Young Writers Society

EMILY AGAIN

Ten minutes later, Emily was standing in front of the bathroom mirror, picking small debris out of her hair.  While the blood and dirt had been washed away by the short-lasting warm water, there would always be the leaves and twigs stuck in nooks and crannies.  Her towel dripped onto the floor, water mixing with small remains of dirt and the formed pool of blood.  Emily tried to ignore the blood stain on the towel with a quick worry about someone discovering the stain.

“Shit.”

The single curse word was followed by a knock on the bathroom door.  Judging from how the shoes were clicking against the linoleum and the heaviness of the knock –

“Emily, it’s Joe.Are you doing okay in there?”

“Yeah, just give me a second to get dressed.  Would you boys get dinner started?”

Joe answered with a short, “Yeah,” and turned back down the short corridor.  Obviously, he wouldn't do that but at least they could mutually pretend it would actually happen.

Emily leaned against the door, waiting until the voices in the kitchen began again before taking the tub of fire ointment out of the cupboard.  Now was the time to suck it up, rather than having to explain the matter at some urgent care with questionable paper sheets on the tables.

As she dipped a small bit into the long cut, Emily began by saying, “Hail Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with thee.”

The paste seemed to be working as a small flame lit along the seams, slowly binding her skin back together.  Fire treatments were not for the weak of heart.Really fire treatments were not for anyone, with their highly illegal status and all.

"Blessed art thou amongst women and is blessed is the fruit of thy womb, Jesus."

The next segment of the prayer slipped out as the burning pain had changed, turned cold and numbing her stomach.  With numbness, there should have been no room left to feel pain, but the process only hurt more than before.  And as the flame finally left the surface of her skin, a spark spread to the flowered bath towel, easily taking it up in smoke.

Instead of another exclamation, there came the forced words of, "Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us sinners now and at the hour of our death."

The "Amen." came after a coughing fit caused by Emily tightening the belt around the still burning wound.  Her bath towel smoldered on the floor but at least there was no need to worry about evidence of blood.All of that had been burned away.

She looked to the mirror one time while combing her hair and wiping any remains off of the sink.  Taking care of the wound should have been done out in the field, or immediately once arriving home.  Rather than starting a conversation with her dear friend about sexual habits and eventually running into the anatomy logistics.

“Don’t let anything happen during dinner.”

The desperate thought ran through Emily’s mind as she crept across the linoleum, only making a sound on the bottom step.  Emily met Sherlock on her way up the stairs, limping and patting at the small flames on her bath towel.

“And here they say that I’m the flaming gay.”

“Sherlock, please just go and put the spinach and the tomatoes on the stove.And put the macaroni in the oven.  And make sure those heathens don’t destroy my kitchen.”

His eyes maintained a focus on the flames, only moving back to contact with Emily when she lightly tapped on the tweed covered shoulder.

“Hmm?  Oh, the kitchen?”

“Yes, the kitchen.  Would you go heat everything up?”

“Of course.  Is there something wrong, Emily?”

Emily quickly straightened up, correcting her stance and answering Sherlock with a sharp, “No.”

Sherlock’s eyes lingered around her hips, before finally moving back to the steps to make sure there wasn’t another stair accident.  In the past six months, they both had managed to tumble down the small flight several times.  Very few injuries but it had produced enough fear when anyone was alone on the steps, even more worry for two people standing on the same step at the same time.

“Are you sure?  Because you seem to be a bit-”

“Everything is fine, sweetheart.”

Everything was not fine.

Any time a person happened to use such a phrase, the two people in the conversation would know everything was going wrong. Any time the word "fine" was used outside of signaling attraction, it was given in an ironic way of hope. Some sort of hope that everything would be fine, however dark the situation may seem or how a story managed to fall into a confusing line of details.

The last touch of eye contact made before they turned their opposite ways on the stairs made the point clear.  Emily ran up the last bend of the stairs, noticing the stray nail too late and squeaking out, “Goddamn it,” as she fell to the floor.  Her forehead impacted with a tack in the linoleum, but this pain was a step below getting slapped by a jackalope.

Another call of: “Are you okay?” came up the stairs to Emily’s position.  Her mind bounced between answering and ignoring, choosing not to hear the fake cries from the kitchen.  The bedroom was in the disheveled state from two mornings before, clothing scattered across the floor and the blood spatter still on the mirror.

“Guess I should clean that…tomorrow.”

Emily sat down on the bed, looking into the blood on the mirror and slowly brushed out her hair.It hung down over her back, in need of Sherlock’s nimble fingers to braid it back up to a safe hunting length.  The color was almost fading from the dying done six months ago shortly before leaving the Triangle.  It was turning back to the brown color she was shunned for by the Family and the random bright red streaks were no longer pleasing.

“You need to get down there and work and stop moping about one little cut across your stomach.”

The thought got pushed back for another few moments, hanging above the bed with a certain staleness of other things. Her eyes maintained contact with the ceiling tiles in their state of disrepair while her own computer inputted the data from the case. It would be a long report to type when tomorrow rolled around. And all of the other duties that would come with a Monday morning in the sheriff's office.

"Go."

Emily crept down the stairs, tightening her belt once more when hitting the bottom step. The pain shot back up through her leg and into her gut with a feeling of fire rising again.It might have been a mistake to take on the werewolf alone but there wasn't enough trust for Joe left. There had been too many assignments lately where he slipped on ice and let a suspect run too far. And those were the sort of reasons why Emily knew she would have to get rid of him one way or another.

"Dinner is on the table. I just couldn't convince them to set it."

Sherlock was alone in the kitchen by the time she managed to limp out and answer his call. There was no sign of the house guests outside of the beer bottles on the table and the lingering smell of Joe's bad cologne choices.

"What happened on your case, Emily?" Sherlock stopped and pulled out her chair at the head of the table. "How did you get hurt this time?"

A wooden spoon was pointed in her direction with the addition of the second question.

"Just a little old werewolf in the river. I thought he was dead the first time and then I went to slice him open to retrieve some stolen items and-"

"And he wasn't quite dead?"

She stepped around the edge of the table, being careful not to land a foot on the open heating grate and laid out napkins.

"He wasn't quite dead, and I was left standing in a river wrestling the bastard while I shuffled in the dark to find my knife."

"In the dark? But it's just barely getting dark now?"

Emily watched the confused look cross his face as the information was slowly processed. She went back about the dishes on the table, scooping approximate amounts onto each plate and leaving two spots available for whoever might stop in during the dinner hour.

Supper was being served early enough in the evening that someone could happen across their meal. And the only polite thing to do would be to invite guests fully within the house.

"Emily, how long have you been injured?"

"Awhile but I'll make it up soon enough, sweetheart."

All the reply Emily got was a sigh as they both sat down to eat.  The others would come when she took pity on them.

“You know, I think potatoes were severely overrated in my day.”