"He’s a doctor, isn’t he?"
"A surgeon… A heart surgeon, no less." Arpad straightens from the window, where’d he’d taken up position since we’d arrived at the hospital.
"So? He’s the only medical professional I’ll trust her with."
"Saint, you’re being unreasonable." Damian frowns, "This is the best hospital in the city, and the doctor you have attending is a specialist."
"Fuck that. Can’t trust anyone, and you know that."
Damian draws in a breath, "Can’t say I disagree with you, but has it occurred to you that you’re not helping things with your crazy, possessive streak.
I turn on him. "Wait until you fall in love and it’s your wife in there fighting for her life—"
He raises a hand, "Shit's not for me. You and Sinner, collapsing one after the other… Nah, seeing what you two went through is more than enough to put me off any kind of relationship, let alone marriage."
"Famous last words," Sinner walks in, his arm around Summer.
Summer breaks away and stops in front of me. "How is she?"
I drag my fingers through my hair, try to speak but the words stick in my throat. I turn and begin to pace again.
Damian replies, "She’s in surgery; Weston is in with her."
"The doctor allowed him in?" Sinclair frowns.
"Romeo here didn’t give him a choice," Damian mutters.
"He nearly decked the paramedic who asked him to release her into their care," Arpad grimaces.
"Asshole dared to ask me to stand back from her," I growl.
"Only because they needed to check her vitals. You understand that, don’t you?" Damian straightens. "Honestly, you needed to take a chill pill, and let the professionals get on with their work. You were only getting in their way."
I take a step toward him. Arpad and Sinclair both step in front of me.
Edward ignores the proceedings, his face buried in a book, in the chair he’s occupied since we’d arrived here.
"Hold on," Sinclair reaches for me.
I sidestep him, "Don’t fucking touch me, man."
"Sure," Sinclair rocks back on his heels, "It’s understandable you’re feeling on edge and all. I get it."
"Oh, do you now?" I smirk. "Just because you’re married and all that shit, you think you understand how it feels to have the woman you wronged take a fucking bullet for you?"
"Jesus, Saint, you’re living up to your name."
"The fuck you mean?"
"You’re taking the sins of the entire world on yourself. See what I did there?" Sin raises an eyebrow and smirks.
"You douche, this is not the time to indulge in fucking word play."
"Says the man who has a riddle to suit every occasion," Arpad mutters.
"Not this one." I dig my fingers through my hair, tug on the strands. "My mind’s a fucking blank." Also, not true. All I can think of is her pale face, her limp figure crumpling to the floor. I’d raced toward her and caught her before she had hurt herself further, thank fuck. I’d carried her out and to the ambulance, I’d refused to let go of her hand on the ride here.
I flex my fingers. Blood stains my palm; I stare at it. My heart begins to race. The scars on my soles itch. Whack-whack-whack. I flinch.
"Answer this, boy, and you go free."
It’s a trick, always a trick. He asks me questions to which I never have the answers. This is how he plays with me. Traps me in my mind, trying to crack the puzzles. I’ve never gotten an answer right so far. Goddamn him. It’s a sure way to mess with my head. He’ll never let me go free, not even if I get it right. Damn him, he’s screwing with me. If I get out of here alive, I’ll never be caught unaware.
"Saint."
I’ll read up until I know the answer to every fucking question ever. No one will ever ask me a riddle again. I’ll be the one in control. Always.
"Saint!"
There’s a touch on my shoulder, I pivot around, fists raised in front.
"Easy," Sinner steps back, putting distance between us.
Damian and Arpad freeze.
Edward slaps his book shut, "The answer’s a minute at a time."
"What?" I frown.
He places his book on the seat next to him, then leans forward, "The answer to the question that’s on your mind."
"You a mind reader now, along with being a priest?" I glower.
"If the occasion demands." Edward places his elbows on his knees, "You’re wondering how you’re going to get through the time she’s in there?"
"Fuck off."
Edward winces, "I’ll let that pass, this time." He raises his hand. "Your turn to ask a riddle."
I glare at him, "Fuck that."
"Fine, I’ll go then." He smiles, "A prison you feel safe in, yet never quite happy. Whenever you try to leave, it only grows bigger."
He glances around the space, "Anyone get it?"
"Comfort Zone?" Arpad ventures.
Edward nods, "Very good."
"Here’s another." He taps his fingers together, "If you break me, I do not stop working; if you touch me, I may be snared; if you lose me, nothing will matter. What am I?"
"Your heart?" Damian asks, then stares at Edward, "Shit, there’s a parable hidden somewhere in that, isn’t there?"
"Of course, there is," I growl. "Edward here, is a cheeky bugger. He leverages his status as a priest to get away with sin."
Edward loses some of his color. He straightens, then shakes his finger, "Not gonna distract me there, Saint."
I snarl.
His grin widens. He lowers his hands, "The more you carry it with you, the heavier a burden it becomes. What is it?"
Silence.
He scans the faces of the group assembled, "No one?"
"Go on, Father, tell us," Arpad drums his fingers on his chest.
"A guilty conscience." Edward's lips kick up in a smile.
"Enough," I snarl. "Spit out whatever it is you are trying to say."
"Do you have one?" Edward asks me.
"Mine’s bigger than yours, Father."
"Not getting into that argument with you." Edward’s grin widens, "I mean, do you have a guilty conscience?"
I run a finger under my collar. "Of course, not."
"You could have fooled me," Edward’s eyes twinkle.
"Okay… So I owe her an apology." Fucking more than an apology, actually.
