Page 69 of Doubts of the Egoist
Mio grimaced, waved his hand, and looked away. “No.”
Ready to press the issue, Yugo squared his shoulders, but Greg burst into the room. Switching his attention to his subordinate, Yugo scanned the brutish face for clues. Greg didn’t meet his eyes. He placed a medical kit on the bed, pressed an ice pack against Mio’s ribs, then left the room, taking the melted ice pack with him. A premonition chilled a spot beneath Yugo’s tongue. An urgent need to see Kuon curdled in his blood.
“Yugo?” A whisper scalded his neck just as icy fingers covered the back of his hand, wrenching his focus away from the door and back to his nephew.
Yugo scowled at the troublesome youth, then at their joined fingers, before pulling his hand free to press it gently against Mio’s chest. “Lie down and hold the ice.”
He willed his mind to drop unnecessary thoughts and concentrate on the more urgent task. Kuon could wait, Mio couldn’t.
Working quickly, he donned sterile gloves and performed the procedure for the thousandth time, connecting the water vial to the needleless transfer device, then plunging the powdered drug into it. With a few quick and habitual manipulations, he attached the syringe to the device and filled it with a clear solution. After tightening a blue tourniquet around Mio’s upper arm, Yugo found the thickest vein and rubbed the spot with an alcohol swab.
Yugo’s mind kept drifting back to Greg’s strained shoulders and his avoidance of eye contact as he connected the butterfly needle to the syringe, removed the air, and inserted the needle into Mio’s vein. Deep down, Yugo already knew that Kuon was gone, but the itch to check lingered.
“One, two, three…” Yugo counted out of habit, rhythmically tapping the heel of his shoe on the floor to keep up the pace. “Twenty-two, twenty-three…”
Mio watched him from under lowered lashes. They both knew he was perfectly capable of self-injecting and, judging by his energetic behaviour, he felt fine enough to do so, yet he didn’t offer any help. “One-twenty-five, one-twenty-six…”
Irritation splashed into Yugo’s blood and poisoned the air in his lungs, but he kept his face straight and his movements fluid and precise as the piston slowly crawled down the barrel.
His knee no longer obeyed, bouncing with nerves, as Yugo finally breathed, “Three hundred,” then pulled out the needle. He fixed a tight bandage over Mio’s elbow and cast a sullen gaze to the door, but it remained closed.
“Try to sleep.” He tossed the syringe into a metal tray, set the med kit aside, and slumped into a deep leather chair across from the bed. His eyes were gritty; every bone felt broken from a few nights spent in the car, so he draped a cold hand over his eyes, resting them in darkness and shielding himself from the view of Mio’s spread knees.
“The bed is big enough.” Hopeful notes rang in Mio’s voice. “You’re tired too. Why don’t you lie down?”
Yugo ignored him. Exhaustion dragged at his limbs, and he would have dozed off if not for the knot of anxiety the uncertainty tied in his stomach. It pumped cortisol into hisblood, keeping him awake. That, and the noise.
The wind howled behind the window, rattling the gutter. An owl hooted in sync with the piercing cries of another night bird. Each sound stripped the insulation from his nerves, adding to his agitation.
In a way, he understood Mio’s complaint. Right now, he hated this room as well. The dry heat that made him sweat in his jacket, the too-bright light, the foreign smells—everything added weight to the scales of his sanity. Yugo missed his lair and its cool, airy darkness. He had been away from it for too long, and now he needed familiar surroundings to recharge.
The minutes of waiting stretched endlessly. Only the neurotic drumming of his fingers on the chair’s handle informed him of the passing time and kept him from sinking into a mindless stupor. Mio remained silent, but the wicked, arrogant smirk on his sinful mouth betrayed his awareness of Yugo’s helpless impatience.
Yugo spread his fingers and cracked an eye open. A feverish blush touched Mio’s cheeks and ears, the pearly drops of sweat swelling on his temples, forehead, and neck. Mio’s breathing grew heavier, his sighs deeper, and he swallowed frequently.
Yugo stirred upright, focusing. He was about to approach his patient when the door swung open, and the old doctor shuffled into the bedroom. A white robe hung from his rounded shoulders, and the heavy smell of medicine wafted in.
A well-worn brown gripsack and a portable ultrasound machine weighed down his wrinkled, age-spotted hands. After a few questions, he sat down beside Mioand quickly inserted a cannula into the back of his pale hand.
Yugo relaxed, watching the skillful hands at work.
Leisurely, as if he had all the time in the world, the doctor meticulously performed a physical examination, an ultrasound scan, and drained the hematoma. He dressed the wound, took some blood tests, and finished his work with a few jabs. Mio’s eyelids grew heavy as he zonked out on Yugo. His fluffy, light eyelashes fluttered, struggling to stay open, until they finally fell, extinguishing the vivid azure of his irises. His head rolled to the side, lips parted.
Yugo leaned forward. The unlit cigarette crushed between his fingers as his hands tightened around the armrests, and the sweet scent of unburned tobacco filled his lungs.
“Don’t worry, he’s fine.” The doctor held up a gloved hand. “It’s an intramuscular hematoma. No organs were bruised, and his blood started clotting. I sedated him to speed healing. He’ll sleep until morning. I’ll stay with him for a few hours to see how he’s doing.”
“Doc, in your opinion, how fresh is the injury?” Yugo asked the question that had plagued him since he’d seen the bruise. “Could this have happened days ago?”
“This one?” The doctor raised his bushy gray brows with stray silver hairs curling up to his forehead; his nose wrinkled as he squinted at the tight bandage hugging Mio’s ribs. His head bobbed from side to side, making the saggy skin under his chin quiver. “A few hours, no more. If this had happened days ago, he wouldn’t be so lively. His activated partial thromboplastin time is now forty-seven seconds, and I assume he’s already had his infusion?”
Yugo nodded, got up, and left the room. He stopped at the security office, pulled the door open, and said, “Mio left his gunand bulletproof vest in the truck he drove. Have them delivered, fingerprinted, and secured in an evidence bag by tomorrow morning. I also wantthe forensics team to examine the cabin.”
Yugo slammed the door back into its frame and turned to the end of the hallway, where the window looked out into the inky night. With a neurotic hand, he pulled out a pack of cigarettes and slapped the bottom to knock one out. His lips closed around the brown filter. The silver lighter glinted as Yugo lit the tip and took a drag. The smoky poison ran through his nerves, spreading a stultifying calm. After another drag, he headed for his bedroom. The rotting stench of disappointment laced his every step as he approached the black, gaping doorway. The vanilla sweetness turned to the tang of bile as his foot crossed the threshold.
“Thought so…”
The corner of his mouth lifted in a wry smile as his gaze drifted around the dark room. The window stood wide open, and the wind blew in, tearing at the heavy curtains. The bed was perfectly made, and not a single object lay out of place, which never happened when Kuon was around.
