The forgotten beast, p.15
The Forgotten Beast, page 15
“Morning, How’d you sleep? Did you sleep?” I ask. My mother is notorious for staying up late and making sure all the presents are laid out and ready for the rest of us in the morning.
“Stacy and Jen stayed up helping get the gifts ready for the kiddos. We weren’t up too much after you went to bed,” she replies. Judging from the large ring of gifts around the tree, I’d say her timeframe is an exaggeration.
While our family has never believed in spoiling us, my parents made sure we always had something under the tree on Christmas. If they had the money, we would have something to wear, something to read, and then something that we had been really wanting under the tree. Usually some extras there as well. Dad liked to visit the candy store before Christmas, saying, “The kids need to have a treat in their stocking for Christmas.” We all know he just went for himself, but none of us kids were going to say no to the yummy peppermint sticks and other Christmas treats he would bring home.
I help Mom dish cinnamon rolls onto disposable plates. We do not believe in doing all those dishes for the entire family on Christmas. “Kids, breakfast is ready,” I yell into the other room. They come running in, cheeks pink from being outside in the snow.
“Do your mommas know you guys were outside in your jammies?” Mom asks. All the kids look at her, their eyes as big as saucers. Two of them grab her hands and beg her not to tell on them.
“Grab your breakfast and sit at the table. You know Grandma won’t tell on you.” I laugh. When they all vacate the kitchen, I grab a couple of plates and move them to the adult table. I have yet to see any adults except Mom this morning, but I know they’ll be in soon. The call of breakfast is a universal sign it’s about to get crazy up in here.
Right on cue, Andy and Jen come into the room, hand in hand. “Morning, Mom,” Andy says, kissing her on the cheek as he passes to get to his seat.
“Morning, kids,” she responds.
Dad walks in and spins her into a dip before giving her a kiss. “Merry Christmas, my love.”
“Merry Christmas,” she replies, a big smile on her face.
We take our seats and Jake and Stacy enter a few minutes later, whispering and smiling as they take their seats across the table from me.
“Anything from the boy-toy yet?” Jen asks.
I glare at her before answering, “No. And I’d appreciate if you’d stop asking.”
She looks down at her cinnamon roll, cutting off a large bite with her fork and shoving it in. That ought to silence her for a minute. Around the table, I catch a few pitying looks and stare down at my cinnamon roll to avoid any more questions. I don’t dare tell them that Mason isn’t the only reason for the dark circles under my eyes.
The kids finish their breakfast first and immediately come in to beg us to eat faster. They know they aren’t allowed to open presents until everyone is settled in the living room.
“Why don’t you go use the bathroom and we’ll be done by the time you guys are finished?” Stacy suggests. They run off and we’re able to finish our breakfast in peace.
We’re settled into the living room on the couches and various chairs Dad brought in just for the occasion. Some kids have to sit on the floor in front of the rest of us so we can see what’s happening.
We like to open gifts one at a time so everyone can see what each other got. Starting with the youngest kiddo, Dad plays Santa, handing out gifts to the rest of us and opens all his gifts last.
The littlest ones get dolls, craft stuff, and other educational things along with clothes. The older ones get some kind of handheld gaming systems. They remind me of the days we would play on our Nintendo DSs as kids. Adults get a wider variety of things, books, tools, kitchen appliances, to name a few.
The joy on the faces of the kids is my favorite part. It’s also entertaining when you can tell it’s not something they wanted. Tuck frowns when he opens a package with underwear. You’d think he’d have learned by now that Christmas is the time for new underthings, too.
Once all the presents are opened, and Jake has helped collect all the wrapping paper trash, the kids run off to play with their new toys. The girls head to the table to start on their craft kits.
I help get all the stockings back on the mantle, now empty of their delicious confections and other small goodies.
Around lunchtime, the kids want to go outside and play in the snow again. First, their parents have them get out of their pajamas and into their clothes for the day. Then all the adults help get the kiddos bundled up in their snow gear before the men get suited up to go out and watch the kids. The women stay inside for a little longer to help Mom make the cocoa and get it poured into insulated cups we can take outside and help keep us warm.
The kids come running when we get outside with the warm, chocolaty goodness. There are so many Christmas traditions we cram into the couple of days we’re all together. My brothers and their families will head back to their own homes in the morning. We usually try to get together a few times a year.
My phone chimes with an incoming text.
Huxlee
Last minute shoppers crack me up. I think I may have sold a copy of Haunting Adeline as a gift for their nana.
Me
LMAO! What is our return/exchange policy again?
Huxlee
I will make an exception if a nana walks in with it.
Me
I don’t know. Your Nana Marianne would keep it and ask for the sequel.
Huxlee
Lol. True.
I set my phone down on the table a moment before I hear, “How are you doing, Callie?” From Jen as she swipes the snow out of the chair beside me and sits down with her cocoa.
“I’m okay,” I reply, both hands wrapped around my cup for warmth.
“I’ve seen you check your phone a few times this morning alone.” She jerks her chin towards the phone sitting beside me. Really she’s asking about Mason without specifically asking since I told her not to this morning.
