for a short distance. She meant what
she said; she had no friends, but a long time ago, she’d had one
whose family had a summer cottage near the coast. She went there
for two summers, until she began turning everything she touched
into something else, and her father was forced to pull her out of
school at the age of twelve.
Jule began shivering, and she turned up the
heat until it was too hot for her to stand. The rain picked up
again. Yully reached the turnoff for the cottage and sped as fast
as she could through a winding road. It dead-ended at the cottage,
surrounded by a stone fence line. She eased into the carport but
left the car running.
The cottage was vacant and the windows
boarded up for the winter. Yully went to the back door, which she
remembered always being open. Even it was locked. She wrapped her
hand around the doorknob and turned it from steel into a rag and
pushed the door open. She crept in and turned on a light, relieved
when it worked.
A pot-bellied stove in the middle of the
main room provided the main heat in the two-bedroom room cottage.
Wood was stacked beside it, and she turned the book sitting on the
coffee table into newspaper to burn. She struck fire with the third
match and tossed it into the stove. Newspaper crinkled and
crackled.
Yully returned to the car. Jule was sweating
and shaking. He was huddled forward and didn’t look at her when she
opened the car door. He stood, weaved on his feet, and started to
fall. She caught him, and they careened into the side of the car
before he caught his balance. Jule wrapped his arms around her. He
smelled of sweat and blood. His body was burning up.
She maneuvered him into the house, almost
dropping him in front of the fire.
“ I don’t know what to do,”
she said, kneeling beside him and starting to panic.
“ You’re gonna have to fix
me,” he said, as calm as she was not. “Start with gathering
blankets, hot water, a first-aid kit, any sort of bandages they
might have. And pliers.”
“ For what?”
“ So you can pull the arrow
out of my shoulder.”
She clamped her mouth shut, unwilling to
tell him the sight and scent of blood was already making her want
to vomit. She did as he said and ransacked the cabinets until she
found a small first-aid kit. It didn’t have the kind of bandages
she suspected he’d need for his shoulder, so she turned several
towels into thick bandages and added them to the pile.
“ Any sort of antibiotic in
there?” he asked through chattering teeth as she dumped the
contents of her arms next to him.
“ I think so,” she said and
held up a small syringe. She concentrated on it. When it didn’t
morph into something else, she knew it was what he wanted. “Yes, it
is.”
“ Shoot me up.”
“ I have an issue with
needles,” she said. “They make me pass out.”
“ Stab me with it before
you do.”
Yully swallowed hard and steadied herself.
She used scissors to cut off his shirt. Blood covered the tattoos
of his chest, and she wiped as much of it away as she could. Jule’s
eyes were closed and his skin clammy. She finally gripped what was
left of the arrow shaft with the pliers.
“ This might hurt,” she
said.
She pulled. Nothing happened. Yully stood,
tightened her grip, and yanked. Jule hissed through his teeth and
more blood bubbled up, but the lodged arrow refused to move.
Feeling stupid, she touched the arrow and turned it into a string
that she pulled free. Blood gushed from the wound. Lightheaded,
Yully sat heavily.
“ Pressure dressing. Push
hard, and shoot me up,” he instructed, though his voice was ragged.
“Then you get to sew me back together.”
“ If you’d stayed in the
basement, this wouldn’t have happened,” she told him.
“ And you’d be
dead.”
Her eyes watered. She didn’t want to think
about it, not when her hands were covered in the blood of her
attacker-turned-savior. She did as he said and pressed hard on the
arrow wound until the bleeding
she said; she had no friends, but a long time ago, she’d had one
whose family had a summer cottage near the coast. She went there
for two summers, until she began turning everything she touched
into something else, and her father was forced to pull her out of
school at the age of twelve.
Jule began shivering, and she turned up the
heat until it was too hot for her to stand. The rain picked up
again. Yully reached the turnoff for the cottage and sped as fast
as she could through a winding road. It dead-ended at the cottage,
surrounded by a stone fence line. She eased into the carport but
left the car running.
The cottage was vacant and the windows
boarded up for the winter. Yully went to the back door, which she
remembered always being open. Even it was locked. She wrapped her
hand around the doorknob and turned it from steel into a rag and
pushed the door open. She crept in and turned on a light, relieved
when it worked.
A pot-bellied stove in the middle of the
main room provided the main heat in the two-bedroom room cottage.
Wood was stacked beside it, and she turned the book sitting on the
coffee table into newspaper to burn. She struck fire with the third
match and tossed it into the stove. Newspaper crinkled and
crackled.
Yully returned to the car. Jule was sweating
and shaking. He was huddled forward and didn’t look at her when she
opened the car door. He stood, weaved on his feet, and started to
fall. She caught him, and they careened into the side of the car
before he caught his balance. Jule wrapped his arms around her. He
smelled of sweat and blood. His body was burning up.
She maneuvered him into the house, almost
dropping him in front of the fire.
“ I don’t know what to do,”
she said, kneeling beside him and starting to panic.
“ You’re gonna have to fix
me,” he said, as calm as she was not. “Start with gathering
blankets, hot water, a first-aid kit, any sort of bandages they
might have. And pliers.”
“ For what?”
“ So you can pull the arrow
out of my shoulder.”
She clamped her mouth shut, unwilling to
tell him the sight and scent of blood was already making her want
to vomit. She did as he said and ransacked the cabinets until she
found a small first-aid kit. It didn’t have the kind of bandages
she suspected he’d need for his shoulder, so she turned several
towels into thick bandages and added them to the pile.
“ Any sort of antibiotic in
there?” he asked through chattering teeth as she dumped the
contents of her arms next to him.
“ I think so,” she said and
held up a small syringe. She concentrated on it. When it didn’t
morph into something else, she knew it was what he wanted. “Yes, it
is.”
“ Shoot me up.”
“ I have an issue with
needles,” she said. “They make me pass out.”
“ Stab me with it before
you do.”
Yully swallowed hard and steadied herself.
She used scissors to cut off his shirt. Blood covered the tattoos
of his chest, and she wiped as much of it away as she could. Jule’s
eyes were closed and his skin clammy. She finally gripped what was
left of the arrow shaft with the pliers.
“ This might hurt,” she
said.
She pulled. Nothing happened. Yully stood,
tightened her grip, and yanked. Jule hissed through his teeth and
more blood bubbled up, but the lodged arrow refused to move.
Feeling stupid, she touched the arrow and turned it into a string
that she pulled free. Blood gushed from the wound. Lightheaded,
Yully sat heavily.
“ Pressure dressing. Push
hard, and shoot me up,” he instructed, though his voice was ragged.
“Then you get to sew me back together.”
“ If you’d stayed in the
basement, this wouldn’t have happened,” she told him.
“ And you’d be
dead.”
Her eyes watered. She didn’t want to think
about it, not when her hands were covered in the blood of her
attacker-turned-savior. She did as he said and pressed hard on the
arrow wound until the bleeding
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