I threw a robe over my T-shirt, trudged downstairs, and peeked through the door.

“Jordan?” I said as I opened it, and he rushed in, nearly knocking me over. “What are you doing out? Racing bears again?”

His clothes were drenched in sweat and … was that blood?

“I need help,” he said, and limped straight into the exam room where he hadn’t been sleeping, with blood dripping from his pants and both hands. “I hate to do this in the middle of the night, but could you get your mom?”

“She’s out.”

“I need stitches,” Jordan said, hopping onto the high table. He gingerly pulled off his Clemson sweatshirt to reveal blood caked around his wrist and forearm. “We have to hurry. They could be coming here any minute.”

“Oh, my God,” I said. “What …”

I could say no more. It was medic-mode time. I took his arm in my hands and inspected the crusted blood for the wound.

“They got my leg, too,” he said. “I think that one’s deeper.”

His arm had a clear, clean slice. “It’s not terrible,” I said. “Can you make a fist?”

He did.

“Now touch the tips of your fingers to your thumbs,” I instructed.

He was able to do that, too.

“This looks like an old wound,” I said. “It’s not fresh blood. How long ago did this happen? What’s it from?”

He was too busy pulling off his shoe, which was filled with goopy blood, to answer. I knelt to look at his leg.

“You won’t believe it,” he said. “I don’t believe it.”

“Believe what?” I said as I tried to get a clear view of the wound. I needed better light. “Hold on,” I said, and fetched Mom’s surgery lamp from the back room.

“I went to the power plant,” he said. “I wanted to talk to my dad. I know it’s restricted, so don’t tell me I’m an idiot. I know it was a bad decision.”

“You went to talk to your dad after we all went to bed?” I asked.

“I know.”

“Next time come talk to me. I’m around all night.”

I looked up at him and saw the trace of a smile. That was a good sign.

“This is obviously a stab wound,” I said, having pulled off his sock and rolled up his pant leg. It was deep, but clean—nothing jagged.

“I know. I was there,” he said.

“Don’t make me poke you in it, smart-ass,” I said. “I don’t think this can wait till Mom gets back. When did it happen?”

“Probably about midnight,” he said. “I got to the plant around 11:30 and wasn’t there very long.”

I stared at the wound for a long minute and wondered whether there was any way to reach Mom. I was so sick of this cell-phone problem.

“Where’ve you been since midnight?”

“Walking back here,” he said.

“On this leg? From all the way out there?”

He nodded.

I bit my lip. “Did you see your dad at least?”