FB - War Scars

'There you go again. I told you start with the boots.'

'The floor is wet.'

'And I told you get in there.'

'I'm not going in there any sooner than I have to.' He folded his jacket, squinted at the water on the floor, and set the jacket on the stairs. He put his boots beside it, took off his jeans, folded them and put them on top of the jacket.

'What's that big scar above your left knee?' Teasle said. 'What happened?'

The kid did not answer.

'It looks like a bullet scar,' Teasle said. 'Where did you get it?'

'My socks are wet on this floor.'

'Take them off then.'

Teasle had to step back to keep from being hit by them.

'Now take off your sweat shirt,' he said.

'What for? Don't tell me you're still looking for my I. D. cards.'

'Let's just say I like a thorough search, that I want to see if you've anything hidden under your arms.'

'Like what? Dope? Grass?'

'Who knows? It's happened.'

'Well not me. I gave up that stuff a long time ago. Hell, it's against the law.'

'Very funny. Just take off your sweat shirt.'

For once the kid did what he was told. As slow as he could, of course. His stomach muscles showed tight, and there were three straight scars across his chest.

'Where did they come from?' Teasle said surprised. 'Knife scars. What the hell have you been up to anyway?'

The kid squinted at the light and did not answer. He had a large triangular patch of black hair on his chest. Two of the scars cut through it.

'Hold up your arms and turn around,' Teasle said.

'That isn't necessary.'

'If there was a quicker way to search you I would sure have found it. Turn around.'

There were dozens of small jagged scars across the kid's back.

'Jesus, what's going on here?' Teasle said. 'Those are lash marks. Who's been lashing you?'

The kid still did not answer.

That's going to be some interesting report the state police sends back on you.'


[Earlier...]


But not for this, he suddenly told himself, not for this. Just thinking about what he could do to Teasle he managed to satisfy his anger and control himself. It was a control he had not been capable of before, and thinking about his control made him feel better too. Six months ago when he finished convalescing in the hospital, he had been unable to keep hold of himself.



- First Blood, Part 1, Chapters 9 and 5