Imdalind 01 - Kiss of Fire

angrily.
    I felt the bed move as someone shifted their weight. But I just held still. I wasn’t sure I wanted to let them know I was awake. Ovailia did not sound like someone I wanted to meet right now anyway.
    “Here it is!” The sound on the television they had been watching was turned up, and someone shifted their weight again.
    “We have a further development on the kidnapping of sixteen year old Joclyn Despain, who has been missing for twelve days, as well as the suspected murder of her mother, fifty-three year-old Angela Despain.”
    Murder.
    I thought of her still body spread over the kitchen floor, her beautiful yellow nails. Ilyan had said it before, and I felt the same destructive force move through me now as it had then. The dilapidated house that contained my soul ripped apart with a violent explosion that rushed over me in a torrent of depression so deep I was drowning in it.
    I was barely able to stabilize myself amongst the flow of emotions that swirled around me. But I did; I caught my breath and found a hand-hold somewhere deep inside. I was stable – but empty. I could tell automatically that this pain, this emptiness, would never leave me.
    “Ryland LaRue, who was last seen with the young girl, and continues to claim his innocence in her disappearance, has stepped forward in a press conference this afternoon offering a reward for information leading to her safe return.” The sound cut out as a video clip was loaded.
    “Good afternoon, ladies, gentlemen, and members of the press.”
    I sat up the second I heard his voice. Ryland: the hand-hold that I clutched onto deep inside me. His voice felt like an electrical current that shot through me. The blankets tumbled down around me when I sat, my body surprisingly not protesting the quick movements. The two women at the foot of the bed did not register my actions; they, too, were focused on the TV screen. I was vaguely aware of them; Wyn with her short auburn hair, and Ovailia with an absolute sheet of sleek honey blonde that fell well past her hips and cascaded over the grungy brown bed spread.
    “I would like to address you today…” My ears did not hear another word. The sound of his voice faded away into the air around me. At first glance he looked like the Ryland I had always known, the Ryland I had always loved, dark curls falling over his face; strong jaw, strong body, bright blue eyes. But once my heart had stopped seeing and my mind was left to linger. I instantly felt the tears come.
    He had been beaten.
    His left eye was swollen and tinged with an ugly purple, a large gash ran from his cheek and down across his neck before disappearing underneath his shirt. A few more deep purple bruises were just visible from underneath his hair and around the collar of his shirt. Although he gestured with his left hand, his right and dominant arm hung loosely at his side. I could almost see the pain in his eyes, the strain in his face. I recognized the same pain in me, the same entrapment I had felt over the last few days as my body ached and tried to heal. He was in agony.
    And then he flinched. It was so subtle I almost didn’t catch it. His left arm moved toward his chest and then out again. I reached toward the image on the screen, my heart calling out to him. The bed lifted as Ovailia stood and took a step closer to the screen.
    “You see it, too?” Wyn whispered.
    I tried to focus on what Ryland said, but I couldn’t; my heart beat too hard in my chest. He seemed fine, until another twitch, this one bigger, caused him to stop. He paused and lowered his head, his chest heaving as he breathed. The clip played for only a second more before cutting back to the announcer and the TV shut off.
    “How much time does he have left?” Wyn asked.
    I saw Ovailia’s mane of hair shake, her shoulders sagging.
    “A week, maybe two, if we are lucky.”
    I didn’t flinch at Ilyan’s voice, even though it was so close to me. He stood to my side, beyond my line of sight. I stayed still, my arm still extending toward the television screen.
    “Why would he do something like that?” Ovailia snapped, “and to his own precious son, too.” The words dripped off of her tongue like poison.
    “It wouldn’t be the first time he has hurt his own children, Ovailia. You should know that better than anyone.”
    I turned toward his voice, my arm finally dropping down to the bed. He stood at the side of the bed, his back leaning against the ugly brown and