by Mac Flynn
Randy stood and placed a hand on my shoulder. "Whoa. Not so fast," he advised me. "The doctor's said you wouldn't be able to get up for a couple more days."
I squirmed atop the bed and flinched when my bruised neck complained. "How bad is it?'
"It wasn't good, at least by the pictures," he told me as he resumed his seat. "It looked like someone tried to slice your throat open, but you didn't have much bleeding by the time the medics got to you and they rushed you here. Got you stabilized and comfortable. That was two days ago."
My eyes widened. "Two days?"
He nodded. "Yep. You lost a lot of blood in that alley." He scooted closer to me and dropped his voice. "Any way you can tell us what happened in there?"
I closed my eyes and nodded. "Yeah. It was like some kind of nightmare. I responded to the call and there was the noise of-"
"We know that from the eyewitnesses. What happened in the alley?" he wondered.
"I went back there and found a naked guy with a bullet hole in his chest," I explained.
"Dead?"
"He wasn't playing it."
"Suicide or murder?"
"Judging by the gunpowder burns I guessed murder. The gun was by him and I was looking at it when two guys slammed through the back door of that place, the Wolf's Den," I told him.
Randy frowned. "We interviewed everybody in there. They said they didn't hear or see a thing."
I scoffed. "Then either they're all deaf and blind or they're lying. I know I saw those two guys come out that back door wrestling with each other. One of them grabbed me and threatened to kill me, but the other guy took him out with a gun from his waist and blew a hole in his head."
He nodded at my neck. "So which one gave you that memento?"
I reached my shaking hand up to my bandaged neck and sighed. "The one that was using me as a shield. He had these impossibly long nails and cut me as he went down."
"Any way you could identify these guys if you saw them?" he asked me.
I nodded. "Yeah, I think I can, especially the guy that's still alive. I got a good look at him while the other guy held me."
Randy leaned back and furrowed his brow. "So you're sure one had a hole in his chest and the other had one in his head?"
"Yeah, why?"
"Because I think we found those guys in the river the day before yesterday. Both of them were naked, but they had the bullet holes in the same place," he revealed.
I raised an eyebrow. "Any idea who they were?"
He shook his head. "No clue, but they're running their fingerprints through a federal database and-"
"-and you should stop bothering my patient so much," a male doctor spoke up as they strode into the room. He was a little taller than me with blond hair and an age of thirty. In his hands was a clipboard, and on his face was a bright smile. "This is the first time she's been awake in two days."
Randy sheepishly grinned and shrugged. "Sorry, doc. Just wanted to get the facts before our sleeping beauty here decided to have another long snooze."
I glared at him. "I don't feel that bad. Just weak," I argued.
"You lost quite a bit of blood," the doctor mused as he flipped through the paperwork on the clipboard. "Two pints, to be exact. A little more and we wouldn't be talking."
"How long is this going to take to heal? I've got a murderer to catch," I asked him.
"They got Howard on the case," Randy told me.
I whipped my head to him and my mouth dropped open. "That idiot? He couldn't find a coat in a coat closet! Why wasn't I assigned to the case?"
"Well, for one you were near death, and another, you're a little too deep in this case as it is," he pointed out. "Besides, we haven't linked the bodies recovered in the river to your fun in the alley. Now that we know to compare blood samples, we can connect the cases."
The doctor raised an eyebrow. "Bodies in the river? They're related to my patient?"
Randy glanced at the doc. "I'd be glad to talk to you about it, doc, but it's under investigation. That means hush-hush."
The doctor smiled and shook his head. "I know a bit about confidentiality myself. That's why I need to ask you to leave, or this young lady needs to give her permission for you to stay in the room while I go over her charts with her."
"He can stay," I agreed.
The doctor shrugged. "All right. I've got some good news and some bad news. Which one do you want first?"
"The bad news first."
"You'll be here for a few more days. The lacerations on your throat were very deep, and we want to make sure your skin stitches together properly."
I cringed. "And the good news?"
