by J. L. Salter
Chapter Thirty-One
The lady I'd briefly seen with a phone must have called the 9-1-1 folks, who presumably dispatched this officer. She didn't bother to hang around, but thank goodness she at least made the call.
With empty hands in plain sight, Ryan approached the officer. It looked like he'd done this before. As the patrolman shifted his scrutiny among the perpetrators on the ground, Ryan began explaining.
I mostly kept my composure until the officer addressed questions to me. Then I lost it. Ryan came back to my side and put his good arm around my shoulder. I turned into his chest and melted into him. Couldn't help it. I sobbed and clutched his back; my face was buried just above his heart.
"Officer, I doubt she can talk much right now, but I'm sure she'd be able to give you a statement later. Meantime, I can answer any questions except for the very beginning. I didn't get involved until I heard her yell 'fire!'."
"Well it looks like these two are out, so start by telling me what you did to that guy writhing in the dirt."
I didn't know cops used words like "writhing".
Ryan shook his head. "Never laid a hand on that one. I just tapped his instep with a little one-by-two scrap over there." He pointed to the debris pile.
The patrolman looked skeptical. "So how come he's moaning and clutching and everything?"
"Well, my friend here had to kick him a few times when he charged toward her… after he'd held her captive and was pawing her."
"She put him down? A big ole boy like that?" The officer stepped closer and peered into the cretin's face. "That lady knocked you down?"
The money order creep didn't answer directly, but the additional volume of his moans appeared to confirm the patrolman's question.
"Okay, maybe we'll get back to him later. What about the other two?" He pointed to each with his flashlight beam.
"Well, that one cut me with a knife and banged my head with a rock or something." Ryan pointed to each wound. "So, I had to protect myself."
"How much protection?"
"I wracked his package with that little old board scrap and tapped his skull with a tiny piece of rebar. At least I think so. I was dazed a bit from being clobbered on the head. Once he came in for another knife blow, I had to neutralize his threat."
"Yeah, he looks pretty neutral. How much of a tap did you give him?" The officer moved over closer to Billy. He saw the knife a few feet away and picked it up by the back of its open blade. "This what he cut you with?"
"Yep. Looked to me like a spring blade, which, as I recall, is illegal around here." As he spoke, I could hear Ryan's voice reverberating in his chest.
"We'll see what the desk sergeant says. I'm going to need another car out here to haul in all three of these suspects." He keyed the mic on his lapel and requested backup. "While we're waiting for them, see if you can explain what happened to that other guy." His flashlight beam flicked over onto Punk Two.
"Uh, he made a run at me and I defended myself." The officer started to interrupt, but Ryan continued. "I whacked the back of his knee with that same one-by-two and then tapped his head with the rebar."
"Did he have a weapon?"
"Probably. I couldn't afford to wait and find out. He charged me, so I had to neutralize his threat."
"I never seen this much injury from a piece of wood trim. Just how big was that rebar?"
"Oh, not much more than thirteen or fourteen inches, I guess." He held open his left palm so the officer could see the brownish stains. "Kinda rusty, too." Ryan pointed to the debris pile. "I can come back out here in daylight tomorrow and try to find it, if need be."
The patrolman just shook his head. He keyed his mic again and told dispatch to re-route the backup patrol unit to the hospital and just send enough ambulances for three injured suspects, two of whom were still unconscious.
"Can we go now? My friend here has been through a lot tonight with these freaks jumping her." Ryan paused. "By the way, they were a lot more than just drunk. You might check their pockets for drugs of some kind."
The patrolman looked like it hadn't occurred to him to frisk the perpetrators. "I'll have to follow the ambulance to the hospital. We'll book them there, if they ever come to."
"Oh, I pretty sure they'll come to, eventually. But all of 'em are gonna walk funny for a while."
"You both be at the station first thing tomorrow — uh, well, make that Monday morning — for a formal statement. And the detective might have more questions. 'Specially since the lady hasn't said anything yet." The officer nodded. "Show me some I.D. and I'll let you folks go home."
Ryan produced his out of county driver's license and got the same spiel as Corporal James had issued. "You better get a local license, buddy." He wrote some of the information on a thick pad from his rear pocket.
"What about you?" His light was in my eyes as I disengaged from Ryan's embrace.
"I dropped my pocketbook somewhere." Finally I could speak. "Over behind the stadium when they first grabbed me."
"I'll go over there with her and we'll look for the purse."
"Okay. But hustle. And don't even think about leaving the scene until I see that other I.D." He began checking the pockets of the men on the ground.
"We'll be right back." Ryan put his left arm around my shoulder again and we slowly walked back toward the stadium. It would have been easier if the officer had loaned us his flashlight, but cops don't lend their equipment.
My legs weren't very steady and we paused a couple of times. I just melted into his chest again and didn't want to let go.
I needed to use the restroom. In fact, I was slightly puzzled that the adrenalin and fear hadn't already caused an accident. Ryan entered first, ascertained it was empty, and waited outside while I dealt with the urgency.
My pocketbook was about where I'd dropped it, but further over toward an expanse of chain-link fencing, very close to the new concession stand. Still had my cash, too. I must have been the very last person out of the bleachers.
"What else are you looking for?" Ryan peered into my face.
"I had a headband when all this started. Guess it fell off over in the parking lot somewhere."
"We can come look tomorrow, if you want."
