The Pet Doctor, page 25
Elder Ryan might not agree.
I backed away as he approached. Muffy, by my feet, growled and then barked as ferociously as her little body allowed.
Something shiny glinted in the light cast from the building. A knife. Silver. Sharp. My thoughts swirled. The faint remnants of root beer soured in my mouth.
"Look at you," Ryan said. "You haven't changed much, other than the makeup and this outfit that makes you look like a whore."
“How did you get out? Aren’t you supposed to be in custody?” I was surprised I managed to get anything out of my dry mouth.
“Even religious leaders are allowed bail.”
Muffy growled and lunged at his ankles. I lifted her into my arms, afraid of what she might do if I didn’t. She might think she could fight against this man, but I knew better. My precious furry baby was no good against a knife.
“What do you want?”
“What do I want?” His voice sounded like sandpaper against rough wood, like a smoker. I didn’t remember him smoking. But maybe he did? I hadn’t been privy to any of the luxuries afforded the elders. The girls who had to sacrifice their bodies to these men were only playthings to them, kept in the dark as if they were only dolls in a toy box.
“You’re coming with me.” He pulled the knife all the way out of his pants pocket. “Come around the side of the building nice and easy.”
My stomach had hollowed out. Muffy wriggled in my arms and before I could stop her, leaped down to the steps and through the open door. Go, Muffy. Go find Breck and tell him what happened.
Ryan grabbed me around the neck and hauled me into the alley. He pushed me against the rough brick. His fingers pressed into my neck, choking me.
“Do you know what you’ve done?” Ryan asked, snarling. “You’ve ruined everything. We should never have assumed you’d wandered off somewhere to die.” He pushed harder into my windpipe, pinning me to the wall. I struggled to get away, but it was no use. He was too strong. Then he plunged the knife into my middle. I screamed in pain. He stabbed me again. I cried out in agony.
I was going to die. I knew it with everything in me. This was how it would all end. After all this time, I would die the same way as my mother. Executed like a stray, rabid animal.
That was when I heard footsteps and shouting. My eyes skirted to the left. Agents. The FBI. They’d come. Too late for me. But they’d get him.
He let go of me and took off running down the alley. But it didn’t matter. He would be caught. They were here. They would get him. I would not be taken out to some remote location and left for the birds. Breck would know what happened to me. There would be consequences this time.
I slumped to the ground. Oh God, the knife was still in me. I was too weak to lift it out. It was time to rest. A deep sense of calm came over me. I would die here on this street where I’d made a new life. A happy life. No one could take that away from me. I’d won.
Breck. If only I’d told him I loved him. An image floated across my mind from earlier. Breck in the kitchen, his face glowing with happiness at the sight of me. The loving look in his eyes. Oh yes, the way he looked at me. That was enough. I’d had love. The kiss. Baklava. More kissing. I smiled to myself. Breck Stokes had loved me. I would rest now.
22
Breck
My dad had once told me that when he was a kid he'd been out hiking in the woods with his dog when a heaviness had overtaken him. A premonition of something bad. He'd thought it was the devil for a moment, trying to take over his soul. But then his limbs had gone numb. Something was wrong. Something terrible was happening to someone he loved. He couldn't explain it, but he'd started to run toward home, sure it was his sister or mother who was in trouble. As he approached the house, he saw smoke coming from one end of the house. His father had been away for work, but it was still the winter holiday at school. His sister and mother had planned on spending the morning making cookies for his dad's return.
It was a fire in the kitchen, he’d realized. Without thinking, he ran in through the front door. Smoke made it hard to see, but he heard screams coming from upstairs. He'd run back outside to see the faces of his mom and sister in one of the upstairs windows. They were trapped.
He'd gotten the ladder from his dad's shed and gotten them out only minutes before the fire took over the entire second floor.
"Intuition, son. Never dismiss it if something that strong comes over you."
