“Help me!” I ordered Jackson, who stood there watching with a look of horror on his face.
We got Noah to the bed and held him as he thrashed and moaned.
Miss Susan and Miss Cynthia watched with uncomfortable expressions on their faces.
“He does this when he gets scared,” I said, feeling I needed to explain.
“There’s no reason for him to be scared,” Miss Susan replied.
“No reason?” I repeated, incredulous. “You come into my home and threaten us and you say there’s no reason for him to get scared?”
“No one is threatening you, Mr. Wiley,” she said in her patient, plodding voice.
As the wind in Noah’s sails died down, I gathered him to me, and he put his ear against my throat to feel the vibrations in my voice.
“There’s some more unexplained injuries for you,” I said to Miss Susan, all but spitting the words at her because I was so mad. Noah’s forehead was already bruising.
She did not reply.