“Timothy.”
Sallie slipped her arms beneath Timothy’s shoulders, cradling him against her chest. She patted his cheek, her voice trembling as she called out, “Timothy. Timothy!”
She called his name over and over before he finally opened his eyes, just barely. But after only a couple of seconds, his eyelids fluttered shut and he lost consciousness once more.
Sallie’s hands shook as she grabbed her phone and dialed emergency services. The worry was eating her alive.
When the ambulance arrived, the paramedics immediately noticed the blood seeping through his shirt at the back. They had no choice but to carefully lay him face down on the stretcher.
Sallie climbed in after him, gripping his hand as the vehicle sped toward the hospital. Her mind raced with questions and dread.
Why had Timothy come to Moonstrand Villas alone? Why had he collapsed here of all places? If not for Grandpa’s phone call urging her to come home for a family meeting—the one about Jessica actually being Salome—she would never have found him at all.
Moonstrand Villas was usually deserted. If no one had discovered him, what would have happened?
Sallie’s eyes burned with tears.
Doctors rushed Timothy into the ER. After a quick assessment, they assured her his condition wasn’t immediately life-threatening—he had fainted from exhaustion and blood loss, not some underlying disease.
Then they cut open his shirt.
Sallie gasped at the sight of his back, covered in a wild web of wounds—some deep enough to have required stitches, others smaller but still raw. It looked as though he’d been slashed and pierced by something sharp, over and over.
“How did this happen?” she whispered. “Where did all these wounds come from? Why didn’t he tell anyone?”
Her throat ached from holding back sobs.
Some of the cuts were still oozing, while others had dried into dark, ugly scabs. The injuries crisscrossed his back, and Sallie’s heart clenched so tightly she thought she might collapse herself. She squeezed Timothy’s hand, her own trembling uncontrollably.
She cried all the way to the hospital.
Even after Timothy was wheeled into the emergency room, Sallie stood outside the doors, choking back tears. She had never seen her brother this battered—those grisly wounds twisted her heart until it physically hurt.
Ever since he’d grown up, he’d shot past her in height—a sturdy, broad-shouldered man. He’d become the rock of the family, the one everyone leaned on. After he got married, he grew even more reliable, steady as a mountain.
She was his older sister, but more and more, she found herself relying on him for protection. He had become such a man that she’d forgotten he could be hurt at all—that he could get sick, could end up this fragile and in need of comfort.
“Timothy…”
They’d lost their mother young, and being twins, their bond ran deeper than most siblings could ever understand. When they were little, Timothy used to follow her everywhere, calling her “Sis” and reaching out for her whenever he needed help.
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