«What happened, do you think? How did he end up like...this?»
The the lump in my throat made it difficult to talk as I circled the couch to where Rick was standing.
Though my body was restless with worry, and the tension in my muscles made my neck strain uncomfortably, I forced my body to appear as composed as possible in the presence of Zayden's friend. However, upon his arrival just a minute ago, Rick had barely offered me a glance before starting examining Zayden's condition.
Rick didn't mention the way my voice cracked toward the end of my sentence, and continued to avoid my gaze altogether. He looked down at Zayden's passed out figure and mumbled something under his breath. He then put down the bag he had on his back. Bending down, he lifted Zayden's eyelids one at a time, before angling his face upwards and opening his mouth. Seemingly content with what he saw, Rick then carefully placed his head back down on the couch.
«Go to the bedroom and bring me a pillow, Cassandra.»
I did as he instructed. My feet were careful not to slip on the bloody spots on the wooden panel on my way out.
Rick's voice rang from the living room. «Actually, bring me two.»
Zayden hadn't woken up yet.
I had been waiting with him for a little less than two hours when Rick had finally arrived.
After discovering the blood on the floor, I had hurried over to Zayden and searched his body for any wounds or open injuries. If he was losing blood, depending on where on the body it was, it would just be a matter of time until it could become deadly. My hands grazed the lengths of his legs, then his shoulders and upper arms. I examined his shirt for blood stains, only to find the bottom half of his shirt ripped off.
Could he have...?
Without thinking, I gently pushed his shirt upwards. I found the ripped part of his shirt wrapped loosely around his torso. Over his stomach the cloth was soaked in blood, meaning the injury had to be located in that area. Underneath him.
I cursed. His position made it difficult to reach the wound.
If only he had been laying on his back.
I debated rolling him over, but recalled Brock telling me not to move him too much in case there was trauma to the head.
Still, his wound was leaking.
I looked down at the flimsy display of a bandage, the cloth not nearly doing a sufficient job at stopping the bleeding.
Ignoring the critical voice in the back of my head, I slowly rolled him to the side, propping him up against the back of the couch. I winced as his shoulder abruptly hunched forward.
I squinted at the way his arm settled awkwardly against the couch cushion. It was angled in an odd way, slouching downwards, and I could only guess that it was dislocated.
Shit. I shouldn't be moving him around like this if his joints were disconnected. I was causing more damage to his injuries.
YOU ARE READING
The Mystery Fighter III
ActionAfter getting into college, Cassie has no intentions of going back to her old habit of street fighting- but as the streets of her hometown would have it, her combat days are far from over. ...
