Half Moon Investigations - Eoin Colfer [26]
‘Oh my God, Fletcher,’ she cried. ‘When we found you in the rockery, we thought you were dead. Hazel heard a noise and your dad went outside. What happened? Tell me?’
I told the absolute truth. ‘I saw someone in the garden, so I went outside. I was attacked with a hurl or bat and I woke up here.’ I tried to put a brave face on it, but most of my face was buried beneath a mask of bruises.
Mam wanted to cradle my head, but she had to make do with hugging an imaginary head twenty centimetres to the left of the real one.
‘This is terrible. In our own garden. Outside our own door. And you, you fool, going outside in the middle of the night. Some detective you are.’
The sympathy was drying up fast.
‘Yes,’ agreed Hazel. ‘Don’t you ever watch horror films?’
She held out a small voice recorder. ‘By the way, could you describe exactly how you felt at the moment of impact? I’m writing a short story –’
‘Put that away, Hazel,’ hissed Mam. ‘The poor boy is in pain.’
Hazel persisted. ‘Would that be a white-hot pain? Or more of a dull throbbing pain?’
Dad cut across my sister’s research.
‘Is this anything to do with your investigation?’ he asked me.
‘Maybe. I don’t know. All I was doing was looking for a missing keepsake.’
‘Well, whatever. This investigation is over, as of now. We put up with this detective bit because it was harmless. I won’t ban it completely, because I know it’s your passion. But from now on, all cases go through me. Understood?’
I nodded gently. There was no point in arguing while everyone was so emotional. I could present my case at a later date when I wasn’t sporting a face that would cheer up Quasimodo.
Hazel took something from her pocket when my parents weren’t looking.
‘I have something for you,’ she said, holding it up so I could see. Lying in her palm was my notebook.
‘You dropped this in the garden.’
‘Thanks, sis,’ I said.
That evening, Doctor Brendan was having difficulty telling the difference between over-tens and under-fives.
‘Want a lolly?’ he asked.
‘No. Thank you. You don’t by any chance have a dummy?’
The doctor frowned. ‘No. But I’m sure one of the nurses…’
‘I was joking. Just trying to keep my spirits up.’
‘Good soldier. Now, let me explain what’s going to happen when we knock you out.’
Doctor Brendan took a nasal splint from his pocket.
‘Well, young man. What do you think this is?’
‘It’s a nasal splint.’
‘No. It’s actually a… ah, yes, you’re right. It is a nasal splint. You’re a clever one, aren’t you?’
‘There was a module on emergency first aid in my diploma course.’
Doctor Brendan was phased. ‘You sure about that lolly?’
‘Yes.’
‘Anyway, your nose has to be set and one of these put on. The swelling has gone down quickly, so we’re going to do that now. Obviously you don’t want to be awake when I start hauling your broken nose into line, so we’re going to inject some sleepy potion –’
‘You mean anaesthetic?’
‘Erm… Yes, anaesthetic, into your arm. And when you wake up, everything will be okey-dokey.’
‘That’s just wibbly-wobbly-wonderful, doctor.’ My private-eye patter was really coming on.
Doctor Brendan searched my battered face for signs of sarcasm. I’m sure he found plenty.
‘I’m sure it won’t hurt, too much.’
I had no smart answer to that.
They lifted me on to a gurney and wheeled me down to the theatre. An anaesthetist stuck a drip in my arm and pumped in a syringe full of white liquid.
‘Now, Fletcher, count backwards from ten to one.’
I did so. Slowly.
‘You still awake?’ asked the anaesthetist, who looked about seventeen.
‘Nope,’ I replied.
Doctor Brendan had dropped the kiddie lingo. ‘Fletcher is a real braniac; you better give him a little extra just to stop those thoughts spinning around his head. And if he stays asleep longer than usual, I’m sure no one will mind.’
The anaesthetist took a larger syringe from his tray. This one looked about the size of a German sausage.
‘Are you sure?’ I asked, alarmed. I decided right then