Page 5 of Lost and Bound

“Okay, let’s get you fixed up.” Williem takes over.

Mr. Kenney talks to the volunteers from the kitchen before shutting the door, then returns to stand next to me.

“Can you look up?” Williem stands in front of me, his eyes lasered onto the top of my forehead, while his fingers prod and press the side of my face and along my cheekbone.

“You’re going to have a black eye, and this cut will need some glue.”

I like how he talks while he assesses. He’s not condescending or alarming, just telling me how it is.

“I’m worried about the injury to the back of your head, Maya. I think we might have to go to the hospital to make sure you’re not bleeding internally.”

A rush of terror makes the world start to tilt again.

“Please, no hospitals. Please, Williem, I’ll do whatever else you say, but not that. I can’t go there.” I push to my feet, getting ready to argue my case further if need be.

“Let me have a look at it again.”

Mr. Kenney comes back into view, holding another cup of ice. “No one wants to take you there unless we have no choice. But you blacked out on us a couple of times, kiddo. You were talking one minute and then you dropped like a sack of potatoes. If it was one time, we could probably say it was the shock, but the second time was more worrying.”

“I don’t remember that.”

Williem’s fingers press down over my neck. “I checked for neck and back injuries before, but I need you to tell me if it hurts anywhere when I press down.”

It doesn’t, except when he brushes his fingers over the spot on my head.

“I need to take the dressing away. Will you be okay if I do?”

I take an exaggerated exhale, then inhale long and deep to prepare myself. I don’t nod because that hurts too much, but give him a thumbs-up.

Probably because I’m so wound up, and a bit hypersensitive, I feel the moment something warm and sticky trails down my neck.

“Can you talk me through why you want me to go to hospital while you’re looking and doing whatever you need to? It might be good to keep my head busy with your worries.”

“Of course. Let me just get what I need. Mr. Kenney, can you put the cloth back on while I do that?”

They trade places, and I start to zone out. A weird sensation makes me look down at my hands, and I twist them around to see the cause. The moment they’re cupped together, the tingling intensifies and is joined by a soft humming. I stay still and quiet, as a gentle peacefulness blows over me, I stare transfixed into my open hands as my view of them fades away and is replaced by an image.

It’s like I’m holding a screen. The people I’m watching move around, continuing with their day, and I can hear their voices. It’s Williem, next to a woman with honey-gold hair. They’re standing around a small cane crib that sits in the corner of a bedroom. On the walls, a series of candid wedding photos are hung, and Williem’s bag and stethoscope are on the chair in the corner, but all that is incidental. The main attraction is them and the obvious joy they share toward their beautiful baby girl.

Then I blink and my hands are back to being hands, and both Williem and Mr. Kenney are calling my name.

“What? Sorry, I was dealing with the smell again. Did I blank out?”

“You did. And that’s exactly why I think you need to go to the hospital, Maya. You might have a bad concussion, and I think we need to do a scan to make sure you don’t have internal injuries.”

“If I faint again or vague out on you, maybe I’ll go. But not yet.”

I get a scowl, followed by a very reluctant nod of agreement from Williem. “Okay, but Mr. Kenney, I want you sitting right in front of her. If her eyes dilate or she looks like she’s off with the fairies again, you let me know, and we all agree I can call an ambulance. Right?”

“Good with me,” I agree quickly, as Mr. Kenney gets a rolling seat from the opposite side of the room, brings it back and places it in front of me before he sits down.

There’s no warmup, Williem just starts telling me what he’s doing. Mr. Kenney makes me laugh when his eyes bug out as he catches sight of the needle for the local anesthetic to numb the injury. Then he laughs at me when I make a vomiting face while Williem explains how he’s going to close the wound. He grabs my hand and squeezes it as I cry out when Williem administers the injection, and then he jumps out of his seat to move the trash can out of my line of sight as Williem starts dabbing and cleaning.

“Let me know if you can feel anything.” Williem presses around the back of my head, and I only know because he tells me. I can’t feel a thing.

“Nope, all good.”

“Okay, I’ll get started.”