Chapter 91: What Survived the Night
Del pushed herself up in bed, breath catching hard in her throat, a sound rising that was both a gasp and a scream. And for a split second, she was taken back to that tragic event in her life again, standing frozen by her parents’ door while strangers moved through the same house.
But before the sound could leave her, the figure reached and hit the light switch. And quickly, the room flooded with pale yellow light.
“Del.”
Oliver stood by the wall, his hand still resting on the switch. His shirt was torn near the shoulder, streaked with dirt and blood. His face was bruised, one side swelling near the jaw. His lower lip was bleeding, and there was a cut across his forehead and dried blood along the edge of his hairline.
Del threw back the blanket and got up fast, feet hitting the floor. “Oliver—you’re alive! What—what happened to you?”
Oliver opened his mouth, but nothing came out. His throat worked once before he said, quietly, “I’m fine.”
“You’re not fine.” She crossed the room, hands already reaching toward him, before she hesitated, as if unsure where to touch without hurting him. “Who did this?”
He gave a faint shake of his head. “Doesn’t matter.”
“Of course it matters,” she said sharply. “You look—” She stopped herself, taking in the bruises, the dried blood, the exhaustion under his eyes. “You need a hospital.”
He gave the smallest shake of his head again. “No.”
“Oliver—”
“I just need to sit,” he said quietly.
Del guided him toward the bed, keeping her hand lightly on his arm. His skin felt cold under her fingers. When he sat, the mattress dipped and she crouched beside him.
“Tell me what happened.”
Oliver leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. He looked at her, eyes tired, face pale under the bruises. “I got out,” he said finally. “That’s all that matters right now.”
“Oliver, we’re so worried. Who did this to you?”
“It was Toby,” he said. “He and a couple of guys grabbed me a few days ago. Said he wanted to teach me a lesson—make sure I stayed away from you.”
Del froze. “He came here?”
“Yeah,” Oliver said. “That morning, when I was on my way to work…I think he’d been watching for a while—just waiting for the right moment. When you left for school, he must’ve been outside, waiting for you to be gone. I stepped out the door, and before I could even hop on my bike, I felt it—something hit me hard in the back of the head. He struck me. I guess he’d been there the whole time, just waiting.”
She stared at him, then shook her head. “It was obvious that Toby was annoying, but I didn’t think he was the kind of person who’d do something like this.”
“Yeah. And I didn’t think he’d go that far, either,” he said quietly. “I didn’t think he’d actually… take me.”
Del looked away for a moment, then back at him. “Did you go to the police yet?”
When he didn’t answer right away, she sighed softly. “I’m guessing not. Because if you did, they wouldn’t have sent you home first. They’d have taken you straight to the hospital—to get checked, cleaned up, maybe collect evidence.”
“If I’d gone there first, I wouldn’t be here right now," Oliver said quietly. "They’d keep me for hours—questions, photos, paperwork, maybe even hold me overnight for observation. I just… I wanted to come home first. Think.”
Del frowned. “You needed to think?” She stared at him, a muscle in her jaw tightening. “You can’t just not report this, Oliver. Someone attacked you. You were kidnapped. This isn’t something you just think about.”
“Toby’s family would hear about it.”
Del frowned. “What does that mean?”
He looked at her. “He made a threat. Before everything went to hell. Said his family would ‘handle me’ if I did anything stupid—if I talked, if I made this public. He said they’d make sure I wasn’t the only one who paid for it.”
Her voice dropped. “He meant me.”
Oliver didn’t answer, but the silence was enough.
Del’s breath caught, anger flaring through the fear. “You can’t just let that stop you. He attacked you, Oliver. You were kidnapped.”
“I know,” he said, almost whispering. “But going to the cops now doesn’t make it safer. And I’m not giving him another chance to come near you.”
She shook her head. “So you’re just—what—going to hide? Pretend it didn’t happen?”
He gave a small, humorless laugh. “No. I’m going to make sure it doesn’t happen again. And back there, I just—” he looked at her, faint smile tugging at his bruised mouth, “—wanted to see you.”
Del frowned at him.
“Just—help me clean up, yeah?” he said,
She hesitated, then nodded. “Come on.”
He stood slowly, grimacing as he straightened. Del stayed close, steadying him with a hand on his arm as she guided him to the bathroom. The light there was brighter, and when she reached for the hem of his shirt, he didn’t stop her.
The fabric was stiff with dried blood. She pulled it over his head carefully, and what she saw made her pause.
Bruises scattered across his ribs and shoulders, mottled in deep blue and fading red. Scratches ran along his neck, and there was a dark mark near his collarbone.
Del didn’t say anything. She turned on the tap, soaked a clean cloth with warm water, and began wiping the dried blood from his face.
Oliver sat still, eyes closed, jaw tense. The towel moved slowly across his skin—first his temple, then his cheek, the corner of his mouth. The water in the sink turned faintly pink as she rinsed and wrung the cloth again.
She dabbed gently at his lip, her touch careful. He winced once but didn’t pull away.
“Hold still,” she murmured.
When she was done with his face, she moved to his chest, wiping away the faint grime and blood around the bruises. Her hand slowed each time she came across a deeper mark.
“Whoever did this,” she said finally, “didn’t hold back.”
“Toby didn’t like being told no,” Oliver said.
Del pressed her lips together, wringing out the towel again, though it was already clean. “I still think you should have gone to the police.”
Oliver took a deep breath, then said, “I just wanted to know you were okay. Toby’s obsessed, and after I got away, I panicked. I couldn’t think about anything else. Not the police. Not myself. Just you. It’s stupid, I know, but I needed to see you."
She finished cleaning the last of the wounds, then reached for the small first-aid box under the sink. The bandages came out in neat rolls. She taped gauze over the deeper cuts, pressed lightly on the smaller ones.
Oliver watched her hands work, his breathing slowing a little as the sting of alcohol faded.
When she stepped back, she met his eyes briefly. “Where is he now? How did you get out?”