by R. J. Blain
I pointed in the direction of my bathroom. “Medicine cabinet. There’s also rubbing alcohol and similar things with them. The first aid kit might have a sterile scalpel in it, but I can’t remember. I also don’t remember if I threw out the old scalpels, though I probably did. The ones that come in those kits aren’t the greatest, although they’ll do in a pinch.”
Bradley bounced to his feet and headed for my bathroom, returning a few minutes later with my entire first aid kit and every antiseptic I owned. “I spent the first minute or two reading labels trying to figure out which products would be the best, but then I remembered you are much better at this than I am, so I gathered everything.”
“Not a bad plan,” I conceded, and I grabbed the actual kit, dug through it until I located my scalpels, and discovered two were still in their original, sterilized packaging. “This simplifies things. I will warn you now, my foot is bad, it’s probably going to smell absolutely terrible when I pull this boot off, and I won’t be surprised if there are abscesses I will need to lance to remove the infection. And if the abscesses are really bad, there might be a spray radius, so get some paper towels. I’d rather not have to clean this shit out of my carpet.”
“That sounds disgusting.”
“That’s because it is disgusting.”
“Have I really let you run around with a foot that badly infected?”
“You know the doctor knows. She wanted to try antibiotics first.” The antibiotics weren’t working well, but all of my doctors preferred giving the medications a real chance to work before taking drastic measures. “Don’t tell anyone this, but I resent I couldn’t have just solved this problem a week ago. When you put the damned cuff back on me, don’t lock it this time. I get why you locked it the first time, and you’re not wrong for having locked it the first time, as I do want functional lungs. However, I also want a functional foot. To answer your question, yes, I was running around with a badly infected foot.”
“I’ll agree to forgo locking it if you agree to only turn it off if it’s truly and absolutely necessary.”
As Bradley was one of two people outside of a hospital who could unlock or lock the damned thing, I found his terms to be agreeable. I nodded. “And if I do need my magic, I have access to it. That oversight is annoying, honestly.”
“That had crossed my mind,” he admitted. “I’ll pretend it’s still locked, just in case someone we don’t want knowing that has access to your medical file. It won’t stop the records from listing the names of those who can lock and unlock the bracelet, but if people believe it’s locked, you’re better off. I think I can even change the mode on them so you can turn it on and off without having to remove it.”
“That would be convenient.” The bracelet, which I viewed as worse than any handcuff, had no visual cues it was active or deactivated, which worked in my favor. That Bradley worried someone had access to my medical file worried me, too.
While Bradley had turned fretting into an art, he tried to fret over the important details.
After taking a few minutes to prepare everything in the first aid kit for some self-inflicted torture in the name of future relief, I asked, “Why do you think someone has access to my medical file?”
“I’ve gotten more than a few calls implying people have been gossiping about your health, your general lack of good health, and questions about why you are still using a wheelchair. Obviously, a family like mine should be able to magically repair your foot.” Bradley wrinkled his nose. “If I could, I would. Mostly, I’ve referred people to a foot specialist with their questions. A few even had the decency to apologize later for implying I wasn’t taking proper care of my fiancée.”
Why had I agreed to become engaged to Bradley? Oh, right. I wanted to avoid being murdered on some battlefield, and I also wanted to keep Bradley from being sucked into the same system. Marriage seemed a far better fate than guaranteed recruitment into the military, where I would come to a brutal end in some fashion or another.
Bradley likely wouldn’t see the front lines if he were to be drafted under the potential future rules, but he wouldn’t enjoy life, either.
I braced for the inevitable pain and suffering I’d subject myself to taking off my boot. I hissed at the movement of the padded metal and plastic, and as I’d suspected, the bandages had a few suspiciously colored sections, which implied I oozed in places I shouldn’t have been oozing.
In good news, if I oozed, I wouldn’t need the scalpel for more than removing the bandages without inflicting additional injury to myself.
“The nice thing about being an exsanguinator is I don’t just work with blood. Bodily fluids in general are my domain, although blood is the easiest to work with. This nasty shit counts as a bodily fluid, so I can sense it and eject it at my whim.” I considered requesting something to plug my nose with, as once I removed the bandage, the stench would be enough to turn anyone’s stomach. “Why don’t you go to the bedroom and order us lunch while I solve this problem?”
“You’re going to need a bucket for that, judging from the swelling.”
“Dump out the trash can in the bathroom. That’s easy to wash.”
Bradley returned to the bathroom and brought my trash can, which he’d emptied at my request. Five minutes later, he’d managed to unlock the bracelet so I could turn it on and off at my whim rather than his, and I tested it several times to make sure it worked. Once confident I had control over the situation, I braced my foot onto the coffee table, freed one of the scalpels from its sterile packaging, and heaved a sigh. “Flee and make lunch appear. This is going to be disgusting, and I want to pretend you’re not aware I’m going to be threatening to cut this damned foot off in a profanity-laced temper tantrum.”
“Your magic isn’t good at preventing pain. You can work miracles, but you can’t control the nervous system.”
“Order yourself something extra nice for your ability to demonstrate just how smart you are,” I ordered. “Take Ajani into the bedroom while you’re at it. I don’t want to traumatize my fluffy goddess.”