I shake my head before responding, “I really thought he was different. We seem to have such great conversations. The last time I saw him was good, and I talked to him shortly after. I didn’t think he’d just ghost me.”
“It’s definitely a shitty way to bring in the holidays. I’m sorry, hun.” She reaches across the space between our chairs and wraps her arm around my shoulders.
“Thanks, Jen. I’m sure eventually I’ll find someone who doesn’t make my head spin.” If only she knew.
“Definitely! You’re a great catch. You just need to find the right guy who will appreciate you for who you are. If this guy isn’t the one, you’ll find him.” Jen’s positive attitude makes me feel both better and worst at the same time.
My mind drifts to the other man in my life. I wonder if he were here right now, would the beast be ghosting me as well?
When the kids all have rosy cheeks and noses Rudolph would be jealous of, we all go back inside, unbundle, and sit around the fire to warm up.
Dad grabs stuff for the kids to make s’mores in the fire and we watch as they get marshmallow and chocolate all over their faces, fingers, and the floor. The little ones just eat the chocolate and marshmallows cold. The bigger ones have learned the fine art of roasting a marshmallow to perfection, burnt on the outside, ooey and gooey on the inside.
When they’ve filled their tummies, they sweetly keep bringing finished s’mores to the rest of us. “Auntie Calth, I know theth are your favorite,” Macie says. Her lisp more prominent with the stickiness of the s’mores in her mouth. Jen wanted to wait to have kids for a few years after they got married but, she ended up getting pregnant on their honeymoon. Macie is six, has blonde hair, blue eyes, and the biggest smile you’ve ever seen.
I gratefully take the s’more she offers me and lick off my fingers from the melted marshmallow that ends up all over them.
Mom makes a seafood bog for dinner: crab, shrimp, scallops, brats, corn, and potatoes covered in tons of butter. All of us gather around the large pots on the big dining room table. Christmas dinner is the one meal we all squeeze in around the same table.
Sometime during the day, dad has hung mistletoe over the entry to the dining room. He catches Mom around the waist on one of her trips back and forth from the kitchen and gives her a lingering kiss. Us kids start yelling, “Gross, get a room!” Before they finally break apart, Dad with a smirk on his face when he looks at us. Mom has a wistful look in her eye as she goes back to what she was doing.
After dinner, everyone leaving in the morning packs their things except what they’ll need to get ready first thing. Then we all hug and say goodbye before going to bed. They’ll leave before the rest of us are up to get home at a decent time tomorrow.
I crawl into my bed, turning off my alarm for tomorrow morning before pulling the covers over me and falling asleep.
PART FOUR
Week After Christmas
CHAPTER 17
Amazing Grace
I jolt awake, something inside of me alerting me to the change of location. Immediately recognizing the bed I’m in, I jump and run for the door. After grasping the handle, I throw it open and step into the hallway.
It’s dark outside. The hall is lit only by candles at infrequent intervals down the hallway. My heart pounds in my chest as I look either way. Unsure where the king’s room might be, I open each door and briefly look around, searching for any human outlines in the dark.
At the end of the hallway, I have not found his room. I turn back, heading the other direction, and start opening doors once I’ve passed my own again. As I make my way down the quiet hallway, my motions grow louder and louder, more frantic the longer I cannot find him.
The last door on this side has more ornate doors than the rest. Somehow I know in my heart this is the king’s room.
My hands shake when I reach out. I hold my breath as I turn the handle, slowly pushing the door open. All the air leaves my lungs at the sight before me. The room is brighter than the rest I’ve entered. Candles sit on every surface, a fire burns in the fireplace. There are several people in the room moving back and forth with various things in their hands.
I step into the room, and all eyes turn toward me. No one stops me as I move closer to the bed. When I approach, I notice the sweat dripping down his face. His eyes are closed but his head tosses back and forth, his long brown hair sticks to his skin. He sleeps, but not restfully. My eyes follow the lines of his body and I can see they have covered him with a layer of ice. My heart clenches in my chest.
Gently, I reach out and feel his brow. He is burning up. Without a modern thermometer, there is no way to gauge how high his temperature is. If I had to guess, his fever is high enough for someone to be rushed to a hospital.
His injured leg is sticking out from under the covers, the bandages large around his thigh. I can see the red lines as they come above and below the bandages there. A strange smell emanates from the location. My hand flies to cover my mouth and I hold back a gag. Someone touches my shoulder and it startles me. I look up to see a man standing next to me, a questioning look on his face. “Are you Callie?”
I swallow the thick saliva that has accumulated, taking a few deep breaths through my mouth to rid myself of the smell. “Yes,” I respond. I can clearly see he’s in a bad place. I don’t dare ask how bad the situation is.
“He’s been asking for you.” The man jerks his chin toward the bed, indicating the beast.
“How…” I pause, swallowing again. “How is he?” I finally ask. My mind struggles to remember anything I’ve read about wound care. Immediately regretting that my experience is limited to fiction adaptations and possible false descriptions, rather than having read some books that might have been helpful in this situation.