"No. Leave it. I don't want to see this place again 'til next season… if then."
As we returned, the ambulance was loading the first of the perpetrators. I gave the patrolman my I.D., which he studied intently before writing some notes.
"Officer, did you get the name of whoever called 9-1-1? I saw a lady with a phone — way over there." I pointed.
"Police dispatch might have it. If not, their records will have the number and we can find her." He returned my I.D. "How much did she see?"
"She saw me struggling with these three and watched for a second before she pulled out her phone. She witnessed most of the beginning." Of course, she was probably about a hundred-fifty feet away.
"And I saw the end." Ryan nodded.
"Hold on." The officer pointed to Ryan. "Why didn't you call?"
He held out empty hands. "Guess I left my phone in my truck when I jumped out. I got in a hurry when I recognized Kris and saw she was in trouble."
The patrolman nodded but he was obviously still puzzled by something.
"So, can I take her home now?"
"Unless you want to stay and let the EMT guys look at those cuts."
Ryan started to shake his head but reconsidered. "Yeah, they can tell me how bad it is."
"Okay. But statement at the station, first thing Monday. You don't show and I'll come get you."
We both nodded and the officer returned to his business with the perpetrators.
I followed Ryan to the EMT truck, where there was plenty of light. Even though I was practically glued to his left side, I didn't actually absorb much of Ryan's conversation with the medic.
Ryan painfully shrugged off his jacket part-way, just enough to show his arm to the technician. The medic examined it without touchi
ng anything — which I guessed was a liability issue — and they spoke briefly. Then Ryan yelped as he put his jacket back on. He turned again to me and said softly, "Let's go."
"Isn't he going to treat your cut?"
"Nope. Said I'd have to go to E.R. These guys just work on cases that aren't ambulatory."
I thought the EMT did more than that, but I was in no frame of mind to argue or even question. Besides, if that E.R. doctor saw me clinging to Ryan, he'd know we weren't cousins anymore. But what were we? I didn't know yet, but definitely not cousins.
Ryan walked me back to my vehicle on the other end of that same parking lot, completely empty except for us and the activity we'd just left. It took me a moment to remember where I'd put my car keys. Left front pocket of my jeans.
"Thanks, uh, for coming to help." I had to fight back my tears. "I mean, taking care of those three punks."
He looked in the direction of the debris pile. "I only dealt with two. You took down the other one."
"Yeah. After you crippled him." I inhaled the contents of my sinuses rather noisily. "Speaking of… why'd you let him loose on me?"
"You needed to get some closure on this situation. That was the best way." Ryan sounded like he knew what he was talking about.
"What if I'd panicked and just stood there?"
A slight grin stretched his sweat-stained lips. "I didn't figure you for a 'freezer'. I hobbled him to even up your disadvantage, being smaller and lighter than him."
"You had time to calculate all that?"
"More like an estimate." Ryan touched the back of one hand to his forehead wound and winced.
"Well, anyhow, thanks. You know, for rescuing me… again."
"Huh?" It took him a second. "Oh, yeah, the wooden jail. Okay, you're welcome again. Plus, you rescued me at the dog pound."
"Okay. That's two rescues to one. So I still owe you one."
"I know how you can pay me back."
Okay, here it comes. Just when I was warming up to this guy again, and next he would say I had to sleep with him in order to make things even. "Well, let's hear it." I'm sure some tone was evident in my voice.
Ryan pointed to his cut arm. "Patch me up. Then we're even."
That took the wind out of me. Not only was I expecting him to suggest a roll in the hay, but I was more than halfway looking forward to it. All this buccaneer wanted was a little first aid. Good grief. "Oh. Sure. Your place or mine?"
"I'll follow you home. Assuming you have some antiseptic and different kinds of bandages."
"Pretty sure I do. Okay, follow me. If we get separated, remember it's a left on Fleming, just where the storage buildings are, on the other side of Quarry Pike."
"We won't get separated. I'm sticking to your tail."
The way he said it seemed innocent enough, but somehow it also made me slightly hot. No, not angry. The other hot. I decided he could get as close to my bumper as he wanted.
****
I drove slowly, but not so much to keep from losing Ryan. He'd been there twice before and surely remembered the way. It was mostly because I was still so rattled. In encounters with unreasonable fear and violent results — even if not physically injured — one's senses are overloaded with adrenalin. Or something. Whatever it was, it made me cry again… especially at the red lights, but I think I whimpered most of the way home.
When I parked in the driveway and got out of my car, Ryan was close behind. I waited, leaning against a fender.
He could easily see I'd been crying again. "What's the matter, Kris?"
I shook my head slowly, but didn't know the words to express my combination of panic, fear, elation, revenge, release, whatever. No words. When he opened his left arm, I practically tackled him. My whimpers became sobs and my entire body shuddered with everything that came out of me.
Ryan seemed in no hurry. That was an extra comfort. If he had shrugged out of my clutches and left me sobbing against the vehicle — like Wally had done — I might very well have died right there on Fleming Lane. But Ryan didn't flee. He just held me tighter. He said something, but I couldn't make it out with one ear buried in his chest and my other filled with my own sobbing and gasping. His embrace was soothing, comforting, and made me feel safe again. Safe. I craved safety.
I needed to feel secure with someone, with a man I could trust.
After a while I regained enough composure to