The pierced eye, inches above Toby’s face, jittered and squirted and shriveled as the drill whined.
The way Sid was thrashing about, Toby couldn’t hold the tool steady. It twisted this way and that, reaming out the socket. In seconds, the eye seemed to be gone. Blood was gushing out of the hole, drenching the power drill and Toby’s hand and face.
The blood made the trigger slippery. Toby’s finger slipped off it. The tool went silent.
Sid, still on top of him, was whimpering and shuddering.
Toby lowered the drill. The bit slowly emerged from the cavity of Sid’s socket.
“How’d you like them apples?” Toby asked.
Sid didn’t answer.
“I asked you a question,” Toby said.
Sid said nothing. He just whimpered and jerked.
“What’s the matter, your ears plugged?”
Not waiting for a response, Toby inserted the four-inch bit into his brother’s left ear. He pulled the trigger. As the tool whined, he pushed gently. The bit sank in.
Sid twitched and squealed.
Chapter Forty-one
Sherry had remained seated while Pete dabbed hydrogen peroxide on the side of her head. “What happened here?” he asked.
“Got clobbered.”
“I’ll say.”
“Thought he’d shot me…guess not.”
Pete stepped out of the way, and Jeff moved in with a gray gob of Neosporin on his fingertip.
Sherry winced as he spread the salve on her wound.
“Take it easy,” Pete warned him.
“It’s okay,” Sherry said.
Crouching in front of her, Pete dampened another cotton ball and stretched his arm toward her face.
“I’ll stand up,” she said. “Make it easier.”
“Probably a good idea,” Pete said, backing off.
Sherry clutched the arms of the chair. She pushed herself up slowly, wincing and shaking, then let go of the chair and hobbled forward like an old woman. After stopping, she straightened herself up. “Easier said than done,” she said.
“You all right?” Pete asked.
“Fine. Ready when you are.”
“I’m all set,” Jeff said. He stood nearby with a foil pack of Neosporin in his hands.
That’s not fair, Pete thought. “Hey Jeff,” he said, “why don’t we both do the hydrogen peroxide?”
“Why don’t you take care of that and I’ll follow along after you with the goop? Like an assembly line.”
Bastard.
We can’t argue about this, he thought. Sherry’ll figure out why I want to smear the stuff on her.
“It’s a two-step process,” he said.
“You do the first step, I’ll do the second.”
Shit!
On the other hand, Pete told himself, this way I’m sure to work on all the good places.
“Okay,” he said. “No problem.”
Pete stepped up to Sherry and began to dab her facial wounds with cotton balls soaked in hydrogen peroxide. Each time he finished an area, Jeff moved in with a glob of Neosporin on his fingertip.
From her face, Pete worked his way downward, slowly circling her, Jeff coming along in his wake.
Touching her with his finger.
Pete tried not to resent it.
Jeff doesn’t even live here. If he hadn’t barged in this morning, I could’ve had her all to myself.
Yeah, right. Only thing is, he’s the one who found her. If he hadn’t come along—and started screwing around with my book—I never would’ve known she was back there. She might’ve stayed out on the hillside and died.
Pete suddenly found himself crouching slightly, facing Sherry’s left breast. In addition to the bruises, it had numerous raw, red scratches.
“What about…uh, here?” Pete asked.
She looked down. “Yeah.”
“You sure?”
“Yeah. Go ahead.”
Chuckling, Jeff said, “We sure don’t want that to get infected.”
Pete scowled at him.
“Want me to do it?” Jeff asked.
Not answering, Pete poured some hydrogen peroxide onto a fresh ball of cotton. He dabbed at the scratches on the top and sides of the breast. Where the clear liquid touched the wounds, it fizzed. Some of it trickled down her breast and dripped off. Pete swabbed the nipple, feeling its stiffness through the wet gob of cotton.
Crouching lower, he looked at the curving slash below her breast. Though it wasn’t bleeding, it looked deeper than her other wounds. “The guy use a razor on you?” he asked.
“Knife.”
Jeff crouched beside him and looked at the wound. He muttered, “Man.”
“It isn’t very deep, though,” Pete pointed out.
“He just wanted to…get my attention.”
“Fucking bastard,” Jeff muttered.
Pete gently drew a cotton ball along the length of the slit. Then he moved sideways and began to work on Sherry’s other breast. “Who did this to you?” he asked.
“A guy.”
“We figured that,” Jeff said.
“Someone you know?” Pete asked.
“Sort of.”
As he patted her scratches, his eyes strayed over to Jeff. Jeff was stroking her nipple with a fingertip, smearing it with the greasy salve.
Man!
“I’d sure like to get my hands on him,” Jeff said.