by R. J. Blain
“Just one?” I asked, unable to keep the curiosity out of my tone.
Bradley snickered, and he held me close. “Normally, it should be you saying you need a therapist and her asking that.”
With a rather wicked giggle, Beatrice replied, “You’re going to need therapy once I’m done inserting my foot in your ass for worrying me so much!”
“That’s going to hurt. Bradley, don’t let her insert her foot up my ass. I don’t think either one of us would be walking away from that one.”
“My momma always warned me about getting between two women in a fight. But I’m willing to nurse you back to health and attend to your every need after you’re done brawling.”
“I did actually teach him that,” Bradley’s mother announced. “You’ll survive, Janette.”
“I don’t know about that. Beatrice has a hard kick and a long reach.”
“I really do!” Beatrice cleared her throat. “Back on track, especially now that Janette has decided to join us. I have a list of important questions we need answers to.”
“Is why they bothered to give my foot medical care at the top of that list? If it’s not, I request it be added to the top of the list. I was aware of a nasty infection I struggled with. But they tried treating that with medications first. I guess the medications didn’t work, because I’m apparently missing a rather lengthy period of time while it was being addressed and they gave me a new foot.”
“We might be able to find out who was behind it if we can locate the bone donor. Somebody got foot bones of the right type and a match for Janette somehow. Either there’s a corpse somewhere missing parts of their right foot or there’s a recent amputee who’d donated, but Dr. Mansfield made it pretty clear there is a trail if we can find the donor. She’s freaking out because what if somebody got offed to give Janette a new foot?”
Ew. I didn’t want a fixed foot if it had cost someone their life. “I don’t like that option.”
“There is another option,” Mickey announced.
When the research-obsessed librarian with a magic fetish got started, we all ran a high risk of learning something new. “What other option?”
“You’re the donor.”
My eyes widened, and I twisted around to stare at my blanket-covered feet. “What? How?”
“Your left foot. A lot of those bones can be, with some adjustment by a skilled bone mender, used as seed material to grow a new bone. That’s how the bone mender was hiding the gunshot wounds, through the instant recreation of the victim’s skull bone. If they can close a bullet hole to the skull in a split second, using a sample of your bone to grow healthy replacement bone is absolutely possible, and if they’re regrowing the bone outside of the body and introducing it via transplant, it would be much easier on you.”
My mouth dropped open, and I continued to stare at my covered feet. “But then why the pins and rods and all that stuff in my foot?”
“I bet they were going to remove them as they were able to restore more of the bones in your feet. Or it was better for the stability of your foot. Either are options. If they hadn’t intended for you to go missing on them, they could have been preparing you for another round of surgery.” Mickey made a thoughtful sound. “I’m just glad you have a functional foot.”
With a well-timed shove, Bradley dumped me onto my side of the bed, and I yelped at the unexpected relocation. He then pounced, grabbed my feet, and inspected them both. “She does have a new scar on her left foot, Mickey.”
“She could be her own donor, then. It would have been trivial for them to remove a small section of healthy bone, heal the damage, and use the removed bone to rebuild her damaged foot, especially if the infection had compromised the integrity of the bone. And that’s healthier for her. But it also elevates the odds our serial killer really likes Janette for some reason.”
Once satisfied he’d examined both of my feet carefully, Bradley went to work massaging my left foot. “My pillow threw me off,” I complained.
“Yes. I wanted to see your feet. Mickey, at what point will foot massages be okay on her right foot?”
“Ask a real doctor. I just read a lot and have an overabundance of curiosity. If she can walk on it, she can probably handle you rubbing it gently. I recommend whispering sweet nothings. That confuses the strong, independent women and makes them somewhat pliable.”
I giggled. “Beatrice, has Mickey been taking advantage of your poor person again?”