"Our jello is outstanding."
I rolled my eyes. "I think you got the order wrong there, doc."
He chuckled. "Well, that really wasn't the good news. The good news is there isn't any lasting damage except for a nice scar across your throat. That'll fade, but it'll always be visible."
I rubbed my neck and winced. "Any way I can get this stuff off to scratch it?"
"Certainly. It's about time to change them, anyway," he agreed. He set his clipboard on a table opposite me and wheeled a tray over to my bed. On the tray was an assortment of gauze, disinfectant, and a pair of scissors. He grabbed a pair of scissors and leaned over the bed. "Now turn your head away and don't move," he warned me.
I turned my head and sat still as he cut through the layers of bandages. His scissors went snip-snip and the soft cloth fell into piles on my lap. The last few layers fell onto my lower neck. The doctor started back and his mouth fell open.
"My god. . ." he whispered.
Randy leaned towards me and frowned. "How the hell did that happen?"
My heart rate quickened. "What? What is it?" I asked them.
"Your throat has healed," the doctor explained.
"Shouldn't it?" I countered.
He straightened and shook his head. "You don't understand. There were severe lacerations across most of your throat. It took a hundred stitches to close up the wound, and even then we weren't sure it was going to stay together."
"And it looks like what now?" I questioned him.
He grabbed the mirror off the tray and held it up. I leaned my head back. My eyes widened when they fell on my smooth, scarred neck. The scar was there, but there were no signs of separated or irritated skin. It was as though I'd had the scars for years.
I reached up and tapped the scar. There was a sensation of it being bruised, but nothing else.
My eyes flickered to the doctor. "You said you stitched me up. Where are the stitches?"
"Here," Randy spoke up. He picked up something from the lowest layer of bandages. It was stitching thread. "Must have come out somehow."
"Without ripping through my skin?" I pointed out.
The doctor leaned down and tilted my head away from him to look at the scar. "It's a miracle. . ." he murmured.
"When was the last time my wound was bandaged?" I asked him.
He grabbed the chart off the table and looked it over. "Last night. The nurse commented that the stitches were still tight and the two sides of skin appeared to be mending together."
I jabbed a finger at my neck. "All this happened in one night?"
He closed the clipboard and nodded. "So it seems."
"That's impossible. Your chart's wrong," I insisted.
"Doc, I think what my blunt friend is trying to tell you is that she wants some tests done," Randy spoke up. "You know, just to make sure there isn't something wrong."
The doctor shrugged. "We could take some blood and skin samples, but my professional opinion is that there's no longer anything wrong with her. I could probably recommend she go home today."
"Finally some good news that I can really chew on!" I quipped. I tossed aside the thin, white bed sheet and swung my legs over the sides.
"Let me just prepare all the paperwork for your release and you'll be on your way," the doctor offered. He nodded at a small dresser. "A set of y
our clothes are in there. Feel free to put them on whenever you feel up to it. I'll be right back." He exited the room.
Randy waited until he was gone before he turned to me. His lips were pursed and he clutched the flowers tight in his hand. I frowned. "I've seen that look before, Randy. What is it?"
"Well, there was something about those two guys I didn't tell you, but after this-" he nodded at my neck, "-I think you might want to know."
"What about them?"
"The bullets that killed them? They were silver."
I blinked at him. "Silver bullets?"
He nodded. "Yeah. I saw them myself. Silver all the way through. Nice craftsmanship, too, before their points got flattened by the impact."
"So what's this got to do with me?" I questioned him.
He glanced over his shoulder. The door was open, but nobody passed by. He turned back to me and lowered his voice. "You ever read any werewolf stories?"
I snorted. "Yeah, under my covers with a night-light, why?"
"Well, you ever read about people getting scratched and becoming one of them?"
I rolled my eyes. "You're not seriously thinking that that's what happened to me, are you?"
He leaned back in his chair and shrugged. "I don't know, but there's something really weird about two guys floating down the river with silver bullets in them and your gash healing up so quick."
