Page 130 of Property of Necro
Then she came and changed everything.
And he died.
So, he can live again.
It’s his punishment.
I’m gonna fucking throttle him when he wakes up.
“We’re about done,” Doc says.
I stop beside Necro’s bed to watch his chest rise and fall as the blood pressure cuff on his arm does its thing. “Do you think he’s gonna be alright?”
“Yes and no. Physically, he’ll heal. He didn’t do too much damage. But he needs a psychiatrist, Coffin.” Putting his instruments on the tray, Doc lifts Necro’s limp hand. “Look at his fingertips.”
I don’t need to.
I already saw the damage in the SUV.
After a week of painting, they’re raw. Almost down to the bone. Yet, he didn’t stop. He kept going until his masterpiece was complete. Then he took his life. It was planned. It had to be.
Fucking, selfish, brainwashed, prick.
“Coffin,” Doc calls when I don’t respond.
“I saw them earlier. I don’t think he has much feeling in them anymore. His fingerprints never returned after they burned them off when he was a kid. That probably did some nerve damage,” I explain, hoping Necro doesn’t get pissed I shared that tiny detail with Doc.
Flicking his gray eyes at me, they pinch around the edges. “They burned off his fingerprints?” His voice rises in a mixture of fury and disbelief.
“You never noticed?”
“No. I don’t inspect all of my patients’ fingers,” he says as he disinfects Necro’s and bandages them in white gauze and tape. When he reaches his right pointer finger, Doc hisses in pain. “There’sbone.”
I nod.
What else can I do?
I’m helpless.
Besides standing in as an unqualified surgical nurse, there’s nothing I can offer. And I can only do that after years of torturing women to literal death. You learn a lot when you get hands-on experience.
Heaving a sigh, I lace my fingers behind my head and keep Doc company until he’s finished. Then I help him clean up. It’s the least I can do after he dropped everything with his boyfriend to keep Necro alive.
I’d say as much, apologize, and all that, but I’ve hit my apology quota for the day with Sola. That’s good enough. Doc knows we appreciate his services. He built his cabin because of our generous retainer. I won’t pretend this is a charitable endeavor driven by his Hippocratic oath. Money talks, and Doc has a brother in the club. He knows the score.
When we’re through, I fix the oxygen cannulas in Necro’s nostrils before draping a sheet over the lower half of his face, like he’d want me to. If he doesn’t want people to see his mouth, they won’t.
Creature pops in just as Doc dims the lights and relays instructions to let Necro rest for as long as he needs.
“We need sunglasses.” I point to Prez’s eyes, so they don’t hurt when he wakes up.
“On it.” Creature disappears, and I exit the medical box to grab a folding chair in another part of the barn. I dust it off as best I can before I slip it through the plastic-draped doorway and set it up beside Necro’s gurney.
We don’t know how long he’ll be out. Doc druggedhim up real good. As long as his vitals remain steady, I’m not worried.
Needing to keep an eye on him, I relax in the chair and play stupid games on my phone. Rot pops in later with Mama to see how it’s going.
“Still breathing.” I flick my chin to Necro. “Where’s Sola?” I ask Rot, setting my phone on my thigh. The solitary can wait.