“He’s all quiet and shy, but then suddenly, he’s there, with roses and sweet nothings, and the next thing I know, I’ve lost my bra,” she replied, and I could imagine her shrugging. “I’m still missing a bra somewhere. I think I threw it behind our couch, but honestly, I’m not sure. I’ll find it eventually. Or my mother will. Or worse, his mother. She’s rather conservative about pre-marital sex. I’ll get around to marrying him once I’ve confirmed we both enjoy the goods for an extended period of time and won’t kill each other immediately following marriage.”
“I’m getting mixed signals,” Mickey stated. “Am I supposed to be tossing bras around our living room and inviting my mother over now? And anyway, we’re living together. Surely they can’t be that dense. But if they are that dense, I suppose I can throw a few of your bras around our living room.”
“I will pay for you to do that,” my favorite enemy stated. “I’ll even say please.”
“And now that we know too much about your sex life, how about we focus on work,” I said, trying to free my foot from Bradley’s grasp with no luck. “Why would someone out to kill a bunch of unsavory politicians want to heal my foot? I keep getting in the way of their kills. Twice now. And I don’t even remember the second time. I literally didn’t even know I’d gotten shot until I read about it in a news article at the library. I completely missed it. After the goats, I remember waking up in a pile of blankets and pillows chained to a bunch of pipes with a fuzzy handcuff. They were monitoring me to a certain extent, the main room I was kept in had some obvious camera points, but they left me alone in the bathroom. Apparently, my modesty seemed to be important to them for some reason. The chain gave me full reach of everything in the room and bathroom, too. Illusions disguised the windows and may have changed the size and perception of the room, but I have no way of knowing. They used some form of illusion on the outside of the house, though only on what could be seen through the windows. I found the window I escaped out of by feel, and while I’d found a window in the bathroom, I’d been too scared to try it since I couldn’t see anything out of it. I had no idea how high it was from the ground. The window in the main room wasn’t as well guarded; I was able to see through it if I put my face right up against it.”
“That matches how the serial killers operate,” Mickey replied. “But why heal your foot? That doesn’t make any sense to me whatsoever. It’s not cheap keeping someone alive for so many months while also giving them extensive health care. Even if they had the skills to do the work themselves, they’d still need the drugs to keep you sedated, they’d have to provide care to keep you from developing sores, and there’s a lot of work involved keeping someone unconscious or comatose for a long period of time. Mr. Tawnlen? How long would it have taken her arm to heal without her being aware of it?”
“Skin abrasions can heal in as quickly as ten days,” my boss reported. “But considering how ill Janette was at the time of kidnapping, I would call it closer to a month, especially if it were to become infected, which would be a high possibility considering the circumstances. The wound seemed fairly deep, which takes longer to heal. By now, there would be a noticeable scar. Is that correct?”
“There’s a scar,” I confirmed. I twisted my arm for a better look at my new decoration. “It doesn’t seem that bad, but I guess it’s bad enough. It’s a few inches long.”
“That supports it taking longer. The original wound was a full penetration, so you should have two dimes instead of a solid scar. A solid scar implies they cut the wound open,
probably to remove or lance out infection. It might have been even longer than a month under those circumstances. We have no way of knowing unless your father is willing to use his magic to check, Bradley.”
Bradley stilled. “I’ll ask him about it once he’s out of the tub. He wanted to find out if the tub was truly capable of devouring the will of human adults.”
I laughed. “It’s the perfect tub for reading. We might lose him forever in there. A pity. I actually like your dad.”
“I like him, too. Maybe we should rescue him.”
“Maybe if he doesn’t come out before I have to use the bathroom? He might be tired of listening to you complain I was holding you hostage as a pillow.”
“Why are you assuming I would be complaining?”
“Well, I certainly wasn’t letting you go anywhere, like the bathroom.”
“Do you need to go to the bathroom?”
“Possibly,” I admitted.
Bradley laughed, got out of bed, and grabbed his phone. “It’s obviously time to handle the basic needs, including dinner. We’ll resume this tomorrow. Once I’ve fed her, we’ll brainstorm, and I’ll try to get good information about what she knows, but I suspect we’re going to come up short on that front. We do have a new line we can pursue, though. Mickey, can you handle the research on what would be required for the type of surgery she had?”
