In a fainter, relieved tone, Deanie says no to her question.
“Let’s get you out of these clothes.”
Deanie whispers an unnecessary confession in Sam’s ear. “I wet myself.”
“We know.” Sam grins. “Faster we get you out of it, the less you’ll stink. Whew. Takes me back. I was a bedwetter myself.”
Deanie’s right eye widens.
Spellman brightens with interest. “Late-maturing bladder?”
Sam shakes his head. “Folks split up. I think I was telling them I was pissed off at them.”
The doctor grins and Deanie tries to smile.
“Give me the shears. I’ll cut her out,” he volunteers.
Spellman watches as he scissors off the sweatshirt. Her blood might wash out of it, but she’ll never want to wear it again. Still, he regrets having to do it. The chain of possession reaches from his brother, in peril far away in the Gulf, to his father and himself before it stops at Deanie. It has done its utilitarian job and then some.
“I’ve had EMT training,” he says, to make conversation. “I do a Rescue shift, summers. Definitely qualified to slash up people’s clothes.”
The sweatshirt falls away, then the T-shirt underneath. Breasts aquiver and nipples rising in response to the change in temperature, Deanie snugs closer to him.
“Nice tits,” he teases and she makes a noise that might be a giggle.
Spellman frowns.
“It’s okay,” he assures her earnestly. “Deanie and me have played doctor before.”
Deanie shivers violently and Sam ties her into the Johnnie before she lies back on the table and he cuts her out of her jeans and tights. When they’re off, he shoves his head under the Johnnie and makes a mouthfart on her navel. She kicks convulsively and her stomach shakes with silent laughter. He raises his head to find Dr. Spellman’s face reddening and her mouth working with amusement.
“Thank you,” the doctor says briskly, “I think.”
28
With a brisk eloquent snap of her gloves as she peels them off, Spellman expresses the same anger and disgust that shows in the pursing of her mouth. “We need X rays. The edema confuses the issue. The chains have chewed up the epidermis. It’s fortunate they had some slackness or your earlobe and nares would be torn through. After we take the films, I’d like to give you a general anesthetic and extract the chains and get this wound cleaned up. We’ll keep you overnight and have a plastic surgeon check you in the morning.”
As clearly as she has been able to say anything, Deanie says, “Can’t pay.”
“Worry about that later,” the doctor says dismissively. “You have foreign matter embedded in your face and there’s already signs of infection. Blood poisoning is a real threat, young lady.”
“Not overnight,” Deanie pleads. “Cuh-cost too much.”
“She’s not going back home,” Sam says. “No way.”
“Mr. Lord isn’t very feisty at the moment,” Spellman says. “If I have my way, he’ll be handcuffed to his bed in short order.”
Deanie claws her way up Sam to a sitting position. “ ‘s just an accident!”
“Jesus,” Sam mutters. “Deanie.”
“You don’t have to stay overnight, only a couple of hours to recover from the general anesthetic.” The doctor pauses, struggling to soften her expression into something adequately reassuring to her patient. “I’m sorry. The law requires me to report suspected abuse.”
“Deanie,” Sam says, “you can stay with me and my folks but your best protection is putting that fucker in jail.”
“Indeed,” Spellman agrees. “Were you sexually assaulted, Miss Gauthier?”
“No,” Deanie mutters into Sam’s chest.
Spellman reaches for fresh gloves. “I’d like to do an internal exam.”
“No!” Deanie insists.
The doctor appeals silently to Sam—can you get her to submit to this too? But Sam is in shock, first from Spellman’s request and then from Deanie’s answer. Having underestimated the degree, had he also missed the type of abuse? All his strength is on the outside, holding the battered creature who clings to him. Inside he reels through a storm of cutting edges, painful bright flashes flaying his own denial raw.
Spellman turns to notetaking and asks if Deanie is taking any medication.
“The Pill,” Sam answers for her. “She smokes too. Cigarettes and weed.”
“Quitting,” Deanie objects.
Spellman raises an eyebrow. “You’d better. Nicotine contracts blood vessels and compromises healing. Your face is going to need all the help it can get, so keep it out of cigarette smoke. Other people’s too. Same goes for marijuana, which you should also avoid because it can affect how well the Pill works, among other things. You got any other bad habits I should know about, young lady?”
“Just him,” Deanie says, shrugging a thumb toward Sam, and actually raises a smile from Spellman.
Holding her hand through X ray, through prepping for the procedure, then waiting for her to come out of surgery, he has few tasks to distract him. One of them is calling the school.
“Sam Styles!” the secretary exclaims. “Where are you? You’re in hot water, young man!”
Without answering her questions, he gets her to put him through to Laliberte.
“I’m at the hospital with Deanie Gauthier,” he tells the principal.
“What happened?”
“She got hurt. She’s going to be all right. She’s in surgery. Things are kind of confused right now. DBS could be involved. There might be charges brought against her mother’s boyfriend. I should know more tonight. I’ll call you.”
Laliberte reacts as Sam expects. “Oh my God. Did you suspect something like this when you left school today without permission? Why didn’t you tell me, Sam?”
“I thought she might be sick again, the way she was before. I mean, I knew things were rough for her at home but I didn’t understand what was going on. I didn’t expect to find her beaten up.”
“Well,” Laliberte sighs, “what’s done is done. We’ll talk more later, when things are a little clearer. Better keep a tight lip, Sam, if there’s going to be legal activity. You know our first interest is in protecting Deanie.”
Locking the barn, Sam thinks, but locks his own lip instead. Got
