Page 10 of Deathtoll

“I’m not going to break up with you,” he said. And then he strode away.

Kate changed in her bathroom, cursing the stupid tears that burned her eyes.

She was tugging up her pants when boots scuffed on the floor outside, somebody stepping into her office. Not Murph. She knew the sound the black sneakers he wore at work made.

“I’ll be right out!”

She yanked on her shoes, but by the time she walked out of the bathroom, her office was empty. She looked out into the hallway. Nobody there either.

No big deal. If somebody needed her, they’d come back.

She crossed to the treatment room and knocked on the door. “Okay if I come in?”

“I’m ready.”

Dan Washington waited on the table, covered to his neck. He was twenty-eight, an underwater demolition expert injured in an explosion. He still wore his black hair regulation short, his eyes darting away from Kate.

“Have you ever had a therapeutic massage before?” she asked.

He blushed. “No, ma’am.”

“Ma’am is not necessary.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

She smiled. “So, this is the treatment room. This is where we’ll have our sessions, once a week, for the next twelve weeks. I’m going to evaluate any issues while we work together today. You can ask me questions you might have, at any time. Any concerns before we start?”

“No, ma’am.” He winced. “Sorry, ma’am.” Cleared his throat. “Kate.”

She lit a candle. “Lavender. It’s nice, isn’t it?” Then she folded the sheet down from Dan’s back. “I won’t go straight to the injury. We’ll work around it at first.”

As she poured the prewarmed massage oil into her hands, she noted the smattering of scars on her new patient’s skin. Nothing out of the norm. She treated warriors. She was used to wounds, old and new.

“All you have to do is relax.” She placed her hands on him and began to work his tense muscles, gently, then applying more pressure.

He sniffed the air. “The lotion smells good too.”

“Scented with tea tree oil. Our ecotherapist has information on aromatherapy, if you’re interested. Annie Murray. She’s not in this week, but you’ll be meeting her too, at one point.”

She worked over Dan’s wide muscular back, covered it up with the sheet again, then uncovered his left leg first and smoothed out the knots in his muscles. Only then, half an hour into the session, did she move on to his injured leg.

The second she touched the sheet on that side, Dan stiffened. He put a hand over the fabric to hold it in place. “You shouldn’t have to look at all that ugliness.”

“I’m not going to do anything you’re not comfortable with, but I’d like to ask you to trust me. We have people here with all kinds of injuries: shrapnel wounds, burns, amputations, other stuff.” She didn’t saytorture, ever, since the word itself could be triggering.

“I see about six patients a day,” she told Dan. “So that’s thirty just last week. I’ve seen every kind of scar there is. I have five more appointments after you today. One with a former pilot who has burn scars over almost seventy percent of her body from a helicopter crash. You don’t need to worry about sparing my sensibilities. I see scars every day just from looking into the mirror.”

She stepped into his line of sight and pulled the neckline of her scrubs away from the white lines on her shoulder, courtesy of the woman who’d given birth to her then beat her every day until Social Services had finally intervened.

Dan’s eyes focused on the spot, and she let him have a long look before she tugged the shirt back into place. “What are you most worried about?”

He responded in a voice thick with embarrassment. “It’s ugly.”

“You healed. You’re walking. That’s as beautiful as it gets.”

A second passed, two, then he moved his hand out of the way. “Okay.”

Kate stepped back to his leg, then drew up the sheet with slow care. “Skin injuries improve a lot with time. There are excellent pharmaceutical creams now. Aloe gel does wonders too, if you’d like to try something natural.”