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“WHERE IS HE?” TONITA Clifford said as she pushed open the door to Dominic’s apart and hurried past him.
“He’s in the kitchen.”
She paused in the hallway. “What? Was it your cooking?
“Don’t be a smart ass,” Dominic said, leading her to the old man still lying on the floor just at the kitchen doorway. “I think I stopped the bleeding.”
Tonita put her fingers to the side of the old man’s neck.
“I don’t think he’s dead?” Dominic said as more of a question than a statement.
“He’s not. He’s got a pulse. Weak, but still there.”
Dominic pulled back the old man’s coat and shirt slightly. “It looks like there’s a gash in his chest. I don’t know if there are any other injuries. I was afraid to move him until you got here.
“Dom? Why didn’t you call the police, or an ambulance, or a doctor?” Tonita felt around the old man’s chest and stomach, sliding her hands as far as she could around the back of his rib cage.
“I called you.” Dominic stood, moving to the other side of the old man.
“I know. That’s why I asked. Why me? Why not some authority?”
Dominic hesitated looking from the limp body of the old man to the expectant gaze of green eyes. Even now, having been shocked awake from a deep sleep, hurriedly dressing, and looking disheveled, Tonita Clifford was striking. “I knew you had medical training and that you’d be able to help him,” Dominic said, his voice only just above a whisper.
“I was a candy striper! That does not make me a doctor.” Tonita stood, brushing loose strands of hair from her eyes. “We’ve got to get him to the hospital.” She picked up the telephone and began to dial.
Dominic jumped up grabbing the phone from her. “We can’t.” He felt as though he was near panic and was sure Tonita could read him.
“Dom?” Tonita paused, looking directly at Dominic, “You didn’t have anything to do with this?” She motioned toward the old man. “I mean...did you?” She did read him.
He didn’t let her continue. “Are you nuts?”
“No. Concerned.” She eyed him quizzically.
“I couldn’t do anything like this.”
Tonita’s eyes shot down to the telephone still in Dominic’s hand and then back to his eyes.
Dominic glanced away from her and tightened his grip around the telephone handset.
“Then why don’t you want me to call a doctor?”
Dominic sensed the slightest hint of fear in her voice. It was the last thing that he wanted to do. Scare her? Hell, I’m petrified! He couldn’t lose her. He needed her too much. The instant they had met, some ten weeks ago—wait, he hesitated. Ten weeks? Is that all it’s been? It seemed longer.
“Well?” She interrupted his thoughts, then held out her hand.
For the longest moment he remained silent as he contemplated a barrage of questions that all demanded answers at once. Did he trust her? Did she trust him? He didn’t really know her. It had only been ten weeks. Their relationship had happened so quickly. He was in the middle of sorting out his own life crises and suddenly there she was. He wanted to believe it was divine intervention. But dismissed that idea and just went with pure coincidence.
Did she believe him? Why should she? His thoughts of self-doubt shouted internally. Why should she trust him? He hadn’t given her any reason to. He handed the telephone to her.
She immediately began to dial.
She doesn’t trust me. He placed his hand on hers. He was cautious, aware of the touch of his hand to her skin. “Hear me out. Then if you want to, call a doctor or the police, whatever. I won’t care.”
Tonita cocked her head and looked at him, her fingers still poised to dial. Then, she replaced the telephone to its cradle “First, we take care of him.” She nodded in the direction of the old man. “Then you talk.” She moved back to the injured old man.
Dominic remained, frozen.
“You’re going to have to help me,” she said, removing one shoe from the old man’s foot.
“Thank you for trusting me.” Dominic moved to help her with the old man’s clothing. “I don’t know why he’s here or what happened to him. He was just here.”
“Dom?” She looked at him pulling the worn shoe from the old man’s other foot “I don’t have time for games. I don’t know if I trust you.” She noticed a sudden grimace on Dominic’s face, then added, “I don’t know what to believe, I don’t know what to think. I only know that this man is not going to live if we don’t help him. So shut up and help me.” She continued to undress the man, pulling off his socks and then his pants.
Dominic had the old man’s overcoat nearly off when he noticed a glint of light from some shining object on the man’s chest. He continued to remove the coat as carefully as possible, peeling it away from the man’s body. Then he unbuttoned the remaining buttons of the old man’s shirt. “Oh my God!” He pulled the shirt, soaked with blood, back away from the object imbedded into the old man’s chest.
“What the hell is that?” Tonita wiped some of the blood away with her hand. “Get me some wet cloths—clean ones if you’ve got any?”
Dominic jumped up, retrieved the dishtowel from the sink and several others from a nearby drawer. He turned on the tap, soaking the towels in the hottest water that his own hands could take.
“Here,” he said tossing, one to Tonita.
She caught it without hesitation and brushed it gently over the wound. The fabric of the towel caught on the object and pulled it up partially away from the old man’s chest.
“Oh shit.” Dominic’s voice rose. “Careful. Careful!”
“Would you stop?” Tonita shook her head. “As if I’m trying to hurt him.” She pulled the twisted and frayed pieces of cloth slowly away from the object that was now protruding from the wound.
“What the hell?” Dominic didn’t intend the irony.
Tonita, raised her eyebrow, then carefully wiped the dried blood away from the object.
A crucifix.
“Why would anyone do that?” Dominic asked, not really hoping for her to answer.
“I should be asking you that.” Tonita pulled up on the crucifix. It slid up easily.
“Should you be doing that?” Dominic grimaced as he asked.
“Probably not,” Tonita said as the long, ice pick like stake that had been attached to back side of the crucifix slid completely out of the old man’s chest.
The old man heaved and choked.
“Quick. Turn his head to the side, he’s choking,” Tonita spat the words out as she applied pressure to the chest wound.
The old man choked again, his gag reflex taking over. He vomited. His body convulsed.
“Hold him still,” she yelled.
“I’m trying,” Dominic said, leaning into the man.
The old man’s body convulsed again, his legs kicking widely, his arms flailing, twisting. A gasping sound emanated from his throat. He gagged, arched his neck up off the floor, and gagged again.
Dominic held the man’s head to the side.
The old man spat out blood and vomit, then fell silent.
Dominic stared at the body, then quickly drew back his hands and sucked in a quick breath. The raw stench of blood and vomit mixed together and he could taste it in the air. He gagged. “Is he dead?”
Tonita held up the small crucifix with the four-inch spike welded in place to the smooth metal on the back of it, looked to the old man and then to Dominic. “Now, can we call the police?”