Ashton caught Sam as he fell into her stunned, outstretched arms. She stumbled backwards under his weight, and would have fell down with Sam on top of her if Saul had not stepped in. Using his powers, he levitated Sam until he was chest high. Sam’s body was suspended in mid-air, as if by invisible wires, his arms hanging towards the ground, head lolling back, and drops of blood splashing onto the old wood of Ashton’s porch, sounding, to Ashton’s ears, like a bass drum as they hit.
Ashton saw it all as if it were in slow motion, the slight breeze stirring Sam’s hair, the barely visible rising and falling of Sam’s chest as he struggled to take each breath, the pallor of his face, and the nightmarish soaking of blood on his clothes. She looked down at herself and saw the blood that had transferred onto her arms and clothes where Sam’s body had touched hers. Her hands started to shake and her stomach to roll. She had been desperately wanting to see Sam again, but never in her deepest, darkest dreams had she imagined it would be like this. Not like this, she thought as she shook her head from side to side. Not like this.
Ashton turned her questioning eyes to Saul for answers. “What happened?” she asked with a shaky voice. Saul stared back at her with regret and apology in his eyes, giving Ashton reason to believe he had something to do with Sam’s current situation. But before he could reply, she gathered her wits about her and took control of the situation. “Get him inside and put him in my bed,” she ordered the angel. Turning to lead the way, she stopped and turned back, squarely facing the immortal on her steps. “Don’t even think about disappearing until you explain this whole mess to me and until Sam gets better. You owe me and I’m collecting.”
Saul merely nodded his head as Ashton turned to hold the door open so he and his precious cargo could pass through. Stepping past them, Ashton led the way up the stairs to her bedroom and flipped back the cover so Saul could lower Sam to the waiting mattress. The fresh sheets she had slept on just a short time ago, now supported and folded around Ashton’s new charge. Fresh blood slowly stained them, leaving Ashton to believe that the blood flow was not gushing but rather seeping from Sam’s wound. She’d seen enough episodes of Grey’s Anatomy and House on TV to know that this was a good sign.
Rolling up her sleeves, she looked at Saul as he stood off to the side of the bed and began to fire orders at him. “We need to get him out of his clothes, clean the wound, and apply pressure to it to get the bleeding stopped. Stay here with him while I go get hot water and the other things we’ll need.” She gave him a warning glance to do as she expected and rushed out of the room.
She flew into the kitchen first and filled a large pot with hot water, then put it on the burner to heat. While she waited for the water to boil, she went into the washroom and gathered old, frayed wash rags, towels, and sheets to be torn into makeshift bandages. She found a bottle of alcohol in the bathroom cabinet for disinfecting the wound. Ashton paused for just a second, realizing that she did not even know what the wound looked like, what caused it, or how bad it was. No matter, she told herself, she was going to fix it and make Sam better, or die trying. No, there would be dying today, hers or Sam’s, she promised herself. Sam would get better, even if she had to make a deal with the devil for him to do so.
Throwing the rags over her shoulder, she picked up the pot of hot water, carried it up to the bedroom, and set it gently on the bedside table. In her absence, Saul had removed Sam’s clothes, and he now lay with the sheets riding around his waist. Ashton had been waiting to see Sam naked, but she barely took the time now to admire the lean muscles and light furring on the chest that lay bare to her. Time for that later.
“I’ll need you to roll him over onto his uninjured side and hold him there while I see what we are dealing with,” she barked at Saul.
Saul did not move, but Sam began to slowly rotate until his injury was exposed to the sunlight. It was a cut, about two inches in length. The depth was unknown to her, but she was going to assume the worst and figure it was deep. Sam had been stabbed.
She moved to the other side of the bed facing Sam, and spread towels on the bed underneath him to catch the water as she washed the wound. Looking at Saul again she said, “Roll him on to his stomach and let him lay there while I clean him up. I assume you can keep him asleep while I work, so he will not feel the pain?”
Saul took his eyes off Sam long enough to meet her gaze and again nodded his head. “I will spare him the pain and let him sleep to heal, while you clean the wound and stitch it closed.”
