The Searcher(101)

Trey shakes her head. The pain makes her suck in a breath. “Nah.”

“Don’t swallow the blood, or you will. Just spit it right into here. You dizzy? Seeing double?”

“Nah.”

“Did you black out?”

“Nah.”

“Well, that’s all good,” Cal says. “Doesn’t sound like you have a concussion.” Blood is creeping up through the towel in a rapidly widening patch of red. He switches to a clean part and tries to make himself press harder. He notices, off in a distant corner of his brain, the awareness that at some point, once he has this situation under control, he’s going to kill someone.

“Listen,” he says, when the red stain slows. “I’m gonna go outside just for one minute. I’ll be right outside the door. You just sit tight. OK?”

Trey stiffens again. “No doctor.”

“I’m not gonna call a doctor. I swear.” He detaches her good hand carefully from the duvet, closes her fingers on the towel and arranges it against her lip. “You keep that there. Press as hard as you can stand. I’ll be right back.”

The kid still trusts him, or else she just has no choice. Cal doesn’t know which possibility kills him worse. She sits there, holding the towel and staring at nothing, while he goes out and closes the front door gently behind him.

He keeps his back against the door, wipes his bloody hands on his pants and tries to scan the garden. The night is huge and wild with wind and stars. Leaves scud and soar, and shadows roil on the grass. Anything could be out there.

Lena takes her time answering her phone, and her “Hello?,” when it finally comes, has a definite coolness to it. She hasn’t missed the slight to her pup, and she doesn’t appreciate it.

Cal says, “I need your help. Someone’s beat up Trey Reddy pretty bad. I need you to come over to my place and give me a hand.”

A big part of him expects Lena to stick by her principle of not getting involved in other people’s business, which would be the smartest response by far. Instead she says, after a silence, “What d’you want me for?”

“Look her over, see how bad she is and whether she’s got any other injuries. I can’t do that.”

“I’m no doctor.”

“You’ve seen to plenty of hurt animals. That’s more’n I’ve done. Just find out if she’s got anything that needs medical attention.”

“It mightn’t show. She could have internal bleeding. You need to get her to a doctor.”

“She doesn’t want one. I just need to know whether I should drag her kicking and screaming, or whether she’s gonna survive without. And if I do have to drag her, then I’m gonna need you to hold her down while I drive.”

There’s another, longer silence, in which Cal can do nothing but wait. Then Lena says, “Right. I’ll be down to you in ten minutes.” She hangs up before he can say anything more.

Trey jumps violently at the sound of Cal coming back in. “Just me,” he says. “I got a friend of mine coming over who’s good at caring for hurt animals. I figure a hurt kid can’t be too different.”

“Who?”

“Lena. Noreen’s sister. You don’t need to worry about her. Out of everyone around here, she’s the best person I know for keeping her mouth shut.”

“What’ll she do?”

“Just take a look at you. Clean up your face—she’ll do it gentler than I can. Maybe stick on one of those fancy Band-Aids that look like stitches.”

Trey clearly wants to argue, but she’s got nothing left in her to do it with. The warmth from the coverings and the fire has eased her shaking, leaving her limp and slumped. She looks like she barely has the strength to keep holding the towel to her mouth.

Cal pulls over one of the kitchen chairs, so he can sit by her and catch it if she drops it. Her eye has got worse, plum-black and swollen so big that the skin is tight and shiny.

“Let’s see how that cut’s doing,” he says. Trey doesn’t react. Cal reaches out one finger and moves her hand away from her mouth. The bleeding has slackened, just slow bright drops welling up. Her teeth are all still there. “Better,” he says. “How’s it feel?”

Trey moves one shoulder. She hasn’t looked straight at him once. When she tries, her eye skids away like his hurt her.

She needs to rinse out that cut with salt water, and someone needs to take a close look and see if it needs stitches. Cal has done first aid on babies, junkies and everyone in between, but he can’t do it here. He can’t take the risk that he’ll put a finger wrong and break the kid. Just being this near to her makes his whole body sing with nerves.

“Kid,” he says. “Listen to me. I can’t make sure this situation goes nice and smooth unless I know what it is I’m dealing with. I’m not gonna say a word to anyone without your leave, but I need to know who did this to you.”

Trey’s head moves against the back of the chair. She says, “My mam.”

The fury hits Cal so intensely that for a second he can’t see. When it clears a little, he says, “How come?”

“They told her to. Said do it or we will.”

“Who told her to?”

“Dunno. I was out. Got home and she said to come out back ’cause she hadta talk to me.”