We left Vancouver that afternoon. Leo decided-and I agreed, on some level-that being in midst of the city was too much for me too handle. I couldn't recover mentally with the constant reminders of the accident around me. Every time a helicopter passed, or an unstable piece of rubble hit the ground, I panicked. As for my physical wounds, a doctor was only a helicopter ride away. Luxuries of the rich, I supposed.
Leo wanted to drive to Whistler. Neither of us were sure what would happen if I were to see the city from above. The sedan we took was sleek and black, and it drove so smoothly it felt like we were hardly moving at all.
The highway was empty. The ski season hadn't begun, and it was too late in the year for summer vacationers to be swarming the mountain town. I watched as the ocean dipped in and out of view as we headed north. The inlets were covered in migrating geese, the water black with their bodies.
Leo took an unmarked exit, and the sun disappeared behind a thick curtain of trees. Through gaps in the foliage, I saw fences and low red buildings. Smoke poured from the top of a few, but otherwise they seemed abandoned. The whole scene was pastoral, so wholesome it felt like it had come from a children's book, or a Monet painting.
"We're on bare bones at the moment." Leo said. "It's only the kitchen staff, the groundskeeper and the cleaning crew."
"That's bare bones?" I asked. "How many do you normally have?"
"Some of my business overlaps into the Whistler house as well." He replied.
I fidgeted with the bandages around my hand. Leo glanced over, and grabbed my left hand, driving one handed.
"Don't play with it, you'll make it worse." He said, without taking his eyes off the road. "I'll duct tape an oven mitt over your hand, if that's what it takes to get you to stop playing with it."
I tried to take my hand back, but Leo kept it in his grip, maneuvering the winding road one-handed. I gave up, watching the scenery out the window. The wood was thinning now, giving way to a manicured lawn. The asphalt turned to fine gravel, and we came to a stop in front of the country manor. It was huge, and I had to clench my jaw to keep it from hitting the floor. It was as though a castle from the British highlands had dropped n the middle of the states. The bricks were weathered, and there was ivy growing up one side. It was the prettiest building I had ever seen. Part of me couldn't believe I was going to be living there.
"Can you make it up the stairs?" Leo asked.
I nodded, pausing outside the car. The air in the mountains was crisp and clear, a far cry from the air in Vancouver. There was a complete absence of oil or the brackish smell of the tankers the floated in from the harbor. The farthest peaks had snow gathering on them, and I could feel the chill in the air
The house backed onto a large yard, sloping down towards the ocean. The pamplas and grey shore grass gleamed gold in the morning sun. I sighed, turning around to take it all in. Although the road was barely fifty metres from the front door, it felt like we were in another world completely.
"It's beautiful," I said, pulling my sweater tighter around my waist. "Like something from a fairytale."
Leo smiled, thumbing through a key ring. "I haven't used it in a while, so my apologies for the dust I'm sure has built up." He unlocked the large front door, ushering me in. "A house this big is too much for one person."
I stared, no longer caring if I came off uncultured or shocked by such a display of wealth. The inside was as elegant as the outside suggested— a wide, sweeping staircase flowed down into the foyer where we stood, leading to a balconied second story.
"If the stairs are too much trouble, I can put you in a first floor guest room," Leo said, following me through the door.
I looked at the stairs and hesitated. Though I'd been faithfully doing the therapy taught to me in the hospital, I didn't know if I could trust my leg to carry me that far. Still, I had to try, if only to prove to myself I could.
I looked down at the ratty white gauze that covered my wound. The corners of my mouth turned down without my control.
"Leo?" I called, as he began to walk away.
"Hmm?" He stopped and leaned against the wall. "What do you need, darling?"
"I-nothing. I wanted to apologize for being such an imposition. I know you're busy, and if I ever become too much-"
"I'll stop you right there, Ruth. You're not an imposition. I'm not too busy to take care of someone in need."