After claiming my cat, Bradley headed into my bedroom and closed the door. The thin wood wouldn’t do much to prevent him from hearing me, but I’d do my best to limit my expressions of discomfort to the rare curse.
Bracing for the inevitable misery, I cut off the bandage, grimacing at the angry, red skin and the evidence the surgical wounds had seen better days. As expected, I oozed where I had no business oozing, but I’d take advantage of the situation to draw out the infection without having to inflict additional misery on myself.
Pulling the infection out reminded me a little of drawing a molten string of lava through my foot, painful enough I clenched my teeth and hissed curses so I wouldn’t scream. As I couldn’t address the problem of inflammation until the volume of infection in my foot reduced to something closer to tolerable, I focused on drawing out as much of the junk as possible, leaving a murky mess in my trash can. As expected, it stank to high heaven, and I kept on cursing so I wouldn’t start gagging.
It took ten minutes, but I got the job done, and once the majority of the infection was purged from my foot, I made sure to eradicate it from my blood stream, something the next blood test would have revealed, likely resulting in a removal of the wretched bracelet so I could streamline the healing process.
While my doctor was game to test antibiotics to give my lungs a better chance to heal, nobody wanted to deal with sepsis.
Damned foot. One day, it might not try to kill me in some fashion or another.
Once I controlled the infection to the level the antibiotics might be able to work to eradicate it completely, I opted to allow the inflammation to decrease on its own, pulling out gauze and bandages from the first aid kit and wrapping my foot before cleaning the inside of my medical boot and putting it back on. I snagged my cane so I wouldn’t undo my hard work, got to my sole good foot, and took the trash can to my kitchen, where I began the tedious work of purifying it so I wouldn�
�t be tempted to light it on fire and get rid of it.
Bradley poked his head out of my bedroom. “Are you done?”
“I have conquered my foot, although my trash can has seen terrible things, Bradley. I’m thinking about putting it out of its misery.” After three rounds of soap and scrubbing, I was out a sponge, but the trashcan showed no evidence of having been used for infection disposal. “Fetch the bleach out from beneath the bathroom sink, please.”
He obeyed, and to keep from doing more damage to my foot, I hopped back to the couch and instructed him to pour a quarter of the bottle down the sink and run the water as hot as he could make it. “Just try not to die from bleach fumes.”
“Dying from bleach fumes isn’t on my list of things to do today, and barbecue will be here within twenty minutes. How is your foot?”
I gave him a brief summary of the work I’d done on myself.
“I can’t tell how bad that is,” he admitted.
“It would have shown up on my next blood test, and then she probably would have unlocked the bracelet so I could fix the problem. Since my next blood test is scheduled for Tuesday, a few days probably wouldn’t have made that much of a difference, and if it had, I would have gone to the doctor myself. I’ve been watching for the signs of a problem. I can deal with pain, but this would have been worse than just some pain by the time my appointment rolled around. It’ll be fine, especially since I’ll turn off the damned bracelet once a day to make sure everything is fine. And when my doctor asks why I’m doing so much better, we will claim a good diet and her drugs did the trick.”
“So, we’re going to lie.”
“We are going to lie so well she struts for the rest of the day due to her medical prowess at working miracles.”
Bradley ran the water while he opened my apartment’s sole window and turned on the exhaust fan over the stove to help circulate the air and get rid of the stench of bleach. “I’m going to try to use the lactose pills to see if they work, but I got cornbread. I got a ridiculous amount of cornbread. I will have my cornbread with real butter. That way, when anyone asks why I haven’t come home, I can truthfully claim I’m indisposed and am staying here tonight.”
For Bradley to be taking that stance, he must have engaged in a heated argument with someone—or multiple someones. “You will be competing for bed space with the medical boot,” I warned him.
“Competing for bed space is an upgrade from the couch, so this is a price I’m willing to play. I have brought my librarian some offerings. There is a bookstore gift card, and I got you a hardback about serial killers of the United States. I’m not sure if it’s a guide on how not to be a serial killer, how to be a serial killer, or just a list of serial killers and their nefarious deeds, but I thought it would amuse you. If you decide to become a serial killer, please don’t start with me. Or finish with me. Or include me in your killing spree. I could be talked into helping you hide the bodies, though.”
I snickered at the idea Bradley would even consider trying to help hide a body. “We could spend the evening reading books, but I don’t think I would need any help becoming a serial killer should I wish to become one. I have a list of ways to kill someone while making it very difficult for anyone to pin the crime on me. I can even mimic strangulations if I really want. It’s all about the bruising patterns, and I’m good at that.”
“I’m not sure whether to be awed or terrified, Janette.”
“Be both. It awes and terrifies me at times. Just because I can doesn’t mean I will. Which is probably a good thing, because I would be a phenomenal serial killer. That’s part of why people are so damned afraid of me. Have the others come up with any concrete theories on the actual serial killer?”
