Page 100 of Savannah Royals
“It’ll get better in about five or ten minutes.” Matthew pulls on a pair of white gloves and picks up a scalpel, tweezers, and gauze. “Kat, put on a pair of gloves, then don’t touch anything else in the room—they’re sterile. Keep them by your face, but don’t cough or breathe on them. And when you’re done, don’t throw out the packaging. Drop it over his chest for me. Fully open, like a napkin.”
I do as I’m told, trying my best to follow his rapid instructions.
“Abe, get up here and hold his head and shoulders. And you”—he jerks his head at Tony—“get his feet.”
When everyone is in position, the entire room takes a collective inhale.
“All right. Paul?” Matthew says. “You’re going to feel me touching you. Light at first, and then…bad.”
“Got it.” Paul braces himself, taking a deep breath as Matthew begins.
I knew it would be bad—Matthew just said so—but even still, I’m unprepared for just how bad it really is. Matthew cuts in with the scalpel at the lower bullet hole first, enlarging the area. Paul does okay with that part; he tenses and groans, but he manages. When Matt goes deeper with a smaller knife, that’s when it really gets rough. Paul starts shouting and kicking. Tony blankets himself over his legs, and Abe does the same on Paul’s arms and shoulders.
“Kat, roll up some gauze from the table. Lengthwise. Four pieces,” Matthew says, not looking away from Paul’s stomach.
“Done.”
“Good, now stick it in his mouth.”
“Are you serious?”
“Dead serious. Give him something to bite down on.”
“Paul, open your mouth,” I say, but he’s well beyond listening. I wait for his next scream, then shove the gauze roll in, right between his teeth.
“Good. Now change your gloves,” Matthew directs.
Moments later, Paul’s fight starts to die down. His eyes gradually drift shut.
“Is it the medicine?” Tony asks, hopeful.
“Maybe,” Matthew mutters. “Or he passed out. Probably both.”
It’s quiet while he works. He frequently asks me for gauze; Paul is bleeding again.
“I see the first bullet,” Matthew eventually says. “I think I can get it.”
A minute later, the metal bullet drops to the table, atop the bloody gauze.
Matthew stands and cracks his neck.
“You…you did it. You got it!” I’m shocked.
“The first one, yes. The second is going to be harder.” He shoves some fresh gauze into the oozing first hole before turning his attention to the second.
The process begins anew. Cutting in with the scalpel to enlarge the hole, then slowly working his way deeper with smaller tools as he searches for the bullet. He’s right, it takes longer this time, and he’s more cautious with his digging. He curses under his breath, then stands to stretch his neck and back again.
“This one’s a tricky bastard,” he mumbles before he goes back to digging, using a tiny scalpel this time. He makes a few more cautious, exploratory cuts.
An indeterminable number of heartbeats later, Matt asks me to hand him tweezers. I hold my breath as he works, jiggling and concentrating. Eventually, he pulls back and drops the second bullet on the pile.
“Mother. Fucker.” He steps away from the table and wipes his face, exhaling loudly.
“Did you…did you do it?”
He nods. “I have to close him up, but the bullets are out. I can’t believe it. He’s got a lucky horseshoe up his ass.”
Abe chokes out a relieved laugh while Matthew dumps more antiseptic over the bullet holes, an entire bottle. Then he picks up the sutures.
