Chapter 3

Early morning sun filtered through the skylight. Shivering, Don woke up on the floor. He remembered lying his aching head down for just a moment on the edge of Charlie's mattress. His own seemed too far away, suddenly, and anyway, it was just for a moment. Now, his body told him that he had been huddled here, shivering, in the space between the two mattresses, for longer than a few moments. He squeezed his eyes shut and rubbed them, forced himself to stretch his back and legs, counted the pops and creaks. He didn't really want to open his eyes, again.

When he did, he started in surprise. There had been several additions to the room during the night. He forced himself up, went to the west wall to investigate. He'd have to look at this wall again, later. If this is where something was left, maybe there was a door here after all. Reaching the corner, he found a 5-gallon bucket; empty save for the roll of toilet paper inside it. Don guessed he knew what that was for. On the floor next to it was a smaller bucket, full of many things. He sat down, feeling strangely excited. He pulled them out one-by-one: Two liter bottles of water. One smaller bottle of water. About 20 small alcohol wipe packets. A roll of gauze. Trial-sized bottle of pain reliever. Most unexpected of all — a urinal. Don was confused. He'd thought the large bucket…then he remembered Charlie. Whoever was holding them thought of Charlie not being able to walk. Gave them water (although no food, he thought, as his stomach grumbled a little), some medical supplies, mattresses and blankets…this was a strangely civilized kidnapping.

Don stood again, retrieved the roll of paper from the larger bucket and was surprised to see a lid for it leaning on the wall behind. He made use of the bucket, firmly capped the lid. He hoped that would help with odor. Who knew how long it — or they — would be here. He tore open one of the alcohol wipe packets, then, cleaned his hands as well as he could. Then he put all the other items back in the smaller bucket and carried it over to Charlie's mattress.

His brother was still on his back, and all the covers were kicked off again. Don sat on the edge of the mattress, unpacked again. "Charlie?" He leaned over to touch his brother's hot forehead, wasn't surprised that there was no answer. He counted out the packets. He didn't want to waste them, he didn't know if any more would appear…but he didn't want to subject Charlie to any more germs, either, so he tore open another one, cleaned his hands again.

He gingerly picked up Charlie's right arm, found the end of the ragged bandage, began to pull it off. He was immediately assailed with the stench of infection, and he hurridly threw the rag in the empty bucket while he twisted Charlie's arm a little to get a better look. The wound was jagged, and he thought he saw glass still in it. It was red, swollen, and oozed both blood and a thin yellow pus. Don awkwardly moved the smaller bucket onto the bed, held Charlie's arm over it. He twisted the top off of the small bottle of water with his teeth, and then tried to irrigate the wound as best he could. He was glad to hear a "plunk" on the bottom of the bucket, figured something must have come out of there. When the water was gone, he decided to use the sheet at his feet as a towel of sorts, and pushed it up onto the mattress so that he could lay Charlie's arm there. Then he ripped open several alcohol packets, lined them up so that he could grab one at a time. Gritting his teeth, he first cleaned the arm around the wound. Charlie moaned a little, but there was no other response until Don used a fresh pad on the wound itself. Charlie suddenly shouted, "No!" while his arm jerked back out of Don's hand, and he tried to push away with his feet. There was a yelp when he tried to use his foot, then he tried instead to turn away.

"Charlie!" Don pressed down on both shoulders to keep his brother still. "Wake up! Look at me!"

Finally Charlie's eyes did open, glassy and filled with pain.

"Donnie?" His voice was barely a whisper.

"Hang on, Buddy, let me finish this." Don took his arm again, looked at the cleaner wound. "You're hurt, Charlie, and it's infected. Can you hang on? I need to clean some of this infection out."

Charlie just looked at him. "What?"

Don decided to distract him. "What do you remember, Charlie?", he asked, at the same time that he pressed hard on the area around the wound, expressing more blood and yellow fluid onto the sheet that was now ruined. Charlie tried to jerk his arm back again, but this time Don was ready, and he held on while he watched his brother's face. Charlie looked at him wildly for a moment — Don wasn't even sure he recognized him — then he saw his eyes roll back, and he was unconscious again. Scared, Don decided to leave him that way while he finished taking care of his arm. After using several more pads, Don finally placed a new one directly over the wound, and began to wind the roll of gauze around Charlie's arm. He reached the end of the roll and managed to tear the strip of gauze vertically for several inches, so that he could tie the bandage. Then he cleaned up, taking everything over to the bigger bucket in the corner. He left the soiled sheet lying on the floor behind the bucket. He opened one more wipe and cleaned his hands again. Only five left now.

Once back at Charlie's mattress, Don opened one of the larger bottles of water and took a sip. Then he dribbled a few drops onto Charlie's forehead. His brother lurched, and his eyes popped open again. While they flew around the room, trying to get his bearings, Don ripped open another packet. He managed to tear this pad in half, leaving part of it in the package. The rest he used to cool his brother's hot face. "You with me, now?" he asked gently, taking his hand away.

Aslight nod.

"Do you…do you need to go to the bathroom?"

Charlie's face seemed to become even more miserable, once he was reminded of his own needs. "I don't think I can," he finally whispered, embarassed.

Don picked up the urinal. "I've got something here…"

Charlie's eyes grew even more confused when he saw what was in his brother's hand. His eyes darted around the room again. "Is this a hospital?"

Don shrugged, helped him place the urinal. "I don't think so, Buddy. I don't think so."