The Pagan Stone

He cut his speed rather than risk a wreck, blocked out everything but the need for a steady hand on the wheel. Slowly, the dark ebbed, the fire sputtered.

When the sun flashed on again with a gentle spring breeze, he pulled to the side of the road. She slumped back in the seat, staring up as her shoulders shook with each breath.

“Cybil.”

She cringed away. “Please don’t. Don’t touch me.”

“Okay.” Nothing to say, he thought. Nothing to do but get her home. She’d been raped right in front of his eyes, and there was nothing to say, nothing to do.

When they got to the house he didn’t help her inside. Don’t touch me, she’d said, so he only held the door, closed it after her. “Go upstairs, lie down or… I’ll call Qui

“Yes, call Qui

“She’s on her way. I don’t know what you need, Cybil.”

“Neither do I.” She took a long drink, then a long breath. “God, neither do I, but that’s a start.”

“I can’t leave you alone, I can’t give you that. But if you want to go up and lie down, I’ll stay outside the bedroom.” When she shook her head, everything about her seemed to tremble. “Goddamn it, goddamn it, scream, cry, throw something, punch me.”

She shook her head again, drank the rest of the brandy. “It wasn’t real, physically. But it felt real, physically, and every other way there is to feel. I’m not going to scream; I might never stop. I want Qui

When the front door slammed open, Gage thought Qui

Cybil made a sound, a mix of moan and whimper that sliced straight through Gage’s belly. Even as she turned into Qui

Qui

Cal came in to find him standing at the sink, staring out at the su

“Christ knows.” His throat burned, Gage realized. Burned as if he’d swallowed flame. “It raped her. The son of a fucking bitch, and I didn’t stop it.”

Cal stepped up to him, laid a hand on his shoulder. “Tell me what happened.”

He began coldly, almost clinically, begi

“About a mile, mile and a half from your place it stopped. It all went away. Except for Cybil. I don’t know if that kind of thing ever goes away.”

“You got her away,” Cal pointed out. “You got her back home.”

“Give me a medal and call me hero.”

“I know how you feel.” Fox met Gage’s hot and bitter look quietly. “It’s happened to Layla, so I know how you feel. Layla’s upstairs now. That’s going to help. And Cybil will get through it because that’s the way they’re made. We’ll get through it because it’s all we can do. We’ll all get through it because we’re going to make the bastard pay. That’s what the fuck we’re going to do.”

He held out a hand. After a moment, Gage gripped it, and Cal laid his over theirs. “We’ll make the bastard pay,” Gage repeated. “That’s what the fuck we’re going to do. I swear an oath.”

“We swear an oath,” Cal and Fox agreed, then Cal blew out a breath and rose.

“I’ll make her some tea. Tea’s the thing she likes.”

“Put some whiskey in it,” Fox suggested.

They put it together, and after some discussion and debate, put a pony of whiskey on the side. Gage carried it up, then hesitated outside the closed bedroom door. Before he could knock, Layla opened it, jumped a little.

“ Cal made this tea,” Gage began.

“Perfect. I was just coming down to do exactly that. Is that whiskey?”

“Yeah. Fox’s contribution.”

“Good.” Layla took the tray. Then studied Gage with weary eyes. “She’ll be all right, Gage. Thanks for bringing this up.” She closed the door and left him staring at the blank panel.

In the bathroom that linked the two bedrooms, Cybil lay in the tub. She’d had her jag, and that had left her exhausted. Oddly, the fatigue helped. Not as much as her friends, she thought, but some.

As did the hot water, and the fragrance and froth Layla had added to it. Qui

“That was really fast, like superpower fast.”

“Gage brought it up. Cal made it, so it’s probably just fine. Honey, there’s whiskey here. Do you want it in the tea?”

“Oh yeah. Thanks. God.” Shifting up, Cybil squeezed her burning eyes, breathed through the threatening flood of tears. “No, no, done with that.”

“Maybe not.” Layla doctored the tea. “I have a moment every now and again. It’s okay. We’re allowed.”

With a nod, Cybil accepted the tea. “It wasn’t the pain, though, oh Jesus, nothing’s ever hurt like that. It was feeling it in me, pounding and pushing, and not being able to stop it, or fight it. It was the boy. Why is that worse? That it made me see the boy while it-” She broke off, made herself drink the spiked tea.

“It’s a kind of torture, isn’t it? A kind of physical and psychological torture designed to break us down.” Qui

“No, we won’t.” She held out a hand, and in a gesture that mirrored the one made in the kitchen, Qui

She dressed, and took some comfort in grooming. She wouldn’t break, Cybil vowed, nor would she look like a victim. When she stepped out of the bedroom she heard the murmur of voices from the office. Not yet, she thought. Not quite ready for that. She moved quietly past, and down the stairs. Maybe after another ocean or two of tea.

In the kitchen she took the kettle to the sink and saw Gage outside, alone. Her first inclination was to back away, to slink away into some dark corner and hide. And the urge both surprised and embarrassed her. In defense, she took the opposite tact, and went outside.

He turned, stared at her. In his eyes she saw the rage and the ruin.

“Absolutely nothing I can say would sound remotely right. I thought you might want me to take off, but I didn’t want to leave until I was sure you… What?” he said in disgust. “I don’t have a clue what.”

She considered for a moment. “You’re not far wrong. I guess a part of me hoped you’d be gone so I didn’t have to talk about this now.”

“You don’t have to.”

“I don’t like that part of me,” she continued. “So let’s just get this done. It came at me, the attack that’s a woman’s nightmare. The big fear. It made me feel that violation, and the helplessness. That horror that drove Hester Deale mad.”

“I should’ve gone after it.”

“And left me? Would you, could you leave me when I was completely defenseless, completely terrorized? I couldn’t stop it; that’s not my fault. You got me away, and getting away made it stop. You defended me when I couldn’t defend myself. Thank you.”

“I’m not looking for-”

“I know you’re not,” she interrupted. “I probably wouldn’t feel as grateful if you were. Gage, if either of us feel guilty about what happened, it wins a kind of victory. So let’s don’t.”

“Okay.”

But he would, for a while yet anyway, she realized. A man would. This man would. Maybe she could do something to soothe them both. “Would it complicate our straightforward and mature relationship if you just held on to me for a minute?”