broken fingers. We had to get them looked at by Doctor Grace. She said she dropped something on them gardening, but now this . . . Can you tell me what happened, Callie?”
I wince as she slowly lifts my shirt and her eyes widen. “I . . . I dropped some plates and I fell and . . .”
“You’re lying,” Officer Corel mutters. “Tell the truth, please.”
“That is the truth.”
“Trisha,” he mutters. “You’re scared to say anything, but Callie, I’ll have her moved. I’ll do something, if you just tell me what happened.”
Do I tell him? Should I trust him after he told me everything would be fine when he went away?
I don’t know.
I don’t know anything.
“Yes,” I whisper. “Trisha.”
“These are going to need to be looked at. My guess is stab wounds; they’re going to need stitching. I’ll call the doctor in,” Mary says, leaving the room.
Officer Corel turns to me. “What happened while I was away?”
I tell him. I tell him everything that happened and when.
As I speak, his face scrunches up with anger. He looks like he’s about to bust a top. When I’m finished, he growls, “I had strict instructions left for you to be away from Trisha. I’ll speak to the officer in charge about this, but for now, I’m going to get you to make a formal statement. I’ve wanted Trisha moved for quite some time now; this should be enough to make that happen.”
“And if it doesn’t . . .?” I whisper, feeling incredibly unwell right about now.
“It will. She’s a danger to everyone around her. It’s time she is put back in her place. I’m sorry this happened. You’re a good kid, Callie. You don’t belong in here.”
I turn my head and look at the wall, a silent tear rolling down my cheek. He’s wrong. I do belong in here. That makes it feel that much worse, because every time I think about it, every time I get sad, I remember Celia’s life, and I can’t feel sorry for myself. She has no life left. I’m here because I took that from her.
“You okay?” Officer Corel asks.
I nod.
There is nothing else to say.
I don’t deserve pity, and I don’t deserve special treatment.
Mary comes back in after a few minutes and announces that the doctor is coming. She gives me some pain relief and starts cleaning up the wounds while Officer Corel takes an official statement and calls in another officer, asking for him to take over so he can go and take my statement to whoever is in charge. I’m guessing, anyway.
The man that takes over is Officer Barney. He’s older, and fairly quiet. He doesn’t say a lot, but I do notice him staring at the stab wounds in my side, and then his eyes meet mine. He looks like he could be someone’s grandfather. Is he? Is he looking at me wondering how he’d feel if I were his child? Would he be as ashamed of me as my parents are?
I turn and look at the wall again.
I can’t stand any more looks.
