Arnulfo marched her into the master bedroom and pointed to the edge of the bed.
"Sit."
Erline sat. She cradled her bleeding hand.
Arnulfo pulled out his phone. "Sterling. Bring the trauma kit. And a sedative. Now."
He hung up and walked to the window. Outside, the sky had turned a bruised purple. A storm was breaking.
BOOM.
Thunder shook the house. A flash of lightning illuminated the room in stark white.
Erline flinched. Her body convulsed, a violent, involuntary jerk.
The sound triggered it. The memory of the basement. Her father. The noise of the belt cracking.
Her breath hitched. She started to hyperventilate. She pulled her knees up, wrapping her arms around her head, rocking back and forth.
Arnulfo turned. He frowned. "Playing the victim?"
He walked over. He saw her eyes. Her pupils were blown wide, swallowing the iris. Sweat beaded on her forehead. She wasn't looking at him; she was looking at something that wasn't there.
The door opened. A man in a grey suit carrying a leather bag rushed in. Dr. Sterling.
"What happened?" Sterling asked, setting the bag on the bed.
"Thunder," Arnulfo said, sounding annoyed. "Or Higgins. Who knows."
Sterling approached her. "Mrs. Bond? I need to check your vitals. Your breathing is too fast."
Erline didn't respond. She was gasping for air.
"I need to listen to her heart," Sterling said. "Please, unzip her dress."
Erline heard the words. Panic flared. No. Not the skin. Don't look at the skin.
She grabbed the collar of her dress, shaking her head frantically.
Arnulfo sighed. "Don't be a child."
He stepped forward, brushed her hands away with effortless strength, and spun her around.
ZZZZZT.
The sound of the zipper going down was loud in the quiet room.
Arnulfo pulled the grey fabric down to her waist.
Erline squeezed her eyes shut, waiting for the reaction.
Silence.
Dr. Sterling held the stethoscope, but he didn't move. He was staring at her back.
Arnulfo stared too.
Her skin was a map of pain.
Below her right shoulder blade, a thick, white keloid scar snaked across her ribs. It was old, jagged-the mark of a belt buckle or a whip.
Lower down, near her waist, were three circular burns. Cigarette burns. Faded, but unmistakable.
These weren't accidents. This was torture. Systematic, long-term abuse.
Sterling looked at Arnulfo. Arnulfo's eyes narrowed. He traced the line of the whip scar with his eyes.
"Sedative," Arnulfo said. His voice was different. Tighter.
Sterling nodded. He prepared a syringe. "Just a small pinch, Mrs. Bond."
He injected her arm.
The world went soft at the edges. Erline's panic receded, replaced by a heavy, warm fog. She slumped sideways onto the pillows.
Sterling quickly cleaned and bandaged her hand.
"Arnulfo," Sterling said, standing up and packing his bag. "A word."
He jerked his head toward the hallway.
Arnulfo followed him out, pulling the door almost shut.
Erline lay on the bed. The drug was strong, but she fought it. She bit the tip of her tongue hard. The sharp pain gave her a second of clarity.
She strained her ears.