“No. That’s part of why I got some books about serial killers,” he admitted. “We have nothing. I was the first to admit you were right about going to the memorial service. We likely missed a lot of leads. It’s not uncommon for serial killers to show up at the scene of the crime—or the services for their victims. I think we don’t know enough about how serial killers and groups like this operate. So, I’m starting to correct my ignorance with some books. My mother is going to talk to some people in law enforcement, and she’s using some of her continuing education courses as a cover for her interest in serial killers and how they operate.”
“We’re trying to become a legalized cell, Bradley. Cells are public information after application.”
“We’re legalized,” he announced.
I stared at him. “What?”
“Before I came over here, my mother got the call. Our application has been approved. We even have two shooters in our cell, as you’re registered as fitting another role, and because you do not have current cell qualifications and Lenard does, we’re getting away with it. Your rating and public service position got you an independent slot.”
I blinked a few times, wondering what sort of mess that would create for us later. “They know I have the skills to be a shooter, and they’re allowing me to take a different slot?”
“Correct. According to my mother, they really want us on the case. Honestly, the evaluator mentioned your medical skills, and they want cells to have people with any form of medical training possible in case something goes wrong, so they have opted to ignore your past history as someone qualified to be a shooter. You aren’t allowed to test for the position unless Lenard leaves. Lenard is happy, because it means he gets to work in a cell doing what he does best. He’s even happier because he’s acquired a concealed carry license for you with my mother’s help. Because we’re now a legalized cell, he has begun paperwork to acquire you a concealed carry license for all states, including states that normally do not allow concealed carry. The government issued you an exemption. Apparently, they feel more comfortable if you shoot your victims rather than exsanguinate them.”
“That’s incredibly stupid,” I muttered. “Exsanguination is so much more merciful in comparison to a gunshot wound.”
“Welcome to government bureaucracy and idiocy. Honestly, I’m happy with this, because it gives you an extra way to defend yourself.” Bradley sighed, headed to the front door, and picked up a gift bag, which he dumped on my lap. “I’m sorry I was a dick about the memorial service. You were right, and because we were short-sighted dicks, we lost a chance to get good information.”
“If being right gets me presents, I’m not going to complain.” I peeked into the bag and eyed a wrapped box, which was the general shape and size of a laptop. Bradley had already gotten me a laptop, but I had deemed it for work purposes only, thus refusing to play any games on it, as it was a system meant for work. “You want me to play that online game with you, don’t you?”
“I really want to play computer games with you, and I’m not above begging. I brought my laptop, and while it’s all wrapped up nicely, I took the liberty of installing a bunch of games hoping to entice you into trying them. If I fail at this, I installed your book reading app on it, so you can use it for reading and research without doing it on your work computer.”
If all of our problems could be solved with admitting fault and playing computer games, life would be good down the road, although the realist in me understood life rarely worked out that way. “Okay. I’ll try one of these games with you, but only after we get at least an hour of reading in a day. At least an hour.” I frowned. “Maybe two hours. It’s hard getting reading time, Bradley.”
“I’ll work to make sure we get equal amounts of reading and game time, along with anything else we want to do. And since you like being a librarian, I’m looking into a larger apartment for us in the area so we can be close to your work. I can work anywhere. Also, my wallet is thankful for your choice of family car. I reviewed the maintenance bills, and apparently, three months of maintenance on my old car is the entire lifespan of maintenance on this new one. This disgusts me, as I’m having a hard time justifying the maintenance fees on the fancy cars when the cheaper ones are almost as comfortable and
a great deal cheaper to keep on the road. I’m not sure I’m going to get through this, Janette.”
I’d expected a fight over my choice of career fields, especially since attending medical school had become an option. I would take evening courses and volunteer at the hospital again in the future, after we dealt with the mystery of the assassins and their goals.
Somehow, I’d gone from limited options to having to pick and choose my battles.
As discussing cars led us back to safe waters, I bobbed my head in agreement. “It’s horrible. We have to choose, and the longer I’m in that family car, the more I like it. It doesn’t handle like a sports car, I’m sure, but it’s so comfortable to ride in.”
“My old car loses a lot of points for general comfort. Some of the newer cars blend performance and comfort, but it’s a novelty not having to scrape my ass on the ground getting in and out of the car.” Bradley sighed. “Still, I’m sorry. I was so worried about keeping you safe that I forgot what our end game was. You hadn’t forgotten.”
“I got pictures of the crowd, I got to meet the President of the United States, I got to hiss at Representative Kennedys, confirming he really is a scumbag I wouldn’t miss if he were to kick the bucket, and Senator Hanson seemed nice. I still have to look through the group of cards she gave me, but it was a nice gesture of her. She was also willing to argue with Kennedys, which I appreciated.”
“Senator Hanson? I mean, I’ve heard of her, but I wasn’t aware she was at odds with Kennedys.”
“She is, so we should definitely look into her—and those she works closely with in politics. She might be a lead.” I grabbed the bulging envelope from my bag and went to work opening it. Inside, a bunch of other card envelopes waited for me, and it amazed me they’d managed to fit so many inside. I dumped it out to discover thirty cards, some as small as a business card in an envelope to a few larger cards with something shoved inside of them. “This is a little ridiculous.”
“Don’t be surprised if you find bribes in there, and the type of bribe will be based on what they know about you. Expect gift cards for bookstores.”