"But there's so many other people affected by the attack. There has to be someone more in need than me." I looked down. "I don't deserve any of this." A lump appeared in my throat, and I fought back tears-something I had gotten altogether too used to. There was guilt like a ball of lead in my chest, and so much suppressed grief, it was surprising I didn't combust from it all.
There was silence for a moment, and then a pair of arms crushed me so tightly I gasped. Only this time, instead of dissolving into tears, I hugged him back, fiercely.
"There is no one-and I mean this, Ruth-no more deserving than you. Trust me, darling, I am helping others as well. I'm a philanthropist, remember?" He held me away by my shoulders, and winked. "Shall we fix you up?" He tucked my arm between his elbow and his side, and led me though the veritable maze of the manor. Open windows blew country air into the house, and let in buttery yellow sunlight.
I could tell the moment we turned into Leo's hallway. The walls were a rich red, and the carpet turned to hardwood flooring. It was less homey and more like the chamber of some cruel medieval king. His room was much the same as in the city-unmade bed, papers and news articles strewn across the desk.
The bathroom, in comparison, was spotless. I hopped up onto the marble countertop, and admired the gold fixtures on the sink. My reflection peered back at me from the golden tap, distorted and discoloured.
Leo smiled, and drew a box of gauze out of a drawer. He mumbled something to himself, then straightened, and held his hand out. Obediently, I placed mine in his. His nimble fingers untied the soiled bandage and tugged. I let out a yelp as the bandage ripped free.
"Sorry." Leo said, and dropped the bloody gauze onto the counter. I pulled my palm up close to my face, and wrinkled my nose at the sight of the cut. It was jagged, the skin swollen and red.
"We'll keep an eye on it, to be safe." Leo said, taking my hand again. "I disinfected it pretty well, but the last thing we want is an infection."
"You spoke in Russian, a few seconds ago." I blurted. "I didn't know you were Russian. Laine isn't a very Slavic name."
Leo sighed. "My father changed it, when he started the company. Wasn't so good to have Russian sounding name during the Cold War."
I frowned. Something was ringing an alarm bell in my head, but I couldn't place it. I shook it off, and took my hand back. "So your parents taught you Russian?" I asked, sliding myself to my feet.
Leo laughed, and leaned back onto the counter, his arms tense and braced behind him. "Something like that." As he moved, his left sleeve rose, and I caught sight of a black tattoo. Without thinking, I reached out and pushed the fabric of his sleeve aside.
"How many do you have?" I asked. It was the same script I had seen before. "Is that Russian, too? What does it mean?
"Yes, it's Russian." Leo said. He dragged his thumb over the inked skin. "It means 'ruination.'"
I didn't press any further. He had gone quiet, staring at the tattoo. It was a strange thing to have permanently written on your body. I couldn't help but wonder what had gone so wrong that he had gotten it tattooed.
Ruination.
"Will you teach me Russian?" I changed the subject. Leo jumped, dropping his sleeve back into place.
"If you want me too. Not tonight though. You need to rest."
Sleep did not come easily, when it came at all. The sedatives only put me in a torpor, weighing my limbs down, but not my mind, and when the tears came, all I could do was lay still and cry.
The tears rushed out of me in a tidal wave. I shook silently until my eyes were swollen nearly closed and my pillow soaked. My head and throat hurt, but I couldn't muster the energy to care.
I awoke in the early evening, into the kind of blue torpor only drugs and exhaustion bring on. The world turned to shades of steely grey, the air still and muggy. In the corner of my room, a vent breathed hot, dry air. I touched my face with my fingertips, feeling the swollen skin beneath my eyes, how cracked my lips were. I was helplessly thirsty, and too warm for comfort, but despite it all, I couldn't pull myself from bed.
I lay there for a long time, staring at the ceiling. Shadows danced, pushed by the steady breeze coming from the ocean. Soon, the trees would start turning from the yellow-edged green of late summer to the first real signs of the upcoming fall. I thought again of the little dorm room waiting for me at the university, wondered again if it would sit empty.
