Winter Rain, part 74
Chapter 8
Eoin re-enters the kitchen, rifling through a small white box cradled in one arm. A rust-spotted metal lid bobs raspily up and down against its hinges with his stride.
“I think we’ll have to wrap the whole thing,” he says, without looking up, “nothing in here big enough to cover it all.”
“That’s fine,” I reply and shake my head. I peel the edge of the paper toweling back, and check underneath. “The bleeding’s mostly stopped, now, anyway,” I say, though it’s more wishful thinking than truth.
He pulls a stack of gauze packs and a roll of stretchy tape from the kit and drops it on the table.
“Okay, let’s see it,” he says as he kneels beside me. I carefully pull the rest of the toweling away from the wound and let him see the perfect red and purple outline of Garvey’s jaws on my leg. Two of the puncture wounds have stopped bleeding, at least.
“Ouch. That’s ugly.”
He looks up. “You’ve cleaned it?”
“Yeah,” I reply, nodding my head toward the sink. “In the sink—I hope you don’t mind. I didn’t want to track blood all over the place.”
He shrugs, and reaches into the kit again. “I think there’s some ointment in here, too. Yeah . . . ummm, here—” he says, stuffing gauze packs and a tube of ointment into my hands, and starts looking for the end of the tape—“open these, and, ah, I guess I’ll wrap everything with this stuff while you hold them in place.”
I do as I’m told, and smear some ointment on the pads. Garvey tries to lean in as I apply the gauze to my leg, but I push him back with my elbow. “No, Garvey. Not this time.”
Eoin starts to wrap the tape around my leg—it’s not at all sticky, but somehow it seems to stick to itself.
The roll doesn’t look like it’s going to be enough.
“Were you serious about what you said before?” he asks, without looking up.
“Um, which part?”
“About telling Torrin what happened.”
“Oh. Yeah, I’ll tell him.”
He stops.
“I don’t think that’s a very good idea,” he says quietly, shaking his head. I watch him silently for several moments, before he looks away and starts slowly wrapping the tape around again.
“I think . . . . ” I take a deep breath, then let it out again. “I think I kind of have to.
“I hurt Garvey, when he bit me. I kicked him to get him off. Hard.
“And I threatened you . . . .
“I don’t know what the fuck’s wrong with me, right now, but . . . I can’t keep hoping people will let it slide.
“Torrin has a right to know who he’s letting across his lands. I’m asking him to vouch for us to”—I feel his eyes on me and I catch myself before I say too much—“other people.
“It’s just not my call to make.
“If I were him, I’d want to know.”
He pats down the last of the tape and pushes himself up off the ground. “Not too tight?” he asks.
“No, no, it’s good,” I say, and slowly lower my foot to the floor. Blood floods back into it with gravity, and it feels suddenly swollen and heavy; but the dressing is snug and it holds. I push back the chair and slowly shift weight onto the leg. Garvey wriggles backward and to his feet, also.
“Thank you, Eoin,” I say, turning to face him. “You’ve been very kind.”
A voice startles me from the hallway, behind. “Eoin, I thought you were getting that sp—”
Torrin sweeps in through the doorway as I turn, and stops. “Tiergan! Feeling better?” he asks, but his attentions falls quickly to the open kit on the table, and—no doubt—the unmistakable scent of blood in the air. “Tiergan?” he asks again, puzzled.
I open my mouth to reply, but Eoin beats me to it. “Oh, Garvey and Tiergan were horsing around out there and I guess things got out of hand,” he says, pushing casually past me to collect the kit from the table. He closes the lid and grabs the empty wrappers before turning the wrong way round to give me some kind of meaningful look in passing, then heads—again, casually—toward the door. “Don’t worry, just a minor bite. Haven’t looked at Garvey, yet,” he adds, as he steps around Torrin and heads down the hall—in the same direction he’d gone before, “but he seems mostly okay, too.”
“Tiergan?” Torrin asks, as he swings back into motion. “What happened?”
“Oh, I, ah . . . ” fuck. What am I supposed to say now?
