Hunted

Thirty-Three: Overthinking

Matt paced back and forth, back and forth.

It was torturous - all the waiting, the not-knowing. He had no idea just how bad Charlotte was, whether she was injured or just malnourished. He had no clue what psychological toll her experiences had taken on her, what it could possibly have done to her. He had no idea if she would be his Charlotte anymore.

He had never been as angry as he was now, not even when he had found out what his grandmother had done. The hatred he felt towards Nicholls was immeasurable. How would she ever be able to forgive him for what he had let happened? How would she ever be able to look at him the way she had before they had taken her from Daphne's house? How would she ever feel the same need to kiss him again, to be with him again?

Matt lashed out, swinging his fist and allowing it to collide with the dry wall, as his doubts and anger burst forth. He could feel the skin on his knuckles breaking as the wall gave way beneath his strength. He relished the raw sting of the plaster board biting into his skin; it felt good, if only for a moment. It was a distraction from the mind-numbing torture of waiting for Harris to finish checking her over, inspecting her for wounds and injuries. He gazed at the hole he had made in the wall, the torn, faded wallpaper, the crumbling plaster board, wishing he could do more damage to this mediocre, hole of a hotel. He wished, and not for the first time, he had Alexander's alteration and that he could rip the room apart piece by dated piece.

Nobody reprimanded him, nobody warned him about damaging the property of the hotel, nobody even glanced at him as he bruised and cut his knuckles; they knew better. They knew that if they drew attention to themselves right now, Matt would turn his anger on them.

In any case they were too tired to care. Both Rhian and Freddie had fallen asleep, side by side on the sofa, their faces drawn and pale. Matt reckoned that Harris would have been asleep as well, if he hadn't had a job to do. Matt knew sleep was hovering about him too, but Charlotte's condition kept him fighting for the time being.

The room Rhian had so hastily booked when they had started hunting Charlotte, was just what he had hoped it would be. It was plain, non-descript and cheap enough to pay for without the need of credit cards. The owner too, seemed more interested in the money they were providing than the half-dead girl they were carrying into his hotel.

The room was large with a double-bed and a sofa, though it smelt damp and the thin windows allowed the street sounds waft around them, accompanied by a bitterly cold draught. The walls were papered in a faded, brown and green floral pattern, which was echoed by the curtains, the sofa and the bedspread, making the room appear smaller than it actually was. They had an adjoining bathroom which was surprisingly clean and a foldout bed had been dragged up for Harris, at an additional charge.

Matt glanced back to Harris, who was hovering over Charlotte clicking and tutting and making so many infuriatingly annoying noises that Matt was minutes away from throttling him. Harris' long features were pale and a sheen of sweat clung to his forehead as he worked. He pressed his lips into a thin line, grumbling to himself as he examined her, though whatever he was saying was too low for Matt to make out.

Charlotte on the other hand looked like a corpse. Her skin was a waxy yellow colour and was drawn back over her cheek bones and jaw. Her face was too angular; her muscles had wasted away; her carefully honed strength and athleticism had vanished, leaving behind a weak, fragile frame of a girl. Even the alterations couldn't challenge malnutrition. Her eyes were sunken and her lips were dry and cracked, even bleeding in spots; her hair was matted and lank; her bare limbs were filthy, marked with dirt and blood, her bare feet especially.

"A day, maybe two, and she would have been beyond help," Harris finally breathed, an angry edge to his voice.

"Should we take her to a hospital?" Matt asked, frowning.