Molly

Helen strides in and out of the barn, leaving me slumped by Georgiy on the sofa with mounds of gauze and Betadine. I press the soaked dressing into his infected arm. My pants and hands stain red with the antiseptic. Infection sealed in raw flesh, his scabs pucker yellow and brown.

Helen needs to lance his wounded arm. Clean it, pack it with antibiotics, then suture it loose, allowing the pus to drain. She worries sepsis has settled in. If so, then Georgiy must go to the hospital, or he will die from blood poisoning.

The dreaded hospital, the place of questions and police. Peter protects Georgiy by not taking him there or is Peter protecting me?

Swept further into the madness of not knowing, I am too tired to think, still Helen pecks me with questions.

Where's the bullet? Who is Peter? Who is Georgiy? Why am I in New York? And why of all places did I return to my Ex's farm?

Olga Alexandra Writes

Georgiy Speaks

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