I hopped off the bed and walked over to the dresser. "There's nothing weird about my wound. I'm a fast healer," I told him. I opened a drawer and saw my purse lay among the clothes. A sudden draft and a stifled snicker caught my attention. I spun around and found Randy covering his mouth and staring at me. "What?"
He straightened and pointed the bouquet at me. "You forgot something."
I followed the flowers and my eyes grew wide when I saw the back of the gown was open.
I whipped my head to Randy and snapped a finger at the door. "Out!"
He held up his hands and stood. "Just trying to help."
"You can help by getting out!"
"I'm leaving. I'm leaving. Oh, and there's something in those flowers you might really want," he added as he set the flowers in front of me on the dresser. They made a heavy clunk as they hit. He smiled at me and scurried out.
I furrowed my brow and picked up the flowers. They had a good grip. A very familiar grip. I unwrapped the cloth that held the stems and grinned. My gun. He'd snuck it in for me. I put the gun beneath my stack of clothes and packaged the flowers together as well as I could manage.
I grabbed the door and meant to close it after Randy, but a hand came from behind the door and snatched its side. The door was pulled from my grasp and opened to reveal the doctor. He had a clipboard in his hands again, and that ever-present smile on his face.
He held out the clipboard towards me. "I have your papers if you'd like to fill them out now," he offered.
I snatched the clipboard and grabbed the door knob. "Just lemme change and I'll get this right back to you."
He nodded. "Sure-" I slammed the door shut and proceeded to remove the drafty nightgown.
In a few minutes I was dressed, refreshed, and had the paperwork filled out. I opened the door and found the doctor standing outside in the hall. He turned to me and looked me up and down.
"You look like you're feeling better," he commented.
"Is that your professional opinion?" I quipped.
"Only as a man."
I looked him over for a name tag, but didn't see one. "What's your name, anyway?" I asked him.
A strange, crooked smile slipped onto his lips. "Doctor Lowell."
I handed back the clipboard paperwork to him. "Well, thanks for the fix, Doctor Lowell."
He shook his head. "I think the patient is the one who does all the hard work."
I shrugged and stepped away from him. "Yeah, well, thanks anyway. See you later."
"Tomorrow. I want you to come in for an examine tomorrow," he called back.
"Lucky me. . ." I muttered as I turned and walked away from him.
CHAPTER 4
I walked down the long white halls of the hospital and out into the darkening day. The setting sun in the west warned me I had a half hour to get home. Unfortunately, I didn't have my car. Randy hadn't managed to sneak that into the room.
"Damn it. . ." I muttered.
My salvation was a bus stop by the hospital, and in a short time I found myself seated in a grimy, uncomfortable long leather seat. The bus bumped along the roads towards my destination, or close to it. The hospital was in a swanky part of town, but my apartment building wasn't, which meant I had to make a connection ride to get home.
I leaned my forehead against the window and sighed. My mind and body were still a little tired after my long nap at the hospital. I reached up and touched my neck. The soreness had all but vanished. I felt the soft, low ridge of the scar.
The hairs on the back of my head stood on end. I looked to my left across the aisle and caught an old woman staring at me. She turned away and stared intently at her window. I pulled my shirt collar higher to hide the scar. I hated to wear turtlenecks, but my scar was pretty noticeable. It looked like I'd tried to commit suicide with a chainsaw.
The bus came to my stop and I hopped off. The sun was just about gone and stars twinkled in the eastern sky. I looked up at those shining gas orbs and frowned. A strange pulling sensation swept through me. I felt like I had to be somewhere else, like I was late on an important dinner date with a friend I hadn't seen in years.
I squashed the feeling. It didn't make any sense. Nobody waited for me at a restaurant, or even at home. I lived alone in my dinky, squalid little apartment.