As I took the baklava from the oven Muffy rushed into the kitchen, barking furiously. At the sight of her trembling little body, the feeling my dad had described came over me. My limbs became cement. A pounding in my ears thumped in time to my racing heart. The baking sheet slipped from my hands and crashed onto the floor. Baklava scattered about my feet.
Muffy barked and barked, convulsing now.
Huck barged into the kitchen, his face tensed and contorted. The clanking sound of the metal sheet pan had frightened him, I realized in some compartment of my brain that remained detached from the unexplainable dread that coursed through me. Reminded him of terrors he never spoke about but that lived near the surface ready to explode from him.
"What's the matter?" Huck took hold of my shoulders.
"Something's wrong. Tiffany.” An image of her came to me. A man had his hands around her tender neck. “She took Muffy out and didn’t come back with her.”
“I’m sure she’s on the way back up.” Huck sounded so reasonable, so sure.
“No, she’s in trouble. I have that feeling. The one my dad had when the house was on fire.”
Huck understood my shorthand. He picked up Muffy and held her close. She quieted in his arms but continued to shake. “It’s okay, girl. Show us where Tiffany is.” He sounded calm and collected, but the glittering in his dark eyes told a different story. He believed me. He knew I was right.
The music in the other room quieted for a second between songs. A scream from below barreled through the open windows. Tiffany. My feet were superglued to the floor. “Tiffany.”
Huck’s mouth moved, forming words, as if he were a poorly made puppet. A ringing in my ears made it impossible to hear him. He broke away from my near death grip and ran toward the living room. I stumbled after him, nearly blind with fright.
Stormi stood at the window. Flashing red lights illuminated her face. She pointed toward the street. “It’s…it’s…”
What I saw on Barnes Avenue made my blood run cold. FBI agents dressed in dark uniforms had swarmed the street like ants. A man had been wrestled to the ground. Frantic, I looked from one end of the street to the other. Flashing lights from the FBI units pulsed, mimicking the fires of hell. Where was Tiffany?
Huck handed Muffy to Stormi. “Keep her up here.”
She nodded and held Muffy tight against her chest.
I tore down the stairs and out into the warm spring night, vaguely aware that Huck followed closely behind. An agent grabbed me before the door had even closed behind us. “Where is she?” I asked.
“Follow me. She got away from him, but he got her first.”
“Got her?” What did that mean? “Is she hurt badly?” Is she alive?
But my questions were not answered. Instead, he took hold of my arm and led me around the corner of the building. Tiffany. There, surrounded by several agents. One seemed to be doing some kind of first aid.
I rushed to her. “Tiffany, it’s me.” I dropped to my knees beside her. A knife stuck out from her chest. She whimpered like an animal caught between the unforgiving blades of a trap.
Through pain-glazed eyes, she stared up at me. Her soft moaning ceased. A slight smile lifted her mouth. “There you are.”
Blood had soaked through her blouse. The knife’s steel handle mocked me. I looked up at the agent. “Can’t you get this out of her?”
“It’s better to leave it in. The paramedics will know what to do.”
Tiffany clutched my shirt between her fingers and spoke in a raspy voice. “It was Elder Ryan. He had a knife. I’m sorry.” The muscles in her face contorted with pain. Her hair fanned out around her in perfect waves, as if it didn’t get the signal that something was terribly wrong.
“Don’t be sorry. You’ve done nothing wrong. You fought them. You’ve won. Don’t ever think you didn’t.” My words became sobs. I’d never lied to her before now. They would win if they took her from me and robbed her of the life she’d fought so hard to live.
“Will you take Muffy?” Tiffany asked.
“Yes. Just until you get home. She’ll be so happy to see you. Keep imagining that, okay?” I couldn’t see her. Fear had blinded me, red and hot like blood. No, no, I must keep her in focus. If I kept her in my vision, she would be fine. This bastard wouldn’t rob us of happiness. Not after everything she’d lived through.
