“Hmmph.” The doctor hooked a stool with his foot and wheeled a small table closer. Instruments were already lined up on a sterile drape. Perching on the stool, he picked up a syringe. “I’ll numb it and stitch you up. Should heal just fine. Luckily, it’s in the fleshy part.”

“You can skip the shot. I don’t have much feeling in that hand.” Danny’s fingers, obviously unhappy with the fresh wound, twitched like they were having a seizure. “You’ll have to be careful, though; I can’t do anything about that.”

“So, you can’t feel your hand and it shakes uncontrollably.” The doctor irrigated the wound.

P, E, Z…Danny concentrated on the bottom row of letters. “Pretty much.”

“And you thought it was a good idea to handle a sharp knife?”

“Probably not one of my best decisions,” Danny admitted.

“You think?” Doc picked up his suture needle. He pointed to the thin scar that ran from Danny’s wrist to elbow. “Tell me about the original injury.”

“It was an IED explosion. The hand was crushed under a pile of debris. Broken bones, shrapnel, lots of nerve damage. For while it was iffy that I’d even get to keep it. The surgeon at the veteran’s hospital did a hell of a job putting it back together. I had a nerve graft about ten months ago, but it didn’t take.”

Doc was quiet for a few minutes. Danny was keeping his gaze averted, but in his peripheral vision he could see the doctor sewing. He tied another knot. Snip. “That should do it.”

Danny glanced down at his palm. Seven neat black knots closed the cut in his palm.

The doctor bandaged his hand. “Keep it dry. Come back in five days and I’ll remove the stitches.”

“Thanks. What do I owe you?” Danny rubbed his forearm. The cut didn’t hurt, but the pins-and-needles sensation had expanded from his fingers to his wrist. Soon those pins would turn into bayonets and spread up to his elbow.

“Pain?” Dr. Chandler frowned at the bandage.

“Some. Sometimes I get a stabbing sensation when it’s too cold or too hot or I overuse my hand. I guess the gash is making it worse.”

“Call me if you need pain medication.”

“Thanks, but I’m not a fan of drugs.” Narcotics aggravated his PTSD. “Rest usually helps.”

The doctor led the way back to the schoolmarm desk. He lowered his tall, lanky body into a cheap office chair. He typed into the computer and printed out a bill. Fluorescent light glinted off silver threads in his dark hair as he bent over the keyboard. “Give me a minute. My receptionist isn’t in yet. I’m a lot slower than she is at this.”

Danny pulled out his wallet to pay the bill. The total was laughably small. “That’s it?”

“Small town, you know.”