Page 5 of Shelf-Made Man
Snorkel? What the hell did that mean? He had an accent—something Scandinavian, Tobias guessed—so maybe Tobias had misunderstood. He’d definitely understood the killing part, however, and he shook his head. The poor man must either be really wasted or having a mental health crisis.
Either way, Tobias was even more hesitant to call the cops. The local police weren’t known for their sensitive handling of drug abusers or the mentally ill.
“You’re going to be okay,” Tobias said. “But you’ve hurt your leg. Can I help you?”
The man blinked at him a few times, glanced at his leg, and then shook his head miserably. “Leave me be, troll.” And then he collapsed, apparently unconscious.
It was only then that Tobias noticed what the man was wearing.
Chapter
Three
Tobias had been taunted with a lot worse thantrollbefore, so the name-calling didn’t bother him. The bleeding, previously raving man who was now out cold on his living room floor was an issue, however. After staring at him for a few more moments, Tobias worked up enough bravery to roll him onto his back and get a closer look.
It was hard to tell for sure, but Tobias thought that the bleeding was slowing down. He didn’t see any other obvious wounds.
The man didn’t have a phone or wallet or any ID on him, so there was no way to tell who he was or where he’d come from. The most reasonable conclusion—considering the elf outfit and pointy ears—was that he’d been attending a Christmas costume party, had ingested a mind-altering substance, and had somehow made his way into Tobias’s house, wounding himself in the process.
Since the poor guy was having a bad enough day already, Tobias was hesitant to get authorities involved. He sighed, carefully gathered the man into his arms, and carried him to the bedroom, where he laid him on the bed. Then Tobias fetched the first aid kit he kept in the bathroom. It was a much larger and better-equipped kit than he’d ever thought he’d need, but Aunt Virginia used to remind him in her letters that one never knew when an emergency might arise, and even the boldest adventurer ought to be equipped for such eventualities. So far, he’d never used it for much except a skinned knee (slipped while jogging), a scorched hand (absently grabbed a hot pan handle), and a nasty splinter (foolishly attempted to repair his back deck).
Next he gathered several clean towels, a plastic basin of warm water, and a bottle of unscented antibiotic soap. He arranged everything neatly on the dresser and nightstand, opened the first aid kit, and… hesitated. Maybe he should call 911 after all.
But then the man’s eyes fluttered open. He startled, moaned in pain, and went limp, his expression showing defeat.
“I’m, uh, going to take a look at your leg, okay? I’ve got bandages and stuff. Oh, and my name’s Tobias, by the way. What’s yours?”
The man’s jaw worked. “Your master knows who I am, troll.”
“I think you have me mixed up with someone else. I’ve never been into the whole BDSM scene. Don’t getme wrong, I’m not judging people who enjoy it, but I don’t—” He snapped his mouth shut to stop himself from babbling. Then he cleared his throat. “I don’t know your name. Could you share?”
After a brief pause, the man lifted his chin. “I am Alfred Clausen, second son of Claus Clausen, and snorkel and the whole lot of you can go to Hel.”
Tobias decided to concentrate on the part of this that made sense. “Nice to meet you, Alfred. Can I, uh, take a look at your leg? I’m not a doctor or a nurse or anything, by the way, but I did earn a merit badge in first aid.”
Alfred turned his head and glared at the wall. “Do what you will.”
Deciding that was the closest he was going to get to permission, Tobias grabbed a small pair of scissors from the kit. This made Alfred flinch, but he relaxed a little as Tobias very gingerly cut the stocking away from the wound. Tobias was proud of himself for not fainting or barfing, even when he saw that there was a long, ugly gash across Alfred’s thigh. It looked as though someone had tried to saw off his leg with a bread knife, but at least the bleeding had stopped.
“You should go to the emergency room.”
Alfred didn’t respond.
Fine. Since he didn’t appear at risk of exsanguinating, Tobias would patch him up and send him on his way. “Is there someone I can call? Someone who can come and get you?”
Alfred replied in a whisper. “Must you taunt me? Your cruelty knows no bounds.”
“I’m not taunting. Seriously, just give me a phone number.”
“Is snorkel hiding somewhere, laughing? He can at least show his cursed face.”
So Snorkel was someone’s name? “There’s nobody here but me.”
Alfred went silent again, so Tobias shrugged and started working on his leg. He dabbed away the dried blood with a damp towel, gently cleaned the skin with the soap, applied some antibiotic ointment to the general area, and wrapped the entire thigh in bandages. Alfred whimpered once or twice but otherwise didn’t react.
The wound itself tended to, as well as Tobias was able, he considered what to do next. “Um, is it okay if I get rid of the rest of your costume? It’s kind of a mess.” Both the stockings and the tunic were coated in drying blood. “I’ll find you something clean to wear instead.”
No answer. After another shrug and more help from the scissors, Tobias managed to peel away what was left of the stockings. Alfred wasn’t wearing any underwear, but it struck Tobias as even stranger that he hadn’t been wearing shoes. And yet the feet of the stockings weren’t dirty, so Alfred couldn’t have been walking around outside like that. Another mystery.
