“Okay, we’re safe to talk,” she nodded once to a perplexed-looking Niche.
“You sit down and let me help you get cleaned up,” he said, pushing her toward the edge of her bed. Meg was too tired and worried to argue. She sat obediently and watched Niche hurry to the bathroom. Moments later he returned with a warm washcloth in his large hand. Without a word, he knelt in front of her and started to gently clean the blood off her face.
“Twice in one night, kid?”
“Hmm?” Meg was deep in thought.
“This is the second time I’ve had to clean blood off you tonight.” He stopped his gentle work and stared into her dark eyes for a moment before shaking his head, finding a clean spot on the washcloth and continuing his caring task.
“You helped me tonight,” Meg started.
“Yeah, that’s what I’m saying.”
“No, I mean when you hid what I was doing from Arkdone. The spilled wine was genius. He never suspected what I was doing.”
Niche frowned—shadows crossing his brow.
“Why did you help me?”
“Because no one else was going to,” he murmured.
“You haven’t asked me what I did to cause my—episode.”
“You’ll tell me if you want to.” He paused before adding, “then again, maybe it’s better if I don’t know.”
“You’re probably right.” Meg stared down at her bloodstained hands. The dark red was caked under her nails and followed the creases in her knuckles.
“How’s your head?” he asked with concern clear on his face.
Ignoring both the question and the pounding behind her eyes, she blurted, “I need to escape, Niche.”
“What?” he stopped cleaning and stood abruptly; the bloody washcloth still warm in his hand.
Desperate to make him understand, she met his stare unflinching.
“Arkdone plans to take me to Hawthorne, the winner of last night’s nomination. He’s going to blackmail him and is forcing me to seal the deal with my psychic persuasion. He wants Hawthorne to take him on as his vice presidential candidate. I can’t do that, Niche.” Meg’s voice verged on pleading toward the end, but she couldn’t help it. She was trapped in the claws of a very powerful monster.
“And that would be a bad thing—him becoming vice president?”
“Very bad.”
“Because?”
“Niche, you’re going to have to trust me on this. Arkdone can never get so close to the Oval Office. Never.” Meg was carefully reaching out to him with her gift, testing his resolve. His psyche was so fragile after everything that had been done to him, but fear was the primary emotion he was feeling.
“You could come with me,” Meg reached out to touch his forearm. His black T-shirt hugged his physique so tightly, she could see his six-pack. He felt cold beneath her hand.
“I can’t go anywhere unless my controller tells me to,” he responded robotically.
“You don’t have to live under Arkdone’s control anymore. I can help you reintegrate. I know I can do it, with a little time.”
“Why can’t you just play along with his game? I could take care of you here, Meg. I want to take care of you.” The evidence of his loyalty stained the previously white washcloth hanging limply in his hand.
“You can come live with me and my family, Niche. They will accept you if I tell them to. You could live a normal life. You could think one thought at a time and enjoy the silence of a healed mind.”
Niche ran his hands through his thick, dark hair, fear written clearly in his agitated body language.
“Meg, I won’t survive the night if I try to leave. You have to know that. You have to believe me. You met ‘The Punisher’ yourself.” He knelt in front of her again, shoulders hanging in obvious defeat.
“I won’t let you hurt yourself, Niche.” Meg rolled her strong but feminine shoulders back as though remembering the effort it took to contain him the last time Punisher came out.
Niche finally looked up at Meg through wide eyes, reddening quickly as tears brimmed. “Isn’t there anything I can say or do that would keep you here with me?”
Meg slowly shook her head, trying to read the raging, tangled emotions ricocheting off his aura.
“Would you, if you could?”
Meg frowned, her thoughts diving deep into her emotional memories. Someone else was meant for her and she knew it. She felt a deep sense of responsibility and appreciation of Niche, but it would be wrong to lead him on. Her heart belonged with Creed Young.
She shook her head, “I would like you to leave this place with me,” she answered honestly. “I could try to force you, but I don’t want to. You will have to come willingly or not at all.”
Meg turned away from him and hurried to the restroom to wash up. When she returned, she had changed into all black. Her long hair tied up into a tight knot at the back of her head and a black bandana pulling all the curls away from her face.