CHAPTER 95
By the time they saw the doctor, the bleeding was down to a trickle.
Mr. Wilson still looked pale—she imagined he had lost as much or more blood as Runington had the night she found him—but she wasn’t sure how good of an idea it was to poke around the wound when it had finally calmed down.
(Kallias had done a wonderful job bandaging him with the shirt.)
But the doctor insisted. Though he said the wound looked fine now, pieces of Mr. Wilson’s cotton shirt were missing. Though Kallias had ripped the shirt to use it as a bandage, the part with the hole was intact and fabric was clearly missing where the bullet had gone through.
“I see,” she said as the doctor held it out to both of them. “But what does that have to do with anything?” Of course there was a hole; a bullet had gone through for heaven’s sake!
“Then the fabric is likely inside Mr. Wilson. If we do not remove the fabric, it will degrade and fester inside him and kill him.”
“Oh. How disgusting.”
“Do forgive me for offending your sensibilities,” the doctor started. He was an older man in his late fifties, skinny and gray. “I would normally not share such details with a woman but since you asked and since I know you’ve seen quite a few things yourself…”
“I am not offended, Doctor.”
“Nothing can faze Miss Wains.” Mr. Wilson smirked. “Do what you must, Doctor.”
The man nodded. “I do wish there was another way.”
“My fault for getting shot, I suppose,” Mr. Wilson tried to joke.
The doctor almost acted as if he had not heard. “I will collect my gear,” he said instead.
“And I will be here, holding your hand the whole time,” she said.
“Daria.” He dragged out the name, clearly touched but also clearly torn. “You don’t have to. I’m sure it’s not something you want to see.”
The doctor nodded. “I warn you, Miss Wains, it might be quite graphic.”
“That’s okay,” she murmured. “We’re friends after all, and he got it helping me. It’s the least I can do.”