Page 125 of Evil Bones
For a few minutes I peered into clumps of bushes and beneath leafy trees, shining my feeble light into crevices that revealed nothing. Wandering farther into the adjacent lot, I’d taken no more than a couple steps downhill when pain exploded in my lower back, just above my right kidney.
My arms flew up and my stride lengthened as I struggled to regain my balance.
A futile effort.
Three wild steps, then I lost control and went down. Hard.
Air exploded from my lungs as fire from the kidney strike shot up my spine and into my neck and chest. A bomb detonated in my skull when I hit the ground.
An eternity passed as I lay motionless, willing my spasming lungs to relax. More likely, it was half a minute.
When finally able to breathe, I placed trembling palms on the pavement and pushed up onto my elbows. I was still gathering my wits, simultaneously sweating and shivering, when I heard a soft, staccato scraping in the distance. Almost imperceptible at first, the muffled sounds slowly grew louder.
Closer.
Faster.
“Sacrebleu!”Ryan’s disembodied expletive came out of the darkness.
Then he was squatting beside me.
“T’es-tu fait mal?”
When stressed, Ryan often reverts to the language of his childhood. As usual, he was unaware that he was doing so now.
“I’m fine,” I said, not totally sure that I was.
“Qu’est-ce qui s’est passé?”
Clueless myself what had happened, I offered no explanation.
“Can you walk?”
“One way to find out.”
Ryan reached down toward me. Rolling to my back, I gripped his hands, drew my feet to my butt, and gingerly sat up.
“Did you trip?” Ryan asked.
“I… I’m not sure.” I didn’t think so.
“You’ve done a spectacular job on your jeans.”
I looked myself over. He was right. Even in the dark I could see that the denim was shredded at both knees. Raw skin showed pale and bloody beneath each gaping hole.
To say I felt stupid would be like saying the Decca execs regretted choosing another band over The Beatles.
“I’m missing a sandal,” I said, hiding my humiliation.
I heard a joint pop as Ryan rose to his feet. Gravel crunched as he searched the drive.
Then, from a few yards uphill, “Bingo.”
Seconds later Ryan handed me the flyaway footwear. Useless now, since the left ankle strap had been ripped from the sole.
“Do you want to try standing?” Ryan asked.
“Sure,” I said with more confidence than I felt.
