Chapter Ten
Once more the Pad became a makeshift triage; as soon as Peter and Micky were through the door calls were made to Mr. Liang’s doctor, urgently begging for a house call. Once again, An-mei arrived with the doctor—but this time her grandfather was with her. Liang surveyed the scene with a sad, perplexed gaze.
“What . . . happened?”
“Dragonman,” Micky bit out.
“They’ve been tortured,” the doctor said, earning glares from both Peter and Micky. He touched the mark on Mike’s back. “And electrocuted.” Even out cold, Mike hissed.
“Electro . . . ?” An-mei whispered. “But why?”
Peter sighed. “Dragonman hates us.”
“Dragonman hate everything except himself,” Liang murmured.
“This was senseless.” Peter scowled at the doctor’s fussing. “Just petty revenge!”
“Revenge was important to him,” An-mei said, cradling Mike’s head as the burn wound was tended to. “You four caused him to lose face, be completely dishonored.”
“How? We helped you,” Peter shook his head.
“Make him lose place as spy,” Liang said. “Great dishonor in his eyes.”
They nodded, only half-listening now.
“And dishonor . . . has to be avenged,” An-mei whispered.
“That was why? To avenge his honor?” Peter’s voice turned thoughtful.
Suddenly Davy awoke with a cry, lashing out with his arms. “Davy, easy!” Peter took his hands. “Easy, you’re home, you’re safe.”
Davy stopped, looking at all the concerned faces around him, and promptly burst into tears.
“Whoa,” Micky gasped. Peter just wrapped his arms around Davy and rocked him slightly. Liang went over to Davy, sitting next to him. He placed his gnarled hands on Davy’s face, cupping it. “Home safe. Danger over.”
Micky walked over to An-mei and whispered, “Over.”
An-mei startled slightly. “Y-Yes. Over.”
Micky smiled at her, then turned her attention back to his partners.
The doctor finished with Mike and moved to Davy. Peter held him gently as the doctor cleaned the vicious cane marks on his back. Mike’s eyes fluttered open as this went on.
“Get plenty of rest,” the doctor said. “Drink plenty of water, eat, and call me if any the wounds start hurting worse. I will write more detailed instructions for the burns.”
~~~~~
The lambs were all crowded against the fence when one of them began to scream. Micky blinked, trying to figure out which one was screaming and why when he was shaken into a blurred wakefulness by Peter. The screaming still continued downstairs.
“It’s Davy,” Peter said as he ran from the room and down the stairs. Micky followed, nearly stumbling as he fought to make his sluggish limbs respond.
Peter bolted into the room. “Davy . . . Davy, wake up!”
Davy sat up with a howl, his eyes wide and panicked as he blinked into the darkness. “No, not my eyes—!”
“No, no, your eyes are fine! Micky, turn on the light”!
Micky turned on the dresser lamp. “See, Davy?”
Peter pushed Davy’s bangs from his sweaty forehead. “It’s just night . . . your eyes are fine.” Davy panted, putting his face in his hands. Peter looked at Micky, then shot a glance at Mike; the Texan was still asleep, curled up beneath his covers.
Peter caught Micky’s eye, then jerked his head toward Mike.
“Leave him alone,” Micky said softly. “He’s still out.”
“Sit with him,” Peter said. “In case he wakes.” Micky nodded and sat on the edge of Mike’s bed.
Peter then turned all his attention to Davy. “You’re all right.”
Davy just pulled his knees up to his chest and huddled under the covers. Rubbing his back, Peter began to mentally run down the ways he could hurt Dragonman.
Davy flinched. “Stop. Just . . . stop.”
“Dave?” Peter’s hand froze.
“Don’t . . . touch me.”
“Does it hurt?”
Davy nodded.
“Let me see.” He gently tugged on Davy’s nightshirt.
The cane marks on Davy’s back had faded to soft red lines. When Peter gently touched one Davy jerked as if he’d been burned.
“Sorry . . . I need to put some cream on this.”
“All right,” Davy nodded.
Peter warned him before he touched the wounds with the cream. Davy was trembling, his muscles twitching under Peter’s gentle touch. Touch turned to brief, gentle massage. “Calm down . . . ”
“Trying . . . hard . . . ”
“I know you are.”
“Yes, very trying,” came the quip from Micky. “but we love you anyway.”
“Mick, give him a break,” Mike’s sleepy voice said.
“If he were himself, he wouldn’t give US one,” Micky grumped softly, but smiled at Mike. “Didn’t mean to wake you.” Mike watched Peter’s ministrations for a moment, his eyes betraying nothing going on inside.
Peter slowly raised his eyes to Mike’s. The face was pale and thin. Haunted. The calm, confident look had been replaced by one of fear, and uncertainty.
“It’s going to be all right,” Peter soothed. Which of them he was soothing, he didn’t quite know.
Suddenly Micky got up and left the room. Peter frowned. Mike sighed and rolled over with a groan, pulling the covers back up over his head.
“Davy . . . will you be all right for a minute?”
Davy nodded. “Yeah.”
Peter then went after Micky, who was downstairs, checking the front door.
“What is it?”
“Just checking,” Micky said. “I know Dragonman’s in jail . . . but I still don’t trust it.”
“I’ll get the back.”
Micky finished securing the door and went to check the windows. Peter left him to it and went back into the bedroom.
He looked at the silent lump in his bed and the huddled figure across from it. It didn’t surprise him that Mike and Davy were acting funny; they’d been kidnapped and tortured, subjected to things that Peter could only imagine. But there was something in the hollow, dead stares of his comrades that made the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end and a terrible weight of dread sink ever deeper into his stomach.
On to Chapter Eleven
Back to Chapter Nine
Back to Secrets and Lies Index