He takes a deep breath before answering, “We’ve been fighting the fever off and on since it happened. We cut out the infected area of his leg, but the limb is still inflamed.”
I clench my jaw as he talks. I was stuck in my world. I had no way to get here, and yet I struggle with guilt over not being here for him.
We turn toward the bed at a single word croaked out from its occupant: “Callie.” His hand stretches toward me. I immediately reach out and take it. “You came,” he croaks, a small smile on his face. His eyes close again. My hand stays grasped in his. The grip is not as firm as the last time he held the same hand, however many days ago.
The doctor has the decency to walk away from us. Carefully, I climb up onto the bed, curling up against him. I rest my head on his chest, draping my arm across the ice they’ve placed there. Behind me, I hear the door opening and closing several times and the room progressively grows quieter.
The man from earlier appears on the other side of the bed where I can see him. “I’ll be in the room just next door. Call out if you need anything,” he tells me.
I nod in response.
I am not a praying person, but I call upon any god who will answer me, asking them to save his life. Heal his body from the infection. Don’t let him leave me, too. It’s selfish, I know, but it isn’t until this moment I truly realize the depth of my feelings for the king in the prison world.
Sometime later, I wake up when an arm wraps around me, and then someone kisses the top of my head. My face is pressed against something warm, moving up and down in a steady rhythm. I turn my face up and see the beautiful, smiling face of the beast, his two toned eyes much more alert.
The doctor leans across the bed on the other side, clearing away the remaining ice. “The fever broke a little while ago. You seem to be his good luck charm,” he states.
I snuggle deeper into him and his hand rubs up and down my spine, causing goosebumps all over my body. His even breathing calms me, and again I fall asleep settled against him.
When I wake up again, I can finally think clearly. It isn’t until now, with a clear head, I realize how worried about him I have been over the last month, and how much sleep I’ve lost. I rub my cheek against his bare chest before looking up into his smiling face. “Although I would love to continue this, it seems Kenna has come to strip the sweaty sheets from the bed.”
I turn carefully so as to not fall off and see Kenna standing at the foot of the bed, new linens in her arms.
No one else in the room seems to care that we’re snuggled up in bed. I sit up and move my legs off the edge of the bed, and gravity makes me realize how much I need to pee. I glance down at myself and see I’m still wearing my pajamas from home.
Slowly, I slide off the side of the bed, and I wonder how I scrambled up here so fast by myself. He reaches out and grasps my hand before I have a chance to move away. “I just need to use the bathroom, and maybe change into some more presentable clothes,” I say.
He nods and releases my hand. “Don’t be long,” he replies as I slide through the door.
I rub the sleep out of my eyes while I make my way back to my room. The door is standing open, Kenna has already set out my undergarments across the foot of the bed. A simple dress hangs from the door of the wardrobe.
First, I use the restroom, washing my hands at the washstand. Then I strip off my pajamas, which are soaked through from the melted ice and probably sweat from being pressed up against another person for hours.
Kenna comes through the door when I’m pulling the shift over my head. She helps me into the rest of my clothes, braiding my blonde hair simply down my back. She does not apply any makeup today, instead leaving my face plain. “We’ve missed you,” she says as she ties the ribbon around the end of the braid.
I reach out, grabbing her hand and pulling her to me, enveloping her in a hug. “I’ve missed all of you, too.”
When I walk back into his room, he is sitting up, leaning against the head of the bed. His chest is now covered in a shirt, blankets pulled up over his lap.
He pats his hand on the bed next to him and I move, struggling to pull myself onto the tall bed.
My stomach growls. Loudly. I think back to the last time I ate something. “Merry Christmas.”
“Merry Christmas,” he replies with a smile. He reaches down the other side of the bed and drags a tray of food up so we can both reach the breakfast someone has brought for us to share.
We spend the day in his bed, talking about our time apart. His recovery from the arrow wound was not a smooth one. He tells me that he’s had a fever off and on the entire time. I don’t tell him that the doctor already shared the information with me. He also tells me they had to cut away some of the flesh on his leg to get rid of the infection, but unlike the doctor, he grimaces at the reminder.
The healer tells both of us he believes he has finally come to the other side of the danger.
During the day, the beast seems to get some of his strength back. He tells me how much he’s missed me being here. The healer, who did not know there was another person who sometimes came to the castle, thought he was just hallucinating every time he would ask for me. It wasn’t until Kenna told him I had not been back one morning the healer realized I was an actual person.
“When I first woke up, I was terrified you had been injured as well. It wasn’t until I saw Kenna that she assured me you had sustained no injuries during the brief attack.” I reach out to intertwine my fingers with his.
Gently, I rest my head on his shoulder. “I was terrified not knowing how you were. How much damage had been done?” A tear glides down my cheek and falls to his shirt.
He gently grasps my chin and turns me to face him. Using his thumbs, he wipes the falling tears from my cheeks. “I’m okay. I’ll recover.”
I reach up and run my fingers gently along his scars. “How did you get these?”
