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HER FRONT DOOR STOOD open and Victor stepped into the darkness, his ears straining to pick up any sound. For a moment, all he heard was Bob's frantic barking, muffled, as though from behind closed doors. Then came the sounds of a scuffle, a grunt, Juliette's pleading voice.
All the lights were off; whether Juliette had turned them off in preparation for heading back out with him, or this Mike fellow had turned them off, he didn't know, but he didn't like the way it made him feel.
No light usually meant dark intentions.
Pausing at the doorway between the living room and kitchen, he listened again. Bob barked and howled from the door at the other end of the kitchen. Most likely the garage—the dog should be safe there for the moment, at least until Victor figured out what was going on.
Victor turned and moved quietly, swiftly, in the other direction, through the little hallway, past the bathroom and a tiny office or guest room, to what he assumed was her bedroom at the end of the hall. The door was closed, and he held his breath, listening. There was only silence.
His heart pounded and a bead of sweat trickled down his spine. Where were the police? Should he wait for them? But what if the man was hurting her? Or worse? His hand scrabbled for his holster...no gun! And his phone was in the console in his car. What was he thinking, barging in here like this, unarmed and alone? He was only putting both of them in danger. Wait for back-up, man.
That's what his head told him, but his heart wasn't complying. "Juliette?" he called through the door.
Then he heard movement again, a loud crash, and a scream. Instinct kicked in, caution exploded into fear, and he turned the handle and thrust his shoulder into the door, sending it flying open. He stepped back quickly, just in case, and paused long enough to realize the only sounds he heard now were desperate cries for help.
She was on the floor, crouched near her closet doors, her curved back reflected in the full-length mirrors. She leaned over a man who lay on his side on the floor, clutching his chest, his eyes large and anxious. A faint keening sound came from between his clenched teeth. He didn't seem to notice when Victor turned on the light, but Juliette flinched as though struck.
Victor crossed the room and knelt beside her. "Juliette." She turned frightened eyes up at him, and a pain so intense it scared him pressed in on his heart when he saw the blood dribbling unchecked from her split lip.
"Call 911," she stammered. "He needs help!"
"The paramedics are coming. Let's get you out of here." He reached for her but she pulled away.
"No! I can't leave him alone." Her voice faltered, but she placed a trembling hand on Mike's chest where his own were clenched in agony. "Mike, can you hear me? I'm here." Then she turned back to Victor, desperation making her voice high-pitched and sharp. "Don't just stand there! Call 911!
The accusation in her voice surprised him, and he spoke more harshly than he intended. "They're already on their way, Juliette." He saw her flinch and he reached out to put a hand on her arm. "But you're hurt, too."
She shrugged his hand off her arm. "I'm fine, Victor. Leave me alone."
Victor stood up and stepped backward, hating the way her words took him back to his childhood, making him feel helpless, worthless, useless. Staring down at her, he tried to get his emotions in check. She needed him to be strong right now; she was obviously not thinking clearly. He circled the man on the floor and crouched down in front of him.
"Sir? Can you hear me?"
Mike nodded. "My chest. Hurts." He spoke through clenched teeth, one hand lifting to grab his throat. "I can't. Breathe."
"Sir, the paramedics are on their way. They'll be here any minute now."
Mike nodded and turned his gaze back to Juliette. "Did I...do that?" His voice was tight, barely more than a whisper, and then he was crying, tears streaming from his eyes, his breathing shallow and rapid. "Oh, Julie. Did I hurt you?"
Juliette shook her head adamantly, and tried to calm him down. "No, no, Mike. Don't worry about it. I just bumped it. Shh."
He lifted one hand toward her, his palm cupping her face. "I'm so sorry, Baby-doll. I'm...so sorry." Then he grimaced, and clutched at his chest again. Juliette choked back a sob.
Victor put a hand on Mike's shoulder, trying desperately to keep his thoughts and feelings in check. Sorry? The man on the floor was an animal. Anyone who could hurt a woman one minute, then apologize for it in tears the next, had no soul. "Sir, you need to focus on me. Pay attention to me, please." He waited until Mike's eyes met his. "Mike, right? I want you to think about your breathing. We need to calm down a little, okay? Slow it down. In through the nose, out through the mouth. Breathe with me, okay?" He didn't know who would benefit more from the exercise; him or Mike. "In through the nose, out through the mouth."
