Page 10 of Booked for Kidnapping

Pulling the infection out reminded me a little of drawing a molten string of lava through my foot, painful enough I clenched my teeth and hissed curses so I wouldn’t scream. As I couldn’t address the problem of inflammation until the volume of infection in my foot reduced to something closer to tolerable, I focused on drawing out as much of the junk as possible, leaving a murky mess in my trash can. As expected, it stank to high heaven, and I kept on cursing so I wouldn’t start gagging.

It took ten minutes, but I got the job done, and once the majority of the infection was purged from my foot, I made sure to eradicate it from my blood stream, something the next blood test would have revealed, likely resulting in a removal of the wretched bracelet so I could streamline the healing process.

While my doctor was game to test antibiotics to give my lungs a better chance to heal, nobody wanted to deal with sepsis.

Damned foot. One day, it might not try to kill me in some fashion or another.

Once I controlled the infection to the level the antibiotics might be able to work to eradicate it completely, I opted to allow the inflammation to decrease on its own, pulling out gauze and bandages from the first aid kit and wrapping my foot before cleaning the inside of my medical boot and putting it back on. I snagged my cane so I wouldn’t undo my hard work, got to my sole good foot, and took the trash can to my kitchen, where I began the tedious work of purifying it so I wouldn’t be tempted to light it on fire and get rid of it.

Bradley poked his head out of my bedroom. “Are you done?”

“I have conquered my foot, although my trash can has seen terrible things, Bradley. I’m thinking about putting it out of its misery.” After three rounds of soap and scrubbing, I was out a sponge, but the trashcan showed no evidence of having been used for infection disposal. “Fetch the bleach out from beneath the bathroom sink, please.”

He obeyed, and to keep from doing more damage to my foot, I hopped back to the couch and instructed him to pour a quarter of the bottle down the sink and run the water as hot as he could make it. “Just try not to die from bleach fumes.”

“Dying from bleach fumes isn’t on my list of things to do today, and barbecue will be here within twenty minutes. How is your foot?”

I gave him a brief summary of the work I’d done on myself.

“I can’t tell how bad that is,” he admitted.

“It would have shown up on my next blood test, and then she probably would have unlocked the bracelet so I could fix the problem. Since my next blood test is scheduled for Tuesday, a few days probably wouldn’t have made that much of a difference, and if it had, I would have gone to the doctor myself. I’ve been watching for the signs of a problem. I can deal with pain, but this would have been worse than just some pain by the time my appointment rolled around. It’ll be fine, especially since I’ll turn off the damned bracelet once a day to make sure everything is fine. And when my doctor asks why I’m doing so much better, we will claim a good diet and her drugs did the trick.”

“So, we’re going to lie.”

“We are going to lie so well she struts for the rest of the day due to her medical prowess at working miracles.”

Bradley ran the water while he opened my apartment’s sole window and turned on the exhaust fan over the stove to help circulate the air and get rid of the stench of bleach. “I’m going to try to use the lactose pills to see if they work, but I got cornbread. I got a ridiculous amount of cornbread. I will have my cornbread with real butter. That way, when anyone asks why I haven’t come home, I can truthfully claim I’m indisposed and am staying here tonight.”

For Bradley to be taking that stance, he must have engaged in a heated argument with someone—or multiple someones. “You will be competing for bed space with the medical boot,” I warned him.

“Competing for bed space is an upgrade from the couch, so this is a price I’m willing to play. I have brought my librarian some offerings. There is a bookstore gift card, and I got you a hardback about serial killers of the United States. I’m not sure if it’s a guide on how not to be a serial killer, how to be a serial killer, or just a list of serial killers and their nefarious deeds, but I thought it would amuse you. If you decide to become a serial killer, please don’t start with me. Or finish with me. Or include me in your killing spree. I could be talked into helping you hide the bodies, though.”

I snickered at the idea Bradley would even consider trying to help hide a body. “We could spend the evening reading books, but I don’t think I would need any help becoming a serial killer should I wish to become one. I have a list of ways to kill someone while making it very difficult for anyone to pin the crime on me. I can even mimic strangulations if I really want. It’s all about the bruising patterns, and I’m good at that.”

“I’m not sure whether to be awed or terrified, Janette.”

“Be both. It awes and terrifies me at times. Just because I can doesn’t mean I will. Which is probably a good thing, because I would be a phenomenal serial killer. That’s part of why people are so damned afraid of me. Have the others come up with any concrete theories on the actual serial killer?”

“No. That’s part of why I got some books about serial killers,” he admitted. “We have nothing. I was the first to admit you were right about going to the memorial service. We likely missed a lot of leads. It’s not uncommon for serial killers to show up at the scene of the crime—or the services for their victims. I think we don’t know enough about how serial killers and groups like this operate. So, I’m starting to correct my ignorance with some books. My mother is going to talk to some people in law enforcement, and she’s using some of her continuing education courses as a cover for her interest in serial killers and how they operate.”

“We’re trying to become a legalized cell, Bradley. Cells are public information after application.”

“We’re legalized,” he announced.

I stared at him. “What?”

“Before I came over here, my mother got the call. Our application has been approved. We even have two shooters in our cell, as you’re registered as fitting another role, and because you do not have current cell qualifications and Lenard does, we’re getting away with it. Your rating and public service position got you an independent slot.”

I blinked a few times, wondering what sort of mess that would create for us later. “They know I have the skills to be a shooter, and they’re allowing me to take a different slot?”

“Correct. According to my mother, they really want us on the case. Honestly, the evaluator mentioned your medical skills, and they want cells to have people with any form of medical training possible in case something goes wrong, so they have opted to ignore your past history as someone qualified to be a shooter. You aren’t allowed to test for the position unless Lenard leaves. Lenard is happy, because it means he gets to work in a cell doing what he does best. He’s even happier because he’s acquired a concealed carry license for you with my mother’s help. Because we’re now a legalized cell, he has begun paperwork to acquire you a concealed carry license for all states, including states that normally do not allow concealed carry. The government issued you an exemption. Apparently, they feel more comfortable if you shoot your victims rather than exsanguinate them.”

“That’s incredibly stupid,” I muttered. “Exsanguination is so much more merciful in comparison to a gunshot wound.”

“Welcome to government bureaucracy and idiocy. Honestly, I’m happy with this, because it gives you an extra way to defend yourself.” Bradley sighed, headed to the front door, and picked up a gift bag, which he dumped on my lap. “I’m sorry I was a dick about the memorial service. You were right, and because we were short-sighted dicks, we lost a chance to get good information.”

“If being right gets me presents, I’m not going to complain.” I peeked into the bag and eyed a wrapped box, which was the general shape and size of a laptop. Bradley had already gotten me a laptop, but I had deemed it for work purposes only, thus refusing to play any games on it, as it was a system meant for work. “You want me to play that online game with you, don’t you?”