House of Secrets

Chapter 23

The only candles Jonathan could find were a bunch of scented ones, so the kitchen filled with the aroma of Truffle White Cocoa as the Walters prepared to do home surgery on Will. The smell tickled Jonathan’s nose as he dipped the kitchen scissors in the spilled whiskey from Will’s flask. They had to sterilize the blades.

Alyssa knew she had one chance to get the arrow out of Will’s shoulder. It was strange; before he’d collapsed, she’d had a million different thoughts in her head: Where did he come from? Could he help us find our parents? Now she had only one: What’s the quickest way to get that arrow out?

Or, she corrected, what’s the safest way? Because the first rule of being a doctor was “do no harm,” and there were plenty of ways to harm a person when you started digging into them with kitchen scissors. Like germs. Jonathan handed Alyssa the dried-off scissors and she heated the blades in the candle flame. She wondered if “do no harm” had been invented to keep doctors from feeling guilty.

“How can I help?” Nellie asked.

“Go upstairs and get Mom’s sewing kit,” Alyssa answered.

“Seriously?” said Jonathan.

“And some Tylenol. Or ibuprofen. Any headache stuff you can find in the medicine cabinet. He’s going to need it.”

“I’m not allowed in the medicine cabinet.”

“You are now.”

“But I don’t want to miss what you’re doing!”

“Yeah, you do. Trust me.”

Nellie went up the spiral stairs with her sister’s serious tone echoing in her head. Maybe it was better to be the youngest.

Alyssa inched the scissors, slightly open, toward Will’s wound, then hesitated.

“What are you waiting for?” Jonathan asked.

“Shh! I’m trying to pretend Dad is here, guiding me!”

“That’s just gonna make you feel pressure—”

But Alyssa had already tuned him out, remembering what her father had told her: Hands were tools. The body was a machine. Sometimes you had to get in and fix it like you had to fix a dishwasher. Just dig in. One quick tug, like a Band-Aid, and it’ll be over.

On television Alyssa knew dramatic music would be playing while she did this. In real life the house stayed horribly quiet. She heard the crackle of the burning candlewick. She heard her breath. As the hot scissor blades approached Will’s skin, she heard the tiny hiss of hairs curling back on themselves . . . and smelled them. Truffle White Cocoa was no match for Eau du Singed Hair. Cordelia lost her nerve and pulled back.

“Maybe you should think of it like a video game,” Jonathan suggested.

“Like a game where you operate on people?”

“Yeah, pretend they just came out with this high-tech version of Operation. Just imagine getting points if you pull the arrow out right.”

“And if I don’t?”

“Duh. Game over.”

Alyssa cleared her head and decided to try. Advancing on Will a second time, she pictured a counter above his shoulder starting at 0 points. With every inch she brought her hand closer, it ticked up: 10 points, 20, 30 . . . She pressed the tips of the scissors into Will’s flesh: 40, 50. . . . The singed hair didn’t bother her, nor did the sizzle of skin, because—60, 70—she was doing it. She dug in, gritting her teeth, going for the arrowhead. Will’s body twitched, but he stayed unconscious.