“Absolutely,” he confirmed. “I’ll get Beatrice to help. Meridian has been following up on the new legislation; she crashed out before you got on the phone with us, Janette. It turns out she’s pretty good at getting intel from the politicians, so we have fresh copies of all the latest bills working through the house and senate.”
“How is she doing it?” I blurted. “Please tell me she hasn’t started a business in politician seduction.”
“It turns out her uncle is a filthy politician who loves sticking it to other politicians. She even gave us a lot of information on him—and he provided most of it, too. Her uncle is pretty feisty. So, he puts in the requests for copies or just gives her a photocopy of his copies. He just asks we keep the copies to ourselves, which we’re doing.”
“Please thank her for abusing her familial privileges, and tell her I’m relieved she wasn’t actually selling her body for the cause.”
“Will do,” Mickey replied. “Since we have work tomorrow, we’ll let you fend off your parents.”
Once Mickey and Beatrice hung up, my boss likewise bailed, leaving me to face off with my parents and Bradley’s mother.
“Horses, Mom?” I asked.
“They were going to be butchered because the overly wealthy racehorse farms didn’t want unproven mares and their foals. Your dad is a sucker for horses, and we could afford them because Bradley helped us with our stocks and we had some good fortune. We’re old, so use it or lose it. I even have someone lined up to teach me how to train and ride my new horses.”
“You’re not that old, because I’m not that old,” I replied.
“Keep telling yourself that if it helps you get through the day, little girl.”
I sighed. “Okay. I’ll do that. Thanks, Mom. I’m now old. I was hoping to go through a vibrant middle age, but I guess I’m just plunging straight into the old category. Does that mean I get to make lace thingies that I decorate my home with?”
“No.” Bradley shot me a glare. “You’re not old. You’re perfectly aged.”
I laughed. “See, Mom? I’m perfectly aged.”
“That was a good one, Bradley. I shall honor your perfect retort and concede this battle now. But yes, we got horses. One is for you. Yours didn’t come from the market, though. They didn’t have any in the two colors you muttered about in your sleep when Bradley tried to wake you. There are more goats now, too.”
According to Bradley’s expression, my mother was doing a good job of driving him insane. “How many more goats?”
“Two. They’re weaned. They’re girls. They’ll be adorable in your herd of goats.”
“I think my mother won that one,” I informed Bradley.
“I concede.”
“How are you feeling?” my mother asked.
“Hungry.”
“Don’t eat Bradley. He’s not food.”
Damn. My mother was out for my blood. “I have other uses for him, none of which involve food unless I’m in a mood,” I stated in my most dignified tone.
“And that’s my cue to hang up, for I have lost the battle and the war with that one.” A click informed me my mother had made a strategic retreat while Bradley’s mother snickered.
“I think my mother thinks I’m planning to seduce you, Bradley. I’m too hungry to do anything like that, and your father is in the room.”
“I think she forgot we have adult supervision.”
Bradley’s mother kept on laughing, and when she recovered enough to speak, she said, “We can always move him to a different room if you two would like some privacy.”
“Maybe.” Bradley eyed me with interest.
I raised a brow.
“I’m hanging up on you now, Mom. Love you.” Bradley pressed the disconnect icon on his phone’s screen. Then, with zero care of his father’s comfort or privacy, he went to the bathroom and stuck his head inside. “She’s hungry and needs to use the bathroom, so your tub time is over.”
“I guessed that from what I could hear of the conversation,” his father replied, and I realized the tub no longer rumbled. Mr. Hampton emerged a moment later wearing his pajamas. “We’ll order in.” Snatching a leather folder off the desk, he offered it to me. “Get whatever you want and pretend your eyes aren’t bigger than your stomach.”
I took the menu and took longer in the bathroom than necessary, indulging in a lava-hot shower, as I wanted my next adventure in the tub to involve a naked Bradley and more books. When I emerged, father and son shared a bed and browsed through a second folder. “Where’d you get another menu?”
“From me,” my doctor said from the door, and she waved at me.
I yelped, about entered orbit, and bolted into the bathroom before comprehending the woman was actually my doctor. I bowed my head, sighed, and left the bathroom. “That was not one of my better moments.”
“It really wasn’t, but if I had a man as handsome as yours, I’d stare at him a lot, too. You get a pass. How are you feeling?”
“Hungry enough I’m thinking about ordering a pizza, a steak, and a salad, and the salad is composed of ice cream with various toppings.”
“Do you mean a sundae?” Dr. Mansfield asked with a grin.
“It sounds so much healthier if I call it a salad.”
“With how thin you are, you definitely deserve that salad. Bradley, I want you to make sure she eats five times a day. They can be smaller meals, but her calorie count should be no less than two thousand for her current height and weight. Give her a day or two, then increase by a hundred or two calories and some exercise. I’ll send a general plan to your phone. I also called in some prescriptions through a local doctor for some vitamins. If you need painkillers, let me know, but Yvon doesn’t think you’ll need any. The work on your foot is solid, and while you still need to heal, it’s all rebuilding muscle, walking around on it, and accepting your foot is going to be one big ball of pain when the weather changes. Keep a cane handy, because when the barometer shifts on you, you’re going to know it, it’s going to hurt, and you’ll want to limit how much weight you put on it until you’re used to it.”
“That’s a pretty damned good prognosis,” I said, staring at my foot, which seemed happy to bear my weight and didn’t even blip on my pain radar. “I can’t tell if it actually hurts or if I’ve become used to it hurting so much I’m not noticing it.”
“It shouldn’t be hurting you hardly at all right now. Yvon thinks you’ll have some soreness when you walk for a while, but the work that was done was good, the new bone has healed well, and they did a good job on the pins and rods. We’ll need to take you to a hospital eventually for
a full scan to record everything that’s been done so we can make sure we treat your foot appropriately in the future, but these assholes did what I couldn’t.”
“I mean, maybe you could have done it if you were willing to knock my ass out for months at a time and lock me up?” I eyed my foot. “I don’t think I would have accepted that as an option, to be honest.”
“This is true. This wasn’t a conventional treatment, and frankly, it skirts being cruel and unusual punishment. Well, if you were awake for any parts of the procedure.”
Bradley stared at his father until the older man sighed. “With your permission, I can check.”
The Hampton family’s magic never failed to fascinate me, and I strode to the bed, sat down, and lifted my foot. “Trauma-induced amnesia is a thing with me.”
“It really is,” Bradley’s father muttered, shaking his head and placing his hand on my foot over where I had a new collection of scars to go with the pins and rods. A moment later, he winced. “I’ll just go ahead and confirm that now, Dr. Mansfield. The illusionist blocked her view of who had her, and she was only semi-coherent during the procedures, but she wasn’t fully sedated. Or it wore off during the procedure. I can’t tell which. But the pain imprint is pretty strong, and from what I can tell, she had a full medical team working on her. They all were masked and obscured, so at most, she witnessed some blurred shapes.”
“Can you tell me about her foot’s state at the start of the procedure?”
“Somewhat. They removed a lot of bone due to a severe infection; honestly, I’d probably do my best to forget this, too. They removed a chunk of bone and muscle from here.” He tapped a part of my foot near the new scar. Frowning, he put my foot back down on the floor and grabbed my left foot, poking and prodding at the top. “Yeah. They cut open her other foot, removed bone samples, and did the work that way. One operation. They removed the infection in stage one, disposing of all the infected bone, and then they took bone samples, mended the bone they’d pillaged from, and manipulated the sample to put it in her right foot. The pins and rods are meant to be permanent, as far as I can tell. They poked at her right foot in the areas where there are non-natural implants from prior operations but didn’t remove anything. Perhaps evaluating if they could replace those bones?”