"Would you mind taking off your gloves to show my wife?" Remington asked gently, his voice filled with a subtle curiosity. "I don't mind at all. I was just worried about startling Mrs. Dashiell," came the calm reply.
Lizetta was somewhat puzzled by their exchange, but Eileen set down her glass of water and slowly removed her gloves. Despite preparing herself for something unusual, Lizetta couldn't help but flinch and pale slightly at the sight of Eileen's hands.
Eileen's right hand was missing a thumb, cleanly it had been severed at the base.
The scar was smooth, healed over time, but the sight was still jarringly discomforting.
Lizetta, managing to suppress her shock, politely averted her gaze and spoke with a strained voice, "I'm sorry."
"It's okay, really. It's been many years. I've gotten used to it."
Remington reached out to take Lizetta's trembling hand in his own, before saying to Eileen, "I'd like a moment alone with my wife, if you don't mind."
Eileen nodded understandingly and walked into the living room, carrying Dorothy upstairs with her.
Lizetta, still in shock, turned to Remington. "Her hand?"
She had her suspicions but hoped the reality wasn't as grim as she feared.
"Yes, it was her hand that led me to her. I thought she was Stella." Remington's voice was hoarse with emotion.
Lizetta's heart skipped a beat; it seemed disbelief slowed her breathing.
"If you'd rather not talk about it, that's okay. I won't ask further," she murmured, with her lips tight.
Remington shook his head; his decision to bring Lizetta here today was to share his past with her, a past that included Stella; it was a taboo subject that he had never been able to discuss with anyone. "Some things," he began, "must be faced eventually."
"That day, the kidnappers were actually after me. But Stella, always the adventurous one, had cut her hair short to match mine. I had gotten hot and took off my jacket and hat, and she picked them up to wear, which led to her being taken by mistake. When the kidnappers realized their error, they came back for me."
He paused, feeling the weight of the memories pressing down. "The ransom drop went wrong; the cops showed up, and the kidnappers, furious and panicked, took us both and ran. We were beaten, starved, tormented for weeks. One kidnapper died in an accident, which gave us a sliver of hope for escape."
"On the day we managed to escape, we chewed through our bindings while the remaining kidnapper was out. We never expected him to return so soon."
Remington's recounting was understated, but the horror of two eleven-year-olds in the clutches of desperate criminals for weeks was unimaginable.
Lizetta couldn't help but wrap her arms tightly around him; her face was pale, and her heart was aching in empathy.
She wanted to tell him to stop, that she didn't need to hear any more to understand the depth of his pain. But her voice was caught in her throat, and she knew any words of comfort were inadequate in the moment. All she could do was hold him tighter, while her tears were falling silently.
Remington, feeling her tears, gently wiped them away, and said with a voice tinged with a sad tenderness. "Why are you crying again?"
Lizetta was overwhelmed with sorrow for him, feeling a profound sense of helplessness. She couldn't comfort his younger self; nor could she be there to share his ordeal like Stella did.
Even though Stella had been hailed as a savior by Remington, there was nothing Lizetta could have done, and there was nothing she could do now but offer her silent, unwavering support.
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