“It looks a lot worse than it is,” Maart says. He’s not paying attention to Rainer or the kid. He’s pulling a bag of blood out of a cooler on the floor and hooking it into the IV. “We got this, Evard. Go to bed now.”
“Bed?” Evard’s single word comes out both surprised and cynical. “I’m not going to bed! He’s dying!”
Rainer is still crouched down. And now I realize he did that so he could look the boy in the eyes. He puts a hand on his shoulder. “He’s not dying, Evard. He needs some blood, and some stitches, and his ribs will be fucked for a few weeks. But he’ll be fine the next time you see him, I promise.”
“No. I don’t want to go back without him. Why does he do this? Why can’t he just come home?”
Hmm. I wonder what this is about?
“Evard?” Maart has had enough of this. I can hear it in his tone. “Go back to the room and stay there. If you say anything else, you’re gonna get three months on the Rock.” Evard scoffs, but Maart adds, “Alone.”
“That’s fucking stupid,” Evard yells. “He would never—”
“Wouldn’t he?” Maart interrupts. And then he looks up from his work on Cort’s body and his gaze slowly migrates over to the kid.
Evard has the good sense to slink back.
Hell, even I slink back and he’s not even looking at me.
“Go,” Rainer says, his voice still soft and calm. “He won’t be happy if he wakes up and Maart tells him about this. You’ve already crossed lines here.”
A long, tired sigh from the boy. Then he thrusts the bottle at Rainer. “Tell him I brought him this.” Rainer takes the bottle and then Evard turns and walks away.
Well, that interaction was very interesting. Lots of little information nuggets to decode later. But not now. Because Maart begins to stitch up Cort’s neck and this rouses Cort just enough to moan.
Rainer closes the door, sets the bottle on the small counter, and then turns to Cort. “You here with us, buddy?” He slaps his cheek a few times. “Cort? Can you hear me?”
Cort moans again, and his head turns, but he doesn’t open his eyes.
Maart growls. “Stay still, asshole. I’m fucking stitching here.”
Another bit of information gleaned. Maart is his… what? Medic? He certainly seems to know what he’s doing.
Another knock at the door.
“Fucking hell,” Maart says.
But Rainer is already opening it up. He whispers something, then opens the door wider. “This guy brought a brace for Cort’s ribs.”
Maart looks up from his stitching. “No. We don’t need a brace.”
“I’m sorry,” the nurse at the door says. “Udulf commanded me to make him wear it.”
Maart glances up from his work and shoots the delivery guy a death look, making him shrink back. Then he looks over at Rainer and sighs. “Put it on him then.”
“Me?” Rainer laughs. It’s a nice laugh. In fact, he’s got a nice face. It’s friendly-looking when he laughs. “Not my area of expertise.”
Maart is really annoyed now. He looks at the nurse. “Put it on him!”
“Yes, sir,” the man says. He squeezes past Rainer, but there’s not just one nurse, there are two, and they both come in. And now this room is way too small. They shuffle around each other, one on each side of Cort’s body, reaching under him to try to slide the brace underneath his muscular back as Rainer messes with the line feeding Cort a bag of blood.
But suddenly Cort wakes, his fist swinging at the strangers.
“Out!” Maart barks. “Now!”
Cort reaches over to Maart with both hands, grabs his hair, and pulls his face downward. I hold my breath and wonder what he will do next. Hit him? Headbutt him?
But no. Cort kisses him. Right on the lips.
Maart laughs it off with a joke about getting him all bloody and then Rainer is bending down to whisper in Cort’s ear.
Suddenly Cort bolts upright, looking straight at me as Maart hisses objections. But Cort’s steel-gray eyes are locked on mine and suddenly, I feel like I’m under a spell.
I can’t look away. His hands are moving. Fast. And I realize that he is signing.
Pavo lied.
Sick Heart does so talk.
He just doesn’t talk out loud, that fucking cheater.
I don’t know why this surprises me so much, because people who talk are normal and people who don’t aren’t, but I am shocked. And disappointed.
I mean, it’s only been like an hour since I realized he and I might be alike. But if he communicates, then he is not silent. And that means he’s not like me at all.
“He wants to know why you don’t talk,” Rainer says.
I don’t say anything to Cort van Breda. Not with my hands. Not with my eyes. Never with my voice. Because he’s not getting that answer from me.