“Um, no, well, you see, it kind of—” I mutter, and Eoin steps back out into the hallway from whatever room he was in and heads back towards us. He shakes his head vigourously. Torrin must have noticed my eyes shifting off of him, because he glances back out into the hallway. Eoin covers with a smile.
Shit.
The urgent look returns as soon as Torrin’s eyes are off him.
Fine.
“I’m sorry, Torrin,” I say, and take a deep breath to slow myself down. I look to Torrin, then to Eoin, and back again.
“It was my fault.
“I had a bit of an argument with Brennan, Sir . . . . I got really angry”—again, Eoin demands my attention with his gaze, but I meet it only for a moment before returning to Torrin—“after. I . . . threw a punch”—I look once more to Eoin, but he’s not letting up . . . so—“at the door.” I feel Eoin relax as the words leave my mouth, but I don’t look away from Torrin again. “I guess Garvey got scared. I mean, there was a lot of tension in the air. And he bit me.
“I’m afraid I kicked him, Sir,” I continue, as my gaze drops down and away of its own accord. “And I think I might have hurt his shoulder, but, ah . . . we managed to calm each other down, after that.”
I watch Garvey out of the corner of my eye—he’s standing again, his tail just up past horizontal; there’s a chair between us—and then force my eyes back to Torrin’s.
“It was entirely my fault, Sir. If there are any veterinary expenses . . . for Garvey’s shoulder, I’ll pay them, Sir. And, um . . . if you want to just throw me out . . . it will be more than fair.”
He watches me for a moment, then, without a word, steps around me. Garvey’s tail starts wagging, and he backs up a step as Torrin kneels down in front of him. But even happy, he doesn’t fully weight the left front leg. Torrin rubs his head, then moves in to check the leg. Garvey whines at the touch, but doesn’t pull away.
After moving the joint around and probing the muscle a few times, Torrin rubs Garvey’s head again, and they touch noses for a few seconds. Rising, Torrin looks at me for a moment, then Eoin—who doesn’t react at all—and then back to me.
“That’s your bloody sock, there?” he asks, pointing.
“Yes, Sir.”
“So, not exactly a minor bite, then.”
“It’s . . . ” I start to dissemble, but the sock is clearly drenched. “No, Sir. There was some bleeding.”
“Can you walk?”
“I think so. Yes, Sir.”
“Good.
“Eoin, can you take care of Garvey for me? Just let him into my room, will you?”
Eoin nods.
“Thanks.
“Tiergan . . . ” he says, turning, “get your things and follow me.”
I like the bloody sock. I want to know what happens next!
For some reason I had a bit more problems with the present tense this time. Maybe because I’ve been writing alternating present and past myself. Or maybe I’ve just been reading to much past tense. I did enjoy writing in it though, so I understand better why you choose to do so.
Hmmm. The last number of parts I’ve been trying to fix some problems with way I’m using present tense. This one was an experiment in cutting down on internal thoughts — which were getting rather out of hand, recently. That said, there are two or three places where the tense slips, just a bit. Maybe you are noticing that. I’ll have a read of it again before writing WR75 and see if I can improve on things.
As for what happens next . . . I’m considering “Night of the Bloody Sock Puppets”. Thoughts?
“As for what happens next . . . I’m considering “Night of the Bloody Sock Puppets”. Thoughts?”
They’d have to be vampire or zombie sock puppets . . .
I like Torrin. Eoin’s reaction makes me quite speculative and cautious, tho.
Personally, I don’t think you have to cut back quite so much on the internal thoughts. It makes it more personal.
Are the bloody sock puppets any relation to the haunted sweater?
The only thing I would say feels off about the present tense is how much time and detail is spent on cleaning and dressing Tiergan’s wound in the past few parts. Or maybe I’m just not a fan of moment by moment first aid.
LOL at last comment . . . And yet again have to agree it was like a slide show from the St John’s (amateur) Ambulance Service . . . Feel rather confused and irritated by Tiergan . . . Contradictory behaviour is making it difficult to really care about him . . . Torrin is Family, Eoin is not . . . Why would he allow himself to be swayed by young human rather than opting for honesty . . . Surely evident self destructive behaviour would dictate a full ‘no holes barred’ confession and a self- eviction . . . What is going on??