“The agents were there,” she whispered. “They got him, but not before he stabbed me. It hurt so much. I’m dying. Don’t leave me. Please? Just until I’m gone.”
“I’ll never leave you.” I dried my eyes with the back of my arm and drew in a shaky breath. “Listen to me. You’re going to hold on. The ambulance is going to take you to the hospital. They’ll fix you. They have to fix you.”
“It doesn’t hurt any longer. Nothing hurts. Only the good remains. I hadn’t expected that. Your face. That’s what appeared when it occurred to me that I might be dying.” Her beautiful mouth twitched into a thin smile. “I love you. More than I thought I could. I hadn’t known I could feel this way. I thought they’d killed that part of me a long time ago. But they didn’t. My heart survived. Do you know what’s weird?”
“What’s that?”
“Telling you how much I loved you became the most important thing in the end. The only thing I wanted to do before I left. You always show up for me. You’re the only one that’s ever done that, and I haven’t thanked you properly.”
“Don’t speak. Save your strength.” The finality in her tone paralyzed me into a trembling terror. I could no longer cry. Fear had iced me into a tearless holding pattern.
“I’ve been quiet my whole life,” she whispered. “I can’t be quiet any more. Not now.”
I stopped myself from shushing her. If she were leaving me, I didn’t want our last words to be contentious. “Say whatever you want, baby. Keep talking. As loud and furious as you want.”
“He wanted me to pay for talking. Isn’t that funny? After I kept their secrets all this time? But I’m not sorry I told the truth. I’m not sorry for anything the last few months. You gave me a whole lifetime.”
“No, I didn’t. We’re going to have so many good years together. But you have to hang on, all right? Help is coming. I love you. Please, you have to fight.”
The look in her eyes went terrifyingly blank before her lids shuttered closed. Her lips seemed to have changed to a shade between purple and blue. God, please, let her be okay.
I looked up at the agents, nearly demented with panic. “Do something.” Please God, please, please, please.
The sound of an ambulance’s siren was an answer to those prayers. If it wasn’t too late. My darling. My sweetheart. Please fight. One last fight. For us.
My fingers gripped the wooden arms of the stiff hospital waiting room chair. I hated hospitals. The antiseptic smell. Nurses with stoic expressions. The click of shoes on tile floor.
The knife had done internal damage. They wouldn’t know how much until they got in there and looked around.
For a second, I was fifteen again, waiting in this same room for news about my father. I couldn’t remember any of the details of most of those days at the hospital, only a blur of uncertainty and fear. Always the same question perched on my lips. How many months? Then, how many weeks? Finally, when they sent us home and told us to begin hospice, how many days?
I remained grateful to this day that I'd had the chance to say goodbye to him. I'd met others in a grief support group who had lost loved ones without warning. Most wished they'd had a chance to say things they'd thought they had plenty of time to say. Still, it made no difference. Not really. He was gone.
If I lost Tiffany before we even had a chance to begin—no, I wouldn't allow myself to go there. She would pull through the surgery. After everything she'd endured and escaped from, dying on an operating table could not be the end.
Our friends gathered around me. Trap and Huck, of course, just as they’d been when I’d lost my father. Stormi and Jamie huddled together in a love seat, trying to look brave but failing. Brandi had a sleeping baby Willow in a sling. Garth and Crystal had come even though they’d been asleep when Trapper called them. Darby had packed up the food from the party and brought it with him in case anyone was hungry. No one was.
I love you. I held those words close to me as I clung to hope.
It was nearing one in the morning when the surgeon came in to tell us that they’d repaired damage to one of her lungs and sewn her back up. “There's no reason she won't have a full recovery. She was lucky."
My vision went black and my legs almost buckled with relief. Huck and Trap had to put their hands on my arms to steady me.
After that, I convinced everyone to go home and get some rest, promising to text with any updates. “I want to be there when she wakes up,” I said when Stormi suggested going home to sleep and coming back in the morning. “If she wakes tonight, I don’t want her to think she’s alone.” I’d promised her never to leave.
