The trailer was shabby, yeah, but not bad. I could tell a couple of guys lived here from the dishes in the sink, but other than that, it was reasonably clean.

I set the bag down and turned to Eddie, reaching to cup his face lightly and see how bad the bruise was. He flinched a little, but let me, and his expression . . . I couldn't figure it out. It was this weird blend of shame and something else. Something almost . . . wistful.

"Before you go storming off and doing something stupid, just . . . don't," Eddie told me. "This isn't the first time, and it isn't the worst time, so . . . no big."

I bit my lips, fighting back my anger, but finally nodded. "I'm not gonna storm off, but I can't promise on the stupid part," I warned him. "Where else are you hurt?"

"Fi . . ." he got a little flustered, but I kept my hand on his cheek, and stared at him.

"Eddie, my mother works in the Emergency room at Hawkins Memorial. If I tell her what you look like, she's going to drive over here herself and make you strip down. Is that what you want?"

He winced. "Shit."

"Exactly, so show me."

Reluctantly Eddie reached over his shoulders and clawed his Hellfire shirt off over his head, groaning a little as he did so. All the bruises mottled across his torso were dark against the paleness of his skin and I gave a little yelp.

Part of it was because of the bruising, and part of it was just . . . seeing Eddie's bare torso. He was lean, but muscled, and I couldn't stop staring.

"Shit! Eddie! Oh my God! Who did this to you!?"

He wasn't going to tell me; I could see it in his expression, but I kept my eyes locked with his until he finally sighed.

"A little gift from the basketball team, who are NOT music lovers, apparently," he tried to joke. "I guess our performance pissed off Coach Lewis, who made them run a few extra laps, and this is what our president would call the 'trickle down' effect of that . . . owwwwww."

That last was because I was lightly prodding a dark bruise that was suspiciously shoe-shaped along his ribs.

"Sorry," I murmured, "Okay, so lots of bruising, any cuts, open wounds or broken bones?" I was channeling mom's triage protocol without even thinking about it.

"No broken skin, just a lot of battered hide," Eddie tried to joke, running a hand through his hair. "Fi, I'm not going to die or anything."

"Turn around," I told him gently, and he did. More bruises along his back, and I tried not to gasp, but my anger was starting to boil up. "Jason Motherfucking Carver, right?" I growled.

"Carver was one of them," Eddie admitted, reluctantly. "Yeah."

"That ASSHOLE! I will break every finger on his groping, slimy hands, I will take a weedwacker and start with that Brylcreemed hair and work my way to his worthless NUTS!" I growled, feeling a surge of anger.

Eddie laughed, looking over his shoulder at me. "Okay, stop. Much as you're totally turning me on here, we both know nothing's gonna happen to Carver."

I glared, but Eddie turned back around and painfully slipped his shirt back on. I kind of resented that but didn't say anything.

"Carver's old man runs the plant where my uncle works," Eddie was deadly serious now, those soft brown eyes boring into me. "I am not putting his job at risk, no way. You get, that, right?"

I nodded reluctantly. "I get it."

"Good." Eddie looked at the bag. "Oooh, whatcha brought?"

I pulled out the double stuf to his grinning approval. "Okay, here's the deal, Munson. You have any muscle rub? Bengay, Vicks, something like that?"

"Some Minards in the bathroom," he told me. "I've been using it . . . where I can reach."

"Then you're going to lie down and let me put it on your back while you eat Oreos."

"I LIKE this plan!" he beamed, looking pleased.

"You won't when the burning starts, but it will help. Come on—"

I followed him deeper into the trailer, and Eddie motioned to the small room on the left-hand side. I peered in at the Iron Maiden and Black Sabbath posters, shaking my head. It delighted me that the blanket was an old unzipped Snoopy sleeping bag. Eddie was nervously stuffing something out of sight, and I suspected it was probably a Playboy or two, but I didn't say anything.

"Ah, okay. Not much to see, but," he shrugged, and winced as he did it.

"You—shirt off, lie down on your stomach," I ordered.

He smirked. "There you go again, bossing me around."

"Which I will do every time you're being an idiot," I cheerfully replied, mostly to cover up my nervousness. I was here in his bedroom, and I was about to see him with his shirt off again and yep, nervous. So, I fiddled with the tube of ointment while Eddie peeled his shirt off and obediently stretched out.

In the light coming through the thin curtains, the bruises looked purple with green-yellow edges, and seeing them again made me tense up once more.

"So . . . these look, what? Two days old?" I asked, squeezing some of the yellow ointment into my hand.

"Saturday night," Eddie grunted, because I'd just laid that hand on his spine. "They were waiting in the parking lot outside Melvald's."

"Ambush, then. Fuckers."

"Where did this mouth come from?" Eddie replied in a teasing tone. "you're not a curser."

"Eddie, I get pissed just like everybody else, especially when it's personal. And while Jason's been on my shit list for a while, this moves him to slot number one," I shot back, running my hand along his spine. His skin was warm, stretched over firm muscle, and I tried not to press too hard.

"Yeah well, he's not my favorite person either. What's your beef with Mr. Ken Doll?"

"We went to the Snow Ball, back in seventh," I grunted. "I couldn't keep his hands off me most of the night and ended up 'accidentally' pouring punch in his lap."

Under my hands, Eddie tensed. "He did what?"

"Ancient history, and nothing he hasn't done before, I'm sure. I just hope Chrissy wises up before it's too late."

"He wouldn't dare," Eddie mumbled. "Chrissie's old man would kill him."

"Yeah?"

"Pretty sure," he was starting to relax under my hands, and I took a moment to enjoy applying the liniment. "She once told me her dad was a lineman in college and he still looks it. Chrissie's his princess."

"Huh." I didn't want to think about Chrissie, especially right now. "Is that so?"

"Yeah. Oh man, it's sinking in," Eddie sighed. "Yep, feelin' the burn now."

"Good," I told him. "Means it's working. When did you last eat?"

"Hmmm? Oh, ah, yesterday. I think. Had some cereal." His voice was getting drowsy now. I keep running my hands on his back in slow, steady strokes. After a few minutes more, I lightened my touch, and let my fingers lift off his skin.

He was sound asleep, so I went and called Mom.