Chapter 2 - The Stitching and the Silence
For the next three hours, Sadie’s apartment transformed into a makeshift trauma ward.
She boiled water in an aluminum pot that had seen better days, pulled out her mother’s old sewing kit—which included curved surgical needles left over from a brief stint in veterinary tech school—and set to work with a clinical efficiency that surprised even herself.
Gabriel didn’t scream. He didn’t curse. When Sadie poured the stinging antiseptic directly into his open flesh, his knuckles turned white as he gripped the wooden arms of the couch, his jaw clenching so hard a muscle ticked in his cheek, but not a single sound escaped his lips.
“This is going to hurt worse,” she warned, threading the needle. “I don’t have painkillers. I have stale vodka and ibuprofen.”
“Just sew,” he gritted out, staring straight up at the cracked plaster ceiling.
By 4:30 AM, the wounds were cleaned, disinfected, and crudely sutured shut. Gabriel was shivering violently from blood loss and shock, so Sadie piled every blanket she owned over his chest, setting the coughing radiator on high.
She sat on a wooden kitchen chair across the room, watching him through the dim light of a single floor lamp, her hands still shaking from the adrenaline crash.
“Why were they trying to kill you?” she asked quietly into the silence.
Gabriel turned his head on the cushion, his gray eyes fixing on her with an unblinking intensity. “Business disagreement.”
“Right. Business.” Sadie snorted softly. “People in accounting usually have spreadsheets, not submachine guns.”
“Different department.”
“Clearly.” She crossed her arms, studying him closely. Up close, cleaned of grime, he looked remarkably dangerous. Expensive haircut, tailored Italian wool ruined by gore, and a quiet, lethal stillness that suggested he wasn't just some random corporate executive caught in a mugging. “You didn't answer my question earlier. What’s your name?”
“Gabriel,” he said after a brief hesitation. Just Gabriel. No last name offered.
“Well, Gabriel, you’re welcome for the medical intervention. If you die on my floral couch, I’m dumping you in the Delaware River, because I am not dealing with a homicide investigation on top of my rent increase.”
A low, gravelly sound rumbled in his chest—a dry, humorless laugh that immediately made him wince and clutch his bandaged ribs.
“You have a sharp mouth for someone who just invited a fugitive into her home,” he murmured.
“Survival skill,” Sadie retorted. “In South Philly, if you don't bite back, people eat you.”
By sunrise, Gabriel had slipped into a deep, exhausted sleep. Sadie caught two hours of restless rest on the armchair, waking up stiff and achy just as the pale morning light filtered through her grimy windowpanes.
When she walked back into the living room, the couch was empty.
The blankets were neatly folded on the cushion. On the scarred wooden coffee table sat a crisp, heavy piece of cardstock bearing a single handwritten phone number and a string of numbers that looked like an address in Center City.
May you like
There was no signature. Just a heavy, dark ink stroke.
Gabriel was gone, leaving behind only the faint scent of cedarwood, copper, and rain.
