But first, she had to stop his bleeding.
The keys to the cage were always just out of reach. Edythe found the stool her father kept next to his computer and dragged it to the middle of the floor. She looked once at Linc, who stared at her intently, his blue eyes blinking at her. She didn’t need him to speak to hear what he was saying. Careful. Careful.
“I’m always careful,” she answered.
She climbed onto the stool, first her knees, then one foot, then another until she was standing. She stretched her arms to the side, finding her balance before she lifted onto her tiptoes and stretched her arms above her head.
The first time she did this, she’d made the mistake of looking at Linc. He was so mad at her. The heat in his eyes surprised her. She knew better than to look at him now. Too bad for him.
Her fingers caught the edge of the key, and she lifted, higher than before—onto the very tip of her big toes—and unhooked the keys. Tonight, her bare feet were sweaty. Anxiousness made her stumble, and she swayed. There was no room on the narrow stool to correct her balance, so she tumbled to the floor. Her hands hit first, the impact jarring her entire body from her wrists to her shoulders. She barely stopped herself from face-planting.
“Edythe!” she thought she heard Linc say.
“I’m okay,” she answered, pushing herself to her knees. She winced. It hurt when she pressed her hand against the floor to lift herself up. She limped to the cage, feeling Linc’s eyes on her the entire time. She didn’t look, but he radiated disappointment. “I said I’m okay.”
In her mind, he growled even though she knew he hadn’t moved, hadn’t spoken aloud.
As soon as the door was unlocked, she grabbed her backpack and dragged it into the cage.
She set the flashlight on the floor so the light shone on his body, but not in his eyes. “Oh, Linc,” she breathed, tears making the sight of his body blurry.
Taking a deep breath, she began to collect the scales. They were the size of her palm, and hard, like a shell. They stacked like shallow bowls, one on top of the other. He couldn’t grow scales back, they had to be reattached. If they weren’t, then the flesh beneath would be forever bruised and scarred. The right side of Linc’s face was a mess of wavy scars from a time before she’d found him. Then, her father had inflicted an injury she wasn’t around to heal.
“Why?” Edythe asked, like she did every night. “Why does he do this?”
That was the mystery to her mind. Not, where did Linc come from? Not, what is Linc? She asked herself—and she asked Linc—why would her father hurt him like this, over and over?
She skimmed her hand over Linc’s face, and he closed his eyes. She took a deep breath and stood: bucket, water, salt, gauze, sew.
She found the paint bucket her father kept beneath the steps and brought it to the big utility sink. She made the sure the water was cold, as cold as she could stand it, and dumped in the baggy of sea salt. She plunked her hand in the bucket, stirring until the salt dissolved.
“Tonight, Linc. After this, we’re going to the ocean. I could hear it all the way here tonight. It’s high tide, and it will have rolled all the way to the marshes. We’ll go there and hide, and when the sun comes up, I’ll run into town and call the police. They’ll arrest Dad, and then you’ll be safe.”
She dragged the bucket out of the sink, lifting it carefully so the water didn’t slosh over the sides. It was hard to lift up and out, so she only filled it halfway before putting it on the ground. She added cup after cup full of water until the bucket was nearly full. Then she lifted with both hands, legs on either side. She could get it maybe an inch off the ground, and she had to be so, so careful not to spill. If it stained the floor, her father would know.
Edythe suddenly realized it didn’t matter anymore. After tonight, he would be gone. No one would hurt him after she fixed him up.
“This is the last time, Linc.”
She slid the bucket next to him and dropped in a rag. As soon as she squeezed the cold, salty water over his face, he closed his eyes, and Edythe could feel his relief. His color improved immediately, though he didn’t move. He couldn’t right away. Whatever her father did to him, it paralyzed him. He couldn’t move, couldn’t fight. All he could do was scream, and she was the only one who could hear him.
And what could she do?
Linc was big. When he could stand, he was twice as tall as her. When he wasn’t injured, when he was strong and whole, he could lift her while she hung on his arm like a monkey.
She dabbed the cloth across his scales. The undamaged ones were hard, but not like a shell. A shell could be cracked; these were harder and smoother. There were no bumps or ripples on his scales.