I kind of like this side of Alaric.
“With her.” A possessive note takes over his tone.
Her. He meansme.
I flatten my hand on the wall, wishing I could touch him. At this point, I would’ve settled for being his helper, handing him a straw instead of watching him reach out to grab it from the table on his own.
But since this is all I have, I stay quiet and watch him drop the straw into the jar, then pluck a toothpick from the table before walking over to Harold.
The other man rears his head back and away from Alaric, his body shaking with fear. Sweat beads at his temples, trickling down his face.
“Hold still.” Alaric sounds calm as he bends at the waist until he’s at eye level with his captive. “You must be thirsty, right? A little deflated? I have electrolytes for you.”
At that, Harold’s gaze darts to the Mason jar. In an instant, he stops shaking and takes a deep breath.
He must think that Alaric plans on keeping him alive. And if he’s alive, he still has a fighting chance.
I wouldn’t count on it.
“Here we go.” Alaric sets about puncturing the duct tape with the toothpick.
After he gets a few holes in, he moves the toothpick around, creating a small circular opening.
“Pwease,” Harold murmurs.Please. “Pwease, ont oo iss.”Please don’t do this.
Alaric cocks his head. Another suspiciously friendly gesture. “You want to stay dehydrated?”
“Mom.”
That one word breaks through Alaric’s facade. He holds the Mason jar so tight his knuckles turn white. The muscle in his jaw tics.
Harold senses the change in him too, the lines on the monitor rising and falling wildly as he mumbles, “Sowwy.Sowwy.”Sorry. Sorry.
“Just shut up and drink your electrolytes, Harold.”
The toothpick is gone, tossed onto the floor. With his free hand on the straw, Alaric shoves it into Harold’s mouth, whose throat works as he starts gulping down the jar’s contents.
I say contents because there’s no chance in hell it’s electrolytes.
Electrolytes don’t do…this. Harold has only taken two or three sips, and he’s shrieking while trying to spit the straw out of his mouth.
Alaric waits and waits, and only when it suits him does he pull it out.
He slaps a new piece of duct tape over Harold’s mouth while the other man’s face swells.
Realization hits hard and fast.
Alaric must have gotten his hands on Harold’s medical files.
So.
Whatever Alaric has in that jar, Harold’s allergic to it.
Just like before, my mouth gapes wide open. There isn’t an ounce of fear coursing through my body, only awe. Pure, unadulterated admiration.
Because even if law enforcement charged Harold with hurting his mother and locked him up, they wouldn’t dothis. They wouldn’t put him through hell and back.
They wouldn’t stand up for Mrs. Tobin like she deserves.