It seemed to be helping. Mike relaxed his jaw a little but there was still fear in his eyes. "I feel like I'm falling," he gasped. "Like...everything is shifting." He reached out and grabbed Victor's hand, clutching it so hard the bones ground against one another.
Victor glance at Juliette. Her tears trickled down her face into the gash at the corner of her mouth, making the blood thin and flow again. Her sleeve was smeared where she'd used it to dab at the worst of it; the front of her pale blue shirt was streaked where blood had first fallen unchecked. He felt himself splintering into two people; the one who hated, and the one who helped anyway. "Hold on to me, Mike. Help is coming. Try to relax, okay? We're here."
Without looking at her again, he asked, "Are you hurt anywhere besides your mouth, Juliette?"
"No." It came out a whimper, then she said it more firmly. "No."
"Where's your phone?"
"In my purse on the kitchen counter."
"Go get it for me. Now." She needed commands; he could see it in her eyes. Fear was driving her, and he needed to be louder and stronger.
She stood up and scurried out of the room, returning shortly. "Dial Gia's number for me, then give me the phone."
While the phone rang, he studied her, watching as her fingers tenderly smoothed the hair back from Mike's face. His heart ached to see her so distraught. She obviously cared deeply for this man, but why? How? How could she love someone who treated her so badly? Why did women love men like this? As far as he was concerned, a heart attack, if that's what Mike was having, seemed just desserts.
Gia answered, her voice small and frightened. He reassured her as quickly as he could, then barked a few instructions for her, hung up, and waited, his eyes on Mike's face again. He was unable to bear what he saw in Juliette's eyes anymore.
A few minutes later, Gia slipped into the room, bringing with her a bag of frozen vegetables wrapped in a damp kitchen towel. She knelt down and offered it to Juliette, who took it wordlessly and pressed it to her mouth. There were tears in Gia's eyes, too, and Victor didn't think he could tolerate one more woman weeping over the man on the floor.
"Gia, will you go out front and wait for the paramedics?" he asked. "They should be here any minute. In fact, I think I hear sirens."
She returned shortly with a whole team of emergency staff, and Victor stepped back, letting the experts have access to both patients. He was familiar with most of them, and he didn't miss the curious looks on their faces as they went about their business. A female officer pulled Juliette aside while a medic did a quick evaluation of her condition. He knew the procedure; they'd be asking her some very personal questions about what had gone on between her and Mike before they arrived. He kept his distance, giving her privacy.
When they seemed satisfied she was okay, they rejoined the cluster around Mike, leaving her alone in the corner of the room, her back to the wall, a new disposable ice-pack pressed to her face.
Victor took a step toward her, then faltered, seeing the way she watched her ex-boyfriend, how she put aside her own suffering for his. He saw how badly she was hurting because Mike was hurting.
It tore a hole in his gut as memories washed over him. His mother holding an icepack to her eye—one he'd made for her with a bag of frozen peas and a pillowcase—crying and apologizing to another man for whatever it was she'd done wrong. Bruises on Sasha's arm, fingerprints clearly defined, and the sick pleasure she took from forcing him to put his small hand over the marks, teasing him that his hands weren't yet big enough to leave bruises like that. Memories of tears in the night, his own, wishing he was man enough to offer his protection, but too afraid to get his ten-year-old body out from under the bed to stand between the blows and the women he loved.
At that moment, Juliette's head came up, her gaze searching the room until she found him. Her face crumpled and she dropped the ice pack as she slid down the wall to the floor, her arms hanging limply at her sides, her eyes never leaving his face.
He had to get her out of here. Now. But just as he started forward, a hand on his shoulder stopped him. He turned around to face a colleague from the force.
"Vic? You got a minute?"
"It'll have to wait," Victor stated. The policeman frowned but stepped aside to let him pass. Victor's eyes went back to Juliette's crumpled form as he circled the crowd to get to her, but Gia made it there first.
