The officer flips the notebook closed. "I think I have what I need for now." He turns to survey the trailer. "Fuck me, man. Glad I'm not that poor bastard." He glances at Noelle. "Good thing you were here to stop him. Had it gone any further, there wouldn't be much I could do."
She takes my hand, threading her fingers into mine. "Thank you, Sheriff Mannix. Thank you so much."
The officer looks her over. "You need to get checked out."
She shakes her head. “I’m fine. He needs attention, not me."
I grumble, annoyed. "I'm fine."
Noelle looks up at me, exasperated. "You have a knife sticking out of your back, honey."
I roll my shoulder, only then realizing she's right. I glance over my shoulder, wincing at the twinge of pain. "Oh. Forgot about that."
Sheriff Mannix shakes his head. "How the hell do you forget about a whole-ass knife?"
I shrug—a mistake. It does hurt now. A few other injuries begin to make themselves known now that I'm no longer disassociating, as the prison therapist called it.
A medic approaches me, a tiny waif of a woman with black hair in a tight braid against her head. "Can I take a look at you, sir?"
Noelle answers for me. "Yes, you can." She guides me across the yard to the back of the ambulance and nudges me, an indication that I should sit. "Let her help you, honey."
The medic climbs into the back of the vehicle and crouches behind me, examining the knife. "Short blade, in the muscle. I can take it out. Ready?" She touches blue-gloved fingers to my back when I nod. "Here we go."
She slides the blade free and hands it to the waiting officer—the other one is bagging and tagging the other weapons I took away from Duane.
"You'll need sutures," she says. "You should let us take you to the ER—plastics can do a better job than I can here."
I shake my head. "Nah. Just sew it up."
She clears her throat. “I, um, I actually ran out of topical numbing agent on my last run."
"Don’t care. No hospital. Just stitch me up, doc."
"Bear," Noelle says, "Let's just go in."
I shake my head. "No. Don't like hospitals. Nothing is life-threatening. I should know."
The medic sighs. "Fine. I'll have to remove the shirt, though."
I rumble a laugh. "Not much left to remove."
"No kidding," she mutters, slicing it off.
A few moments later, I feel the pinch of the needle as she sutures the wound.
Noelle watches me as the medic works. "That doesn't hurt?"
I lift a hand in a version of a shrug since my shoulder is being sewn up. "A bit. Done it to myself a few times. She's got a nice light touch."
The medic pauses, looking at me over my shoulder. "You've sutured yourself?"
"Yep. Couple times. Medics wouldn't come to the hood where I was, and no way I was going to no damn hospital."
"Oh." She resumes suturing, ties it off, and snips. "Okay. All set. Anything else I need to look at?
Noelle again answers for me, correctly guessing I’d try to get out of further treatment—I just want to go home, and my stupid little owies will heal on their own soon enough.
The medic brings her bag around and sits on the step-bumper next to me. "Face me, please." I turn to face her, and she hisses. "Holy hell. Whathappenedto you?"
