Chapter 59: Doctor's Bag Part 2

He worked with a quiet efficiency that was mesmerizing. He laid out a sterile cloth, injected a local anesthetic, and began to clean the wound. I stood watch, my back to the door, my gun now resting on the nightstand but never out of reach. The only sounds were the snip of his scissors, the clink of metal on metal, and Maddie's steady, controlled breathing.

"You know, Jackson," Croft said without looking up, his hands moving with the steady grace of a master craftsman as he threaded a needle. "Trauma is a powerful motivator. It can be a catalyst for… profound change. Some people crumble. Others are forged."

His eyes flicked up to meet mine, just for a second. "You two seem to be the forged variety."

I didn't say anything. The needle dipped into Maddie's skin. She didn't even hiss. My respect for her, which was already sky-high, went into the goddamn stratosphere.

"Lynn speaks very highly of you both," he continued, his voice a low, conversational hum as he tied the first perfect, tiny knot. "Her work with the Phoenix Foundation… she has a gift for finding people who have been through the fire and giving them a new purpose." He paused, pulling a stitch tight. "A very specific purpose."

The words hung in the air, thick with unspoken meaning. He wasn't just a doctor Lynn had on call; he was part of the system. He knew. Maybe not everything, but he knew the game. He was the man who came after the battles were over, the one who stitched the monsters back together so they could go out and fight again.

He finished with a neat, clean line of black stitches that looked like a railroad track across Maddie's skin. He dressed the wound, gave her a shot of broad-spectrum antibiotics, and left a small bottle of painkillers on the nightstand.

"Keep it clean," he said, packing his bag. "She'll have a scar, but the function should return completely."

I pulled a thick roll of cash from my pocket—the fee, just as he'd stipulated. He took it without counting it and slipped it into his jacket. Lynn had given me plenty. I know that if I asked, she would give me anything I needed. We both want this over. Perhaps I should have called her instead of Dr. Croft. It’s too late now. What’s done is done.

As he stood at the door, ready to leave, he turned back to me. His face was all professional concern, the mask of the caring therapist slipping back on so perfectly that it made my skin crawl.

"Be mindful of who you trust, Jackson," he said, his voice dropping back into that familiar, soothing tone. "In your line of work, the deepest wounds are often inflicted by those we allow to get close. The ones we never see coming."

Then he was gone, melting back into the desert night, leaving behind the clean smell of antiseptic and a silence that was heavier and more menacing than before.

I looked at Maddie. Her arm was patched up, her pain dulled by the drugs. We were safe, for now. But the doctor's final words echoed in the cheap, dirty room. It felt less like advice and more like a warning. Or maybe, just maybe, it was a confession.

We'd closed one wound tonight, but I had the gut-deep certainty that Dr. Alistair Croft had just opened a dozen more.