Dr. Mctiege put his black cordless phone on the damaged mahogany coffee table in front of him, resolved to find out anything he could about the abduction of Michael’s daughter. He barely registered the splintered wood and pockmarked, cracked glass of the table. As the shock of his assault wore off, he realized that he should assess his injuries. Standing up, he went to his bathroom, past the front entryway.
James was dumfounded by his appearance in the mirror. Blood dripped from his nose, which was clearly broken. The cartilage was dented and bent at an unnatural angle. His glasses hung awkwardly on his face, each side sagging. The nose-piece had cracked and almost separated, a split starting at the top, and stopping just before the bottom. His face was drenched in blood, including his neck and the top of his shirt. Flecks of crimson speckled his clothes, and intermingled in his hair. The red liquid had splashed all over the place when he was thrown around and beaten like a rag doll. He had been powerless to the speed and brutality of his assailants.
The doctor gingerly removed his jacket. Extending his arms to remove the sleeves made him wince in pain. He gritted his teeth before lifting his shirt up to survey the damage to his torso. There were huge, dark purple bruises on his upper ribs. He thought that they were probably cracked or broken. The doctor turned around to look at his back. Smaller bruises smattered the rest of his upper body.
The broken man picked up his coat and walked back into the living room. He sat in his chair to contemplate his circumstances. He knew that he had to treat his wounds, but decided that it would have to wait. If he discovered any important information, he could help save a girl’s life.
Dr. Mctiege went to his office upstairs, and turned on the laptop on his small oak desk. He scoured the internet, searching for clues, and called anyone who might assist him, including colleagues.