The next bus arrived and I hopped on. A few stops later was mine. I stepped off and looked up. Before me loomed an ancient brick apartment building. Its stoop steps were worn down from years of countless feet. The glass windows were foggy from all the smog. Drab curtains concealed most of the rooms from prying eyes, mostly thieves who wanted to case the lower rooms. That's why I had a third-floor apartment. The only way was up a rickety old fire escape that had a landing at my bedroom window. A murder would have had to be suicidal to be that homicidal and risk those old, swaying metal stairs.
The hour was late when I walked through the faded lobby and up the stairs to the third floor. There wasn't an elevator. My weariness from earlier returned in full force as I shuffled down the hallway to my corner apartment. It paid to pay a little extra. One less neighbor to keep me awake.
I unlocked the door, slipped into my apartment and closed the door behind me. I flicked on the lights and tossed my purse on the table near the door.
"Good evening."
I started and pulled out my gun. A light was flicked on and revealed a tall, handsome man in a long black overcoat. He sat in my old chair and held a glass of wine in his hand. I neither owned wine nor that type of glass. He sat with one leg crossed over the other. His golden autumn eyes looked me over with appreciation.
"You're even more beautiful in the light and some decent clothes," he commented.
"Who are you? How'd you get in here?"
The man chuckled and swished the contents of his wine glass. "All good questions, and ones I'd expect from a police officer."
"I asked you some questions. Start talking or my gun will do the talking," I demanded.
"No need for violence." He gestured to one of my kitchen chairs that sat opposite him. "Please, have a seat. What I'm going to tell you may seem-well, a little fantastical."
"I'm fine standing, thanks, now just get to the talking," I snapped.
He sighed. "Very well. You asked my name and how I got in here. My name I will give as Shadow. As for how I got in-" he nodded to a window behind him, "I climbed through that window."
I frowned. "There's no fire escape out there."
"I know. It wasn't too easy. I must be out of shape."
I snorted. "You're not seriously trying to tell me you climbed up a brick wall to get in h
ere with that glass and wine, are you?"
"I'm telling you exactly that, though I see you don't believe me," he mused. He shrugged and set the wine glass on the end table by his chair. "I suppose that's understandable, but maybe some proof will make you the wiser." He stood and shed his dark overcoat to reveal a white buttoned shirt with elegant black pants and matching shoes.
I tensed and cocked the gun hammer back. "Stay where you are!"
He opened his arms and smiled at me. His tone added a calm, soothing ring to his words. "Will you really shoot me?"
I felt a faintness that tried to rob me of my clear thinking, but I had my gun to focus on and I kept that pointed at my 'guest.' "I will if I have to," I insisted.
"I don't think you will. No, I actually think you'll give me the gun." He took a few slow steps towards me.
"Stay there! I'll shoot!" I warned him.
He didn't stop his slow procession towards me. "Will you? Try it then. I dare you," he taunted me.
I aimed the barrel at his chest. He was larger than me and a hit to the limbs might not have slowed him. I took aim. My finger pressed against the trigger. I told it to pull back, but it wouldn't obey. My hand shook as I struggled with myself to shoot the damn gun. Perspiration ran down my forehead and I grit my teeth. The man came closer until he stood only two feet away.
He stretched out his hand to me. "Now give me the gun." My eyes widened as I loosened my grip on the gun and turned it around so the butt faced him. He took the weapon and tossed it onto his coat. "There, now we can talk like civilized people."
I took a shaky step back. My instincts told me there was something very wrong with this guy. Something not natural. I jumped when my back hit the door. An escape, but one I couldn't risk. Not with him in front of me. He closed the gap between us and set his hands on either side of my head. His golden eyes swept over me and his smile widened. "I don't think enough people have told you how beautiful you are, have they."
A warmth swept through my body and tingled my quivering flesh. The heat pooled between my legs and I ground my teeth together to stifle a groan. "Whatever. . .whatever you're going to do to me. . .do it and. . .and get it over with," I panted.
He chuckled. "It's not going to be as unpleasant as that. I think you're enjoying it right now, or would be if you weren't fighting me."
"I'll. . .I'll fight you all the way," I insisted.
