Chapter 8
When he shows up again, it’s over two weeks after the last time he was here, but this time, he speaks from the shadows of the trees between the church and the rectory. I was ensuring the house was locked up since it’s being worked on by a maintenance crew when I heard the snap of twigs nearby.
“Father,” he says simply.
I turn my head in his direction, finding only a dark figure leaning against a tree trunk maybe twelve feet away. The sun has already dipped well below the horizon, and the clouds in the sky make it darker than it normally would be at this time. He’s wearing a baseball cap pulled down low.
“Hello,” I reply. “Wasn’t sure you’d come back.”
“Yeah, well, desperate times.” His voice is low and rough, the words sounding like they’ve gone through a shredder first.
“You okay?”
He pushes off the tree, grunting. “Shit.” His hand goes for his side, alerting me of an injury.
“Do you need help?” I ask, stepping forward.
“Is that house open?” he asks, jerking his head toward the rectory, his voice strained.
“I have the key.”
“Anybody in there?”
“Not right now. It’s being worked on.”
“Can we go inside?”
I hesitate. I don’t know anything about this man except that he’s likely killed a lot of people. It’s not smart to go inside an empty house with him without letting anyone know what’s going on or where to find me.
He takes a step forward and grunts, clutching his side. After another step, I’m not sure he’ll be able to stand much longer.
“Dammit,” I say under my breath, rushing to the house.
I unlock the door and push it open before I make my way back toward him.
“I got you,” I say, my arm wrapping around his waist from his non-injured side.
He curses the whole way, grunting with each step until we’re inside and I get him to a chair.
“I don’t have my phone with me,” I tell him. “Do you have yours? I can call an ambulance.”
The man shakes his head slightly, his head lowered so I can’t properly see his face. However, I can still tell he’s in a lot of pain.
“No,” he states, reaching into his hoodie pocket.
I step back, fear climbing up my spine, but then I see what’s in his hand. A small, plastic box.
“What’s that?”
“Suture kit,” he says through gritted teeth. “Swiped it before I came over here. Can you?”
“I think you need a doctor.”
“Nah,” he says, standing up and reaching for the zipper that’ll open up the hoodie he’s wearing.
Grimacing and cursing, he eventually gets both arms free from the sleeves, the material dropping to the floor, leaving him in a black tank top. Though it’s dark, I still immediately spot the wet, blood-soaked section of his shirt.
“What happened?”
“Could you just—” He doesn’t finish, instead he grunts and gestures to his injury.
“Lie down,” I say, pushing the small coffee table away from the loveseat.
He finds his way over, lying across the cushions with one leg dangling over the arm, and the other one planted on the floor.
“This couch is rough as fuck.”
“It’s old. I’ll be back.”
I rush toward the linen closet to grab some towels, then I go to the kitchen for a bowl of water.
At the couch, I drop to my knees and lift up his shirt. His arm is across his eyes, lifting his cap off his forehead, and his mouth is set in a firm line.
I take one of the cloths and dip it in the water before gently wiping away the blood that’s covering the wound.
“Is this a stab wound? Bullet? Anything lodged in there?”
“No bullet.”
Once I find the cut, I start questioning whether anything I do will actually help. It’s fairly long, but I’m not sure how deep.
I hand him a dry washcloth. “Might wanna bite down on this.”
He ignores it, but as soon as I start inspecting the laceration, he starts yelling.
“Fuck!”
I open the kit and get what I need. “It’s been a while since I’ve had to do this. I still think a hospital is a better option.”
“Just do it.”
With the needle holder, I grip the suture and press the tip of the curved needle into his flesh.
“Goddammit!” he curses, bringing his fist to his mouth.
“Sorry.”
With the tweezers, I grab a hold of the skin and puncture through the other side before tying a sloppy knot. I repeat the process all the way down the length of the cut, which has to be at least six inches.
It feels like it takes forever, but the man stays conscious throughout the experience, biting down on his hand or yelling into the room. I take a wet cloth and clean it once more before looking around for something to cover it with.
“Hold on.”
“Not going anywhere,” he grunts.
I make my way to the bedroom and rip a pillowcase from the pillow. I fold it in half and then get back to my knees next to the couch and cover the wound. I tuck the end under his body, and let the rest lie over his stomach.
“To keep any dirt or anything from seeping in there,” I tell him. “I don’t think we have any medication in here.”
“I’m guessing you don’t have any hard liquor either.”
“No.”
He attempts to sit up, groaning in the process.
I put my hand on his shoulder and push him back. “Take it easy. You can stay here for the night.”
The man looks at me then, and I realize it’s the first time I’m studying his face. I’d been so focused on taking care of the wound that I never took the time to see the person I was caring for.
His hair is like onyx, and his eyes are nearly as dark. They’re narrowed on me, studying my face like I’m the one to be suspicious of. His square jaw is covered with hair, like it’s been a couple weeks since he’s shaved.
He’s handsome. And scary. Tattoos wrap around his throat and arms, but his torso is free of ink. It allows me to see just how fit he is.
Familiarity sparks somewhere in the back of my head.
“You said this place is being worked on.”
I ease back. “They don’t work on Sundays. You’ll be left alone tomorrow.”
He eyes me again, like he can’t trust me. “Do you live here?”
I shake my head. “No. I’m…far away,” I say, being vague, lying about how close I actually do live to the church. His stomach growls loudly. “I can go get you some food. This place isn’t stocked since nobody’s living here.”
“It’s fine,” he says.
I stand up. “I’ll be back. I’ll also grab some pain medication.”
“I said it’s fine.”
“And I’m not listening to you. You clearly make questionable decisions.”
I think I hear him snort out a laugh as I make my way to the door, locking it before I close it behind me.
What the hell am I getting myself into?