“All right.” Stormi went up on her tiptoes to give me a kiss on the cheek. “You’re one of the good ones, Breck Stokes. She’s a lucky girl.”
They all trailed out, leaving me alone with Huck. He sat across from me, his black leather jacket zipped up to his chin. Cold, most likely. It was cold. I hadn’t noticed until now.
“I appreciate you staying,” I said to him. “But it’s really not necessary.” I rubbed my eyes, weary but happy. My Tiffany was going to make a full recovery.
“Nope, I’m good,” he said.
"You really should go home," I said.
"Nah. My place is here with you."
“Thanks, man."
Huck dug into the bag of mini quiches and handed me one. “We should eat a little something. Keep our strength up. Isn’t that what you always tell me?”
I wasn’t hungry, but I took one anyway. My blood-soaked shirt had dried and now clung to my skin. “I wish I had a change of clothes.”
“I could run home and get you some.”
“Later, maybe.” I rested my head on his wide shoulder. “I hate hospitals.”
“Who doesn’t?”
“I dropped all those baklavas on the floor.”
Huck started laughing. “What does that have to do with anything?”
“I don’t know.”
“Your dad dying young—is that why you’re such a freak about food?” Huck asked, as if it were the first time the idea had occurred to him.
“Have you really never thought about that before?” He offered me another quiche, but I shook my head no.
“I was too busy being annoyed,” Huck said.
“When you lose a parent young, you inevitably obsess with death. Your own. Others’. I didn’t want you to go to Afghanistan.”
“I almost died a few times over there.” He said this so quietly I almost thought I heard him wrong.
“You never talk about it.”
“I know. I probably won’t. So don’t take this as an invitation to push.” He reached into the bag for another quiche and bit into it with his perfect teeth.
“You know I’m here if you ever want to talk,” I said.
“Everyone knows that. You’re a nice person. It makes me feel meaner when I’m around you. My guess is your mom feels that too.”
I had to think about this for a moment. “I annoy you because I’m nice?”
“No, it’s not annoyance. We feel bad about ourselves. Because we’re not very nice people.”
“You’re here when the chips are down. That’s good enough for me.”
“I don’t deserve you,” he said.
“I guess that’s up to me to decide, isn’t it?” I nudged him with my elbow.
The nurses were speaking quietly to each other behind the front desk. The coffee maker, on hiatus from spurting out terrible lattes, purred. My eyes grew heavy from lack of sleep.
Huck moved over to sit next to me. “Come on. Put it here.” He tapped his upper arm.
“Just for a minute.” My head, without much prompting from my brain, tilted to rest on Huck’s shoulder.
When I woke, Huck was gone. It was a little before six. I rubbed the crick in my neck, contemplating coffee.
My mother appeared, as if she’d teleported. She carried a bag in one hand and a coffee from the Sugar Queen in the other. I’d recognize that pink-and-white cup anywhere.
“Mom, what are you doing here?”
“Huck told me what happened.” She handed me the latte. “Nonfat milk, just like you like it.”
“Thanks.” I drew in the smell of coffee before taking a tentative sip. Perfect temperature. “You didn’t have to come.”
She set the bag on the chair next to me. “I brought you some clothes and your toothbrush.”
“Appreciate it.” I wasn’t sure what to say to her, so I sipped my latte and pretended everything was fine between us.
She settled in the chair across from me. Wearing a long skirt and denim shirt, she looked as if she were headed to an appointment. “Do you want something to eat? The cafeteria’s probably open.”
“No, I’ll wait until I head home later.”
“How is she?”
“She’s sleeping but doing well. I wanted to be here when she wakes.”
“Right.” She smoothed her skirt with both hands. “Have you decided on house plans?”
“I’m looking at a few options.”
“It’ll be nice for you to have your own home. I shouldn’t have let you move in with me. It was too easy. For me, not you.”