The white threads that connected Sam and Saul had been visible this whole time, but now glowed brighter as Saul fed more energy into Sam, putting him farther into unconsciousness. He did not tell Ashton that the pain he would be sparing Sam, would be felt by him. He would take on this burden as long as he stayed connected to Sam. As Ashton began to gently wash the wound and the areas around it, Saul stood steady, not a sound coming from his lips.
Ashton took a deep breath, knowing she needed to clean the wound and disinfect the whole area before closing it. She had never done anything like this, but her hands were steady and sure as she soaked and cleaned the area over and over until the skin was pink from her efforts. The water, on the other hand, was dark red and smelled of copper with the blood she had cleaned from Sam. She soaked one of the rags with alcohol and went over the same area twice before she was satisfied that he was clean, and that she had done what she could to prevent infection.
She rose from the floor where she had been kneeling and arched her back saying, “I need to go find a needle and thread. I’ll be only a moment.” With this said she turned to leave the room, but her eyes were held by the sight of Saul.
While she worked over Sam she had not glanced at the angel, but now she was stopped in her tracks by his appearance. His immortal beauty had not been dimmed by the pain he absorbed, but had intensified. A glow seemed to radiate from his body and his face was a mask of serenity. He took Ashton’s breath away as she continued to stare at him. Saul looked at her and when he smiled it almost blinded her, so bright and breath taking was the sight.
Ashton knew she had no time to dwell over Saul but she needed to know. “What’s happened to you? I don’t understand,” she questioned.
Saul let his gaze rest on the pretty human, then with a low voice he shared with her the information very few other mortals knew. “I have taken on Sam’s pain and suffering. When an angel does this, gives of himself to help another, his powers are enhanced. The burdens we carry for others make us stronger and enable us to give more. Greater strength is the reward for our sacrifices.” The angel paused for a minute and his gaze turned to Sam on the bed. “Sam’s pain was great but he felt nothing. When he awakes, he will remember nothing of what happened while you cared for him.”
Ashton’s face paled as she realized the pain the angel had gone through for Sam. “Are you hurt now? What do you need?” she asked Saul with concern.
“I need nothing,” Saul reassured her. “This is my purpose, to help my charges. I will continue to give healing forces to Sam as long as he needs them,” he promised her. “But you, Ashton, are not finished with him.” He waved her from the room saying, “Go get the needle and thread and finish the job. As great as my powers are, I cannot make him well alone. You have to help. Go now. Time is of the essence,” he urged her toward the door.
Ashton ran down the stairs into the kitchen looking in the top drawer nearest the phone jack for a needle and thread. Everyone had a junk drawer in the kitchen filled with duct tape, pens and pencils, and yes, even a needle and thread she discovered, as she rummaged through its contents. As she made her way back upstairs, Ashton wondered to herself, “Was what Saul doing for Sam considered a miracle?”
Entering the bedroom, she paused at Saul’s side and turned her face to his. Their eyes met and, although no words were spoken, in them he could read her thanks and gratitude.
Ashton moved to Sam’s bedside, where she soaked the needle and thread in the alcohol before reaching out with one hand, pulled the sides of the wound together, and slowly began slipping the needle in and out. She pulled each stitch tight before going on to the next. She had never been very handy at sewing, but a half hour later she looked at the closed wound and felt a sense of satisfaction. Thirty neatly placed stitches now took the place of the ugly hole that had marred Sam’s side. No doubt there would be a scar, but it should heal nicely and be something he could show his grandchildren when he was old, telling them some tall tale of how he had come by it.
Ashton placed a bandage, made from the torn up sheets, over the wound. Then, as if reading her mind, Saul lifted Sam off the bed just enough that Ashton could anchor the bandage in place with strips of cloth, which she wrapped around his torso. She removed the wet towels from beneath Sam, then looked to Saul to finish the job. Sam was lowered, as gentle as a baby, to rest again on the bed. Ashton pulled the sheets up to Sam’s shoulders, making sure he was as comfortable as he could be.
Looking down on his sleeping face, she raised her hand and gently stroked the hair from his brow. She lowered her lips to his cheek and kissed him. His skin carried a stubble of whiskers, but Ashton didn’t mind as she lay her cheek next to his for a few seconds. When she came away, her own cheeks were wet with tears.
“Don’t let him go, Saul,” she sobbed brokenly. “Don’t let him go.”