Chapter 14 #2
My knuckles go white against the steering wheel, my mind filling with images of what I would do to the Meyers if I ever see them again.
The violence of these thoughts should horrify me.
Instead, they bring a disturbing comfort.
My mind drifts to Daryl Rawlings, and I can’t help but hope whoever killed him finds the Meyers before Karen does.
I stare at the sweet, injured animal on my surgical table, fighting to stay clinical, to keep my hands steady.
“Blood pressure’s dropping.” Maren’s usual humor is absent in the sterile intensity of the operating room.
“I see it.”
I work to free the embedded collar. It’s grown into his flesh, the skin healing around the metal and leather in grotesque ridges.
“Saline.”
Maren hands me the syringe. We’ve done this dance too many times.
The hybrid wolf-dog, part Alaskan husky from the look of him, doesn’t even twitch under the anesthesia. His body is so worn down and depleted, but I refuse to accept the possibility of him not making it.
“Oh, I didn’t tell you, I got a call from Karen earlier.” I break the heavy silence as I separate another section of collar from raw flesh. “They’ve identified the body.”
Maren’s hands pause. “Yeah? Who was it?”
“Daryl Rawlings.”
“Are you fucking kidding me?” Maren’s mouth drops open. “Good fucking riddance to him, I say. Piece of shit deserved it. Just like the piece of shit who did this.”
“Careful with the suction here.” I reach over and guide her hand.
Two hours crawl by, my back aching, fingers growing stiff, but I refuse to rush. This boy deserves my best, my most careful attention after everything he’s endured. By the time I place the final suture, my scrubs are drenched with sweat and spattered with pus and blood.
I step back from the table, overwhelmed by exhaustion. “Let’s get him to recovery.”
Together, we transfer his limp body to a soft bed in the recovery den.
I arrange warm blankets around him, careful not to disturb the fresh bandages around his neck.
His breathing is shallow but steady. The blood-matted and waste-covered fur we’ve cleaned reveals patches of beautiful silver-white coloring.
He’s going to be stunning once he heals.
I collapse into a chair beside his bed, unable to take my eyes off his sleeping form. I should be documenting the procedure and updating his chart, but I can’t seem to move. Maren disappears and returns a few minutes later with a steaming mug she presses into my hands.
“Drink.”
The familiar smell of Earl Grey mixed with a healthy dose of whiskey hits my nostrils. I take it without argument, letting the burning liquid slide down my throat.
Maren pulls up a chair beside me. “What did his owners call him again?”
“Demon.”
“Assholes.” She shakes her head in disgust. “What are you going to name him? You’ve obviously claimed him already.”
As usual, she’s right. He’s now a permanent resident here.
I study him. Despite everything—the starvation, the abuse, the neglect—there’s a dignity in his face. A resilience in his very survival that takes my breath away.
“Ghost. His name is Ghost.”
“Fitting.” Maren’s expression grows serious. “Luna, whatever you’re thinking… Don’t.”
My head snaps up. “What are you—”
“I know that look.” Her voice is gentle but firm. “I’ve seen it every time we get one of these cases. But this time it’s different. You’re not only angry. You’re planning.”
I look away, my chest tightening. “If you’d seen where he was kept, Maren. The chains. The filth. How those monsters treated him…” My voice catches, and I blink back tears. “Thomas Meyers and his wife don’t deserve to be walking free after what they did.”
“I know. And they’ll face charges. The sheriff—”
“The sheriff can’t do shit, and you know it.” I surprise myself with the vehemence in my voice. “It’s the courts. They’ll get a fine, maybe. Animal abuse isn’t taken seriously enough in this state.”
Maren sighs and reaches for my hand. “That may be true, but your job is to heal them, not to deliver justice.”
My shoulders slump as the fight drains out of me. “I wish…” I trail off, uncertain if I should voice the darkness swirling inside me.
“Wish what?”
I stare into my mug. “I wish whoever left Daryl Rawlings’s body on my porch would find Thomas and his wife before Karen does.”
There, I said it. The words hang in the air, dangerous once spoken aloud, a confession I can’t take back.
Maren’s eyebrows shoot up. “Whoa, Luna ‘Do No Harm’ Foster actually wishing harm on someone? Now I’ve heard everything.” Her tone is light and teasing, but she can’t hide her concern. Not from me.
“I know, I know.” I take another sip of the spiked tea. “That’s what scares me. That I don’t just think it. I want it.”
“Look, I’m not saying I disagree.” Maren stretches her legs out in front of her.
“Those people deserve a special place in hell. But this isn’t you, Lu.
You’re the person who once spent three days hand-feeding a baby squirrel every two hours.
You cried when we couldn’t save that elk with the broken back. ”
“Maybe I’m changing.” I watch Ghost’s chest rise and fall.
“Maybe we all are.” Maren nudges my shoulder. “Hey, if it helps, I’ll totally hold the Meyers down while you tattoo ‘animal abuser’ across their foreheads. Much more ethical than wishing vigilante justice on them, right?”
“You’re on.”
“For what it’s worth, I get it. These cases… they chip away at you. Make you question humanity. But you can’t let them change who you are at your core.”
I nod, knowing she’s right, but I’m not quite ready to let go of my anger. It wraps around me like armor, protecting the parts of my heart that break a little more with each case like this one.
And maybe, just maybe, that armor is what I need right now.