Who did this?

Chapter 63 - Who did this?

Mike reached for the lock and turned it. When he pulled the door open, Claire stood directly in front of him.

For a moment, he barely recognized her. Tears streamed continuously down her face, her hair sticking out in every direction as though she had been dragging her fingers through it for hours. Her lipstick had smeared far beyond the edges of her mouth, leaving dark red streaks across her cheek and chin. Then Mike noticed her eye. The left side of her face was badly swollen, her eye nearly shut, with a dark bruise spreading beneath it and along the top of her cheekbone.

A sharp wave of worry rose in his chest, but he forced it down before it could reach his face. He kept his expression controlled and his voice steady. “Claire, what happened? Who did this to you?”

She tried to answer, but whatever words she had disappeared behind another sob. She shook her head and wiped at her face with the back of her hand.

Mike stepped aside and opened the door wider. “Come inside. You don't have to explain anything yet.”

Claire walked past him, her movements unsteady. Mike closed the door behind her, then glanced toward the bed.

Mia was sitting there, the blanket still gathered around her legs. She looked pale and disoriented from being woken so suddenly, but the confusion vanished the moment she saw Claire.

“Claire?” Mia was on her feet almost immediately. She crossed the room and stopped in front of her, staring at the bruised side of her face. “Oh God. What happened?”

Claire looked at her but couldn't seem to find the strength to speak.

Mia reached for her carefully. “Are you hurt anywhere else?”

“I don't know,” Claire whispered.

The answer made Mia's expression tighten. “What do you mean, you don't know?”

Claire's lower lip trembled. She looked down at the floor.

“Hey,” Mia said more gently. “Look at me. You're here now. Just breathe.”

Mike moved toward the small sink in the corner, filled a clean glass with water, and brought it over. He placed it in Claire's trembling hands. “Drink some of that.”

Claire stared down at the glass without taking a sip.

Mike pulled his phone from his pocket. “I'm calling the police.”

Claire's head snapped up. “No.”

Mike paused. “Claire—”

“Don't.” Her voice was suddenly sharper, almost panicked. Before Mike could say anything else, she grabbed his wrist and pulled him toward her.

The sudden movement caught him off guard. He stumbled forward, his knee striking the side of the chair as Claire threw her arms around his neck. She pressed her wet face against his shoulder and clung to him as though letting go would mean losing the only thing keeping her upright.

“Stay with me,” she whispered.

Mike stood rigidly for a moment, surprised by the desperation in her voice. Then he placed both hands on her upper arms and carefully pulled her away. “Claire, let go.”

She resisted.

“Claire.”

He finally broke her grip and stepped back, straightening his shirt. His breathing remained controlled, though his eyes stayed fixed on her.

Claire immediately reached for him again. Her fingers closed around his forearm. “Please. Just stay.”

Mike looked down at her hand and then back at her face. “I'm not going anywhere. But I need to know what happened.”

“You can't call them.”

“The police?”

Claire nodded.

“Why?”

She looked toward the door.

Mike followed her gaze. “Claire, who are you afraid of?”

She didn't answer.

“Who did this to you?”

Claire's breathing became uneven. Her fingers tightened around his arm. “If you call them, they'll know I'm here.”

Mike's expression hardened. “Who will know?”

Claire's eyes filled with fresh tears, but she said nothing.

Mia stepped forward and gently took Claire's wrists, freeing Mike's arm from her grip. “Come here.”

Claire resisted for only a second before collapsing against her. Mia wrapped both arms around her and held her close, one hand moving slowly over her back.

“You're safe,” Mia whispered.

Claire shook her head against her shoulder. “No, I'm not.”

“You are now.”

“You don't understand.”

Mia glanced toward Mike.

He was still holding his phone, but he wasn't looking at Claire anymore. His attention had shifted to the closed door behind them.

Something about the way Claire had looked at it made the room feel suddenly smaller.

Mike lowered his phone. “Then tell us who we're supposed to be afraid of.”

Over Claire's messy hair, Mia's eyes found Mike's face. The look she gave him was sharp enough to make him pause.

Mike stood there with his hands hanging uselessly at his sides. For a second, his mind went completely blank. He had no idea what Mia thought he had done, only that something about the way she was looking at him made him feel as though he had missed something obvious.

The room fell quiet again. Claire's breathing came in uneven little pulls, and Mia continued rubbing slow circles between her shoulder blades. Pale morning light spilled through the window, catching the dust drifting lazily through the air. Somewhere outside, a car door slammed, followed by the distant sound of an engine starting. None of it seemed to belong to the silence inside the room.

Mike cleared his throat. “Claire, you need to tell us who did this. I understand you don't want to talk about it, but we can't just ignore what happened. The police need to know.”

Claire shook her head against Mia's shoulder. “Not yet.”

“Claire—”

“Please.” Her voice cracked. “Just... not yet.”

Mike stopped himself. There was something in the way she said it that wasn't stubbornness. It was fear.

Mia looked at him again, but this time there was less accusation in her eyes. She glanced toward the glass of water sitting on the desk and gave him a small nod.

Mike understood.

He picked up the glass and brought it over. When Claire finally pulled away from Mia enough to sit upright, Mia took the glass from him and held it carefully to Claire's lips.

“Slowly,” she murmured.

Claire took a small sip, then another, her hands were still shaking. A little water escaped from the corner of her mouth and ran down her chin, cutting through the dark smear of lipstick.

“That's enough,” Mia said when Claire began coughing. She lowered the glass and wiped her chin with her thumb.

Mike stayed near the desk, watching.

The bruise around Claire's eye was already darkening. The swelling was fresh, the skin around it still angry and tight. Whoever had done this hadn't been gentle, and judging by the way Claire flinched whenever someone moved too quickly, Mike doubted the injury was the worst of it.

Mia brushed a tangled strand of hair away from Claire's forehead. “You're safe here.”

Claire closed her eyes.

“No one's going to touch you,” Mia continued. “Not while you're with us.”

For the first time since she had walked through the door, some of the tension left Claire's shoulders. Her hand remained twisted in the front of Mia's shirt, her knuckles pale from how tightly she was holding on.

Mike looked at the two of them.

Mia had changed since the moment Claire entered the room. The fear that had flashed across her face earlier was gone now. In its place was something quieter and stronger. She wasn't asking questions anymore. She was simply making sure Claire knew she wasn't alone.

Mike reached into his pocket and felt his phone beneath his fingers. He could still call the police.

He probably should.

But Claire's reaction had been too immediate, too terrified. Whatever had happened, she clearly believed that calling the police would make things worse.

For now, he decided to give her a few minutes.

He walked to the window and looked down at the street. The two men he'd seen earlier were gone. The sidewalk was nearly empty, the morning traffic moving along as though nothing unusual had happened. The old oak tree stood at the corner, its branches shifting gently in the breeze.

Mike kept watching for another moment before turning back. Claire was staring at him. Her good eye was swollen from crying, while the other remained half closed. She opened her mouth as though she had finally decided to speak.

Her gaze dropped, and she leaned back into Mia. Mia looked over Claire's head at him. The sharpness from before had disappeared, but the question hadn't.

Mike gave the smallest shake of his head. He didn't know either.

He had opened the door. He had given Claire water. He had tried to get help. Yet none of it explained why she had grabbed him as though she was terrified of being left alone, or why Mia had felt the need to pull her away from him.

And the more Mike thought about it, the more one thing bothered him. Claire hadn't looked afraid when she'd seen Mia.

She had looked relieved. It was only when Mike mentioned the police that the real fear had appeared.

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