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“His balls!” Keats echoes.
“And then left him to bleed out all alone,” Maison continues.
“Kid’s a badass,” Travis says again, sounding like a proud papa.
“A motherfucking badass,” Maison repeats.
Keats whistles. “A motherfucking badass, indeed.”
“What are they saying?” Casey asks, sniffling.
“Can you hear them?”
“I can hear a rumble.” He sits up, wiping tears from his cheeks. It smears blood across them since his hands are covered in the stuff. His face scrunches up at the realization. And then he starts shaking again. “Oh god. Oh… god. What did I-”
“Hey, no. No, no. You’re okay. It’s okay, baby boy.”
“I want it off.” He shakes his head as fast as he can. “I want it off. Get it off. Please, please, get it off!”
I’m already dragging his shirt over his head, tipping him back at the same time so he lands on the seat just as he’s freed of the material. I hush him as I reach into the medical kit. There’s not much there, just a small packet of wipes. To be completely honest, I didn’t expect him to get so… bloody. I didn’t expect any of what just happened. This boy is definitely going to keep me on my toes.
I start on his face, quickly wiping the blood away as I half-listen to the men in my ear. They’re getting ready to check on DuGray. Keats wants a picture.
“You’re okay,” I promise Casey, doing one last wipe of his face before grabbing his left hand and starting on that. “Daddy’s got you, baby boy. You’re okay.”
The guys are arguing over the merits of taking pictures.
Maison: The head would have our asses if we collected digital evidence like that.
Keats: Come on, man. No one will tell him.
Travis: What the fuck would you even do with it?
“You’re okay, baby,” I promise, switching to his right hand. “See? Almost all gone already.”
Travis: For fuck’s sake.
Maison: No, Keats, you can’t blow it up and make a tapestry out of that shit.
Keats: It’s not like I’d put it in my living room! I’d just, like, put it in the basement.
Travis: Man, that’s even worse.
Maison: Yeah, that’s creepy as fuck. What even - are you okay? Have you talked to Dr. Singh lately?
“All done?” Casey asks, his voice a panicked tremble.
“All done.” I use one last wipe to get my own neck and face in case he’s gotten some blood on me, then toss all the wipes to the floor of the vehicle and remove my quarter-zip. He immediately crawls back in my lap when I open my arms for him. “You did so well in there, sweet boy. I’m so proud of you.”
Casey sucks in a shaky breath. “Is he dead yet?”
“Let me ask.” I fumble with my smart watch, activating my mic again just as Keats says, Fine, no tapestry, but it’d be a great screen saver, would it not?
“Hey idiots,” I say, getting them all to quiet down. “Are we done in there yet?”
Someone clears their throat like an awkward idiot.
Travis is the one who says, “I’ll go check right now.”
