Washing the Walls

Swear words cascaded through my mind and by consequence through Lacey's. Panic eroded the walls of my mind in slipshod fashion, like rain in a fierce wind sheeting this way and that. Lacey's pain stung the back of my head. A Korean woman a block away shared with me her disappointment in her son's choice of girlfriend. Images of the attack crept in, though I shoved them back out.

Retreating into rote memory, I started first aid--pressure here, makeshift bandage there, a quick check of the airway. Lacey grasped for me feebly with her off hand and her mind. I pushed both away.

_Listen. Watch,_ came her distinctive thought voice, insistent and a little maternal.

_Nope, nope, no, nope._ I'd wanted to make a more cogent argument, but that's all I could think in the midst of pushing everything back out of my mind and focusing on the blood, dear god so much blood.

_The attack..._ she persisted.

_Nope, nope..._ My walls were almost back to their usual rigor.

_No. You have to see this. It was...him._