Night descended onto the house with a slow solemnity. Despite being in the middle of the city, beyond the reaches of the windows the darkness became absolute. The world could end just past the driveway, and I would have no way of knowing. It was hard not imagine what— or who— could be lurking in the fields and dark streets. I couldn't shake the feeling that there were eyes watching me from the inky pool below.
At midnight, it became clear that I wouldn't be returning to sleep. Every time I reached to turn out the lamp, the same dread that filled me at Leo's apartment returned with a vengeance. As exhausted as I was, I couldn't relax. Every sound the house made put me on edge. That same white smile curled at me from the dark corners of my room, taunting me. I sat on the bed, knees to my chest, and waited for morning.
Days slipped by in a haze of drug-induced sleep and grief so heavy I was sure I would fall to the centre of the earth.
The nights never got any easier, and it was beginning to become more difficult to hide the toll it was taking on me. Leo, in and out of the house as he was, saw me only in the morning for breakfast and to help dress my leg, and once at night, but even then he began to see the bags under my eyes.
"You're not sleeping well, are you?" he asked, taping a piece of gauze to the outside of my thigh.
"I just have trouble adjusting to new places," I said, pulling my sleeve over my wrist. "I'm sure it'll be better in a week or so."
"If the pain pills aren't working—"
"I'm fine." I jumped down from the counter, cutting him off. Leo grabbed my wrist before I could brush by him, stopping me short. I winced as the fabric of my sweater caught on the raw skin of my arm. Leo's eyes searched me piercingly. I held my breath, willing my heart to settle. After a moment, he let go.
"Goodnight," I smiled at him as I left the bathroom. "I'll see you tomorrow."
Rain started around midnight, the clouds blocking out the moon completely. The utter blackness of my room paralyzed me, and I drifted in and out of nightmares, unsure where they ended and real life began.
"So soft," the man in front of me said, running his palm down my arm. "Almost unblemished, too." His mouth curled into a cruel smile, the rest of his face out of my line of vision.
I tried to pull my hand away, but his grip tightened, fingers biting between the bones of my wrist.
"Now, where are you going?" He squeezed tighter, my bones groaning in protest. Black liquid slid from his fingertips, burrowing into my skin. "You can't escape me."
I jolted upright, panting, clawing at the inside of my arm. There was nothing there but red skin, but I could still feel the vice-like grip around my wrist, the blackness penetrating me.
I took deep breaths through my mouth and lay back down on the mattress, shoving the pillows out of the way, so I could lay flat. Stars twinkled in front of my eyes, bursting into colour the longer I stared at the ceiling.
When the light returned, first grey and then blue, I gathered the courage to leave my room. I couldn't bear another minute of the bare walls, or the shadows mocking me.
The house was still asleep. There was no movement from any of the rooms, not a whisper or the deep sound of sleep-breathing. When the light did return, turning the ocean into liquid silver, I gathered the courage to leave my room. I could not stand another second of staring at the bare walls. The house was still asleep, and there was no movement from any of the rooms, not a whisper or the deep sound of sleep-breathing.
The second floor balcony opened over the front foyer. Through the huge windows at the front of the house, the pinks and yellows of sunrise shot across the balcony.
I watched the colors bleed through the sky until my bare feet ached with cold. My shadow stretched behind me, through an open door. I turned, cautiously pushing the door the rest of the way open, letting the sun light it up.
The room was an opulent office. High bookshelves covered the walls, and several couches gathered around a fireplace. A cherry wood desk opposite them was piled high with stacks of papers, organized into piles, and a side table practically bowed under the weight of the glass bottles and cups it held. The whole room smelled of leather and tobacco smoke.
The white light from outside lent it a comforting air. I was shaking from the morning chill, so I drew one of the blankets thrown over the back of the couches around my shoulders and sat on the couch facing the desk. Almost without noticing, I drifted into the sleep that had eluded me all night.
The sounds of a keyboard clicking woke me up. I sat up with a start. The office was alight with afternoon sunshine. I grabbed the hem of the blanket, yanking it up to my shoulders.
"You're awake," Leo said. I startled, putting a hand over my heart. He was behind the desk, an array of papers fanned before him, and a pen in hand. "I was wondering how long you'd sleep for."
"You scared me," I said. "I'm sorry, I didn't know this was your office." I flushed in embarrassment. Leo set his pen down on the desk, watching me. I rubbed a nervous hand over my injured leg, avoiding his gaze. My body was sore from sleeping in an awkward position, my limbs chalky and stiff.
"It's fine, although it was slightly shocking to find you on my couch and not in bed," Leo said. "Is there a reason you were in here?"
"I couldn't sleep."
"I asked if you needed more painkillers," Leo said, standing and crossing to the front of the desk.
"No!" I practically shouted. "No, please."
Leo tapped the edge of his desk. "If you're in pain, take the pills. There's no shame in it."
"It's not the pain that's the problem."
A look of understanding flitted over Leo's face, and his jaw hardened into a tight line. I bit the inside of my cheek, looking down at the ground.
"I'm sorry," Leo eventually said. "I should have known. I shouldn't have just left you alone. I'm sorry, Ruth.
I went rigid at the apology. "They nightmares were around long before I met you. They're my issue, not yours."
"Aren't they, though?" Leo sat on the couch, leg almost brushing mine. "I'm supposed to be taking care of you. That includes the nightmares."
I pulled my sleeve down again, an unconscious movement that caught Leo's attention. He narrowed his eyes, and gestured at my arm.
"Roll your sleeve up," he said softly. When I didn't move, he took my cuff, and shoved it upwards towards my elbow. I flinched at the feeling of his skin on mine.
"Shit," Leo swore, pulling my other arm out from under the blanket. I sat limply, allowing him to push both sleeves up. The skin on my forearms was red and swollen, scratched raw and bloody in some places. My right wrist still wept blood from earlier in the night. I still felt the writhing blackness under my skin, slithering through my veins.
"Jesus Christ," Leo said under his breath, dropping my hands. "Jesus Christ, Ruth."
"It's fine," I said, and pulled my sleeves back down.
Leo stared at me, breathing tightly controlled. "It's not fine. You're ripping yourself to shreds."
"I said it's fine. It's the nightmares. I don't mean to do it, but I can handle it."
I stood, done with the conversation. Leo gripped my upper arm, stopping me. "Where are you going?"
"Upstairs."
"Like hell you are."
"I told you I can handle it," I snapped at him. "Leave me alone."
"I'm not leaving you alone, not like this," Leo said, looking pointedly at my arms. A spot of blood soaked through the fabric near my elbow.
"Why do you care so much? Is it that for the first time in your life you can't fix something by throwing money at it?" As soon as the words were out of my mouth, I regretted them. I wasn't being fair. Leo had sacrificed too much of his life helping me for me to throw it back in his face that way. My bad leg buckled beneath me. Before I could hit the ground, Leo grabbed my wrists. I inhaled sharply as he pulled me upright, so close our chests were practically touching.
"I care because I've seen this kind of fear before. I know what causes it. I know who's to blame."
I jerked my hands away, stumbling backwards. "Don't." I said. "Don't bring your grudges into this. You don't know anything." I reached for the arm of the couch to steady me. Leo reached for me. I shrunk away from his hands.
"I won't hurt you, Ruth." Leo said, turning his palms up. He caught hold of my upper arm before I could dodge away again. His rings were cold on my bare skin.
"Stop." He said. When I tried to extricate myself from his hand, he shook me gently. "Hey. Stop. You need to calm down. I'm not leaving you alone until you do."
I squeezed my eyes closed, and let him help me to the couch. His tobacco smell enveloped me, and for whatever reason, the tension in my back released. He sat next to me, running a hand up the protrusion of my spine. It was an oddly familiar gesture, but I didn't move away.
"I hate being afraid all the time." I said, my eyes downcast. "I hate it so much, but there doesn't seem to be a way out."
Leo took his hand from my back, and pulled me to his side, resting his head on mine.
"I will keep you from harm." His voice was low and fervent. "You don't have to be afraid anymore.