“Skin Lacerations Treatment Check-list!” she announced, her long hair blowing in the night breeze. “One: apply pressure!”
“I’m doing that.”
“Two: assess damage!” She put up another finger.
“It's a gash across the side of his back, about four inches long!”
“Check: is the cut spurting blood or just oozing? ”
“It's...somewhere in between, I think?”
“It's the difference between a cut artery or just a vein! Make up your mind! Spurting, or not?”
“I don't know, just take a look at it!”
Rachel finally knelt beside me. “Well, I can't see with your hands in the way, can I?”
I moved my hands and she stopped me, crying out. “No! You have to keep applying pressure!”
“Rachel! Help this man!” I growled, exasperated. “Are you high or something?”
She straightened up. “Of course not. How dare you suggest such a thing.” It wasn't a question. “I have merely been studying for the last 27 hours.” She unzipped her suitcase and pulled out a flash light. “He hasn't lost too much blood. And...” peering through my fingers,“the blood does appear to be oozing. It's not an artery.”
I sighed with relief, and stopped as my friend pulled out a bottle of Vodka along with a bag of cotton balls, bandages, scissors, and some duct tape.
“What are you doing? Vodka? Duct tape?”
Rachel put down the flash light and twisted the cap off. “Step three. We've got to clean the wound. This is all I had.” She paused and used the scissors to cut away his T-shirt.
“Wouldn't hydrogen peroxide hurt him less?”
“Well, yeah, but you said to hurry.”
“Oh, go ahead.” I moved my hands away and glanced at the poor young man's face. His eyes were still closed, but when she poured the vodka on his wound he flinched and cried out. My scraped fingers also stung. Rachel made a rueful face at me and began quickly wiping the blood away from the wound.
“Time for Step four. Hand me the bandage, would you?” I did so, and she pressed it onto the wound. “Duct tape! Make four –- nope, six strips about -- so -- long!”
My bloody hands slipped over the duct tape, but I managed to snip it properly a few times and handed the strips to her one by one. She attached the ends of the strips to either sides of the bandage to try and close the gap in his skin. I questioned her methods, but it was probably half-right, at least.
“Why didn't you just take him to the hospital?” Rachel asked me.
“He made me promise not to.”
She laughed. “Why? Is he a criminal? Famous bank robber?”
“I have no idea.”
“Wait, you don't know him? A random (but dangerously anonymous) hero just appeared to save you from getting mugged?” She pulled out wet wipes and handed one to me. I took it and shrugged.
“I guess. Can we move him in your car? Mine's in the store parking lot.”
“No, that's a bad idea. The back seat is too small, and the passenger seat doesn't recline at all. Go and get yours. I'll stay with him.”
“Okay. Thanks, Rachel. I'm sorry to ask so much of you.”
It had started to become a serious, heartfelt conversation, but her strange, sleep-deprived self emerged again in an instant.
“Say no more! I was happy to be of service and display my highly competent skills! Now go, my friend! You can trust me with your wounded!”
I ran off, trying not to laugh or trip. My groceries were still outside my car and fairly intact, although a few apples had rolled out of their bag. I scooped them up quickly and tossed them on the floor in back. My keys had fallen to the ground as well. I was lucky no one had picked them up. I guess this town was still somewhat small and safe, eh?
I parked my car behind Rachel's, and reclined the passenger's seat as far as it would go, which was almost flat. Rachel had stood up and hoisted the young man over one shoulder like a fireman.
“Open the door for me!” She called. We set him down and leaned him over so he was essentially lying on his stomach, hugging the seat. He moaned here and there, but was still out. Before I got in the driver's seat, Rachel stopped me.
“You know, he's a bit of a wuss, your friend.”
“What? Why?”
“He didn't lose so much blood that he should have passed out. I guess he doesn't fight muggers every day.”
I decided to say nothing about the flash of light and the fact that the muggers became flies afterwards, and how maybe this wuss wasn't human, or that maybe he had performed a draining sort of magic when he saved me.
“You're really taking this guy home, huh?”
“I don't know where else to take him.”
“Well! Keep pressure on that cut. I'll change his bandage in the morning.”
“Thanks, Rachel.” My hand on the car door felt a little shaky as the adrenalin started to wear off.
She looked at my face closely. “I'd better treat you for shock after we get him settled.”
I drove back with one hand, as the other was pressing the young man's wound. There was hardly any traffic, so I was able to shift gears slowly. Rachel sped ahead of us and helped me get him into my apartment, which was hard, since I lived in a ground floor unit that was far away from the parking lot. I put garbage bags over the couch cushions before the sheets and put down my pillow, since I didn’t have an extra one. Soon we successfully had him tucked in and sleeping peacefully.
Rachel
ended up passing out on the loveseat in the middle of a sentence. I was
on my way to bed, when I heard the young man’s breath quicken. I had
to stare, for every time he exhaled, his hair and face would change a
little: skin paler, hair darker and longer. But when he drew in
breath again, it would revert back to what he had looked like before. I
shook my head and dragged myself onto my bed, bunching up my blankets so
my feet would be raised.
And that was how I ended up living with a wounded faery.
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