If Catfish Had Nine Lives(27)

            “Okay.”

            “I don’t remember anything else after that.”

            “Not one thing?”

            “Not one thing.”

            “You don’t remember being hit?”

            “No.”

            He’d been hit more than once, that much was clear.

            The fact that my brother had been accosted—at least according to his shaky side of the story—boiled my stomach. From what I could see, it looked like he might have easily been killed. Had he been only one more blow from death? I hadn’t seen Norman this morning, but had he looked beaten up? Had it been a fair fight? Had Norman even been involved at all?

            Teddy’s story was outrageous, but fathomable in a muddled-up-facts way, I supposed. The motivations behind the violent behavior couldn’t simply have been because of a woman, though. There had to be more. I wanted to push Teddy to try to remember better, but the responsible side of me was taking over again, and he needed to see a doctor more than he needed to be pushed. Besides, maybe his memories would come back a little more as he healed.

            “Orly, do you mind driving us back into town?” I said.

            “Right away.”

            “I think I have my truck. I must have driven it here last night. And I have my keys,” Teddy said as he winced and reached into his pocket.

            “I think it’s parked on the other side of the campsite. I’ll take you two over there,” Orly said.

            “Thanks, Orly. I’ll drive your truck, Teddy,” I said as I took the keys. Orly and I helped Teddy stand. He wasn’t too wobbly, and it appeared that his injuries were only on the top part of his body. His legs, ankles, and feet seemed unharmed, despite the rips in his jeans.

            Instead of loading us into his truck, Orly sent a man he called Gary over to fetch Teddy’s. Gary was an old, short guy with a pronounced limp, but Orly seemed to think he could handle driving. For some strange reason—perhaps because I needed something positive to think about—my mind zoned in on the fact that if Teddy had been lying unconscious in the woods last night and then some of this morning, he couldn’t possibly have pulled the trigger on the gun that killed Norman Bytheway. Had Orly not put that together? He might have, but I guessed I could understand why a beaten-up guy who’d been seen arguing with a murder victim should maybe not broadcast his injuries for the world to see. However, the logistics of getting his beaten self back out into the woods to be found there after killing someone just didn’t jibe.

            I wished I had time to walk around the entire campsite. I wasn’t sure what to look for or what questions to ask anyone, but I sensed I could figure it out as I went. Maybe I could learn something, maybe not. But, again, medical attention for Teddy was the priority.

            We hoisted him up and loaded him into the passenger side of his truck. Orly shut the door with a solid thud and then tapped the door with his fingers.

            “I’ll ask around, Betts,” he said after he perhaps read my mind about wanting to search for answers. “I’ll try to get some details.”

            “Thank you.” I looked at him a long moment. “Why didn’t you just tell me? I mean, let me know that Teddy was here.”

            Orly shrugged, which I’d already noticed a few times was an interesting maneuver for someone who was so thick in the chest. His whole torso lifted, not just his shoulders.

            “He thought you might panic, or something. I understood. I know your brother needed to be checked over by a doctor, but his life was no longer in jeopardy, and it’s my experience that if danger or death isn’t imminent, most situations need a little time and a little thought before people such as doctors or police officers are contacted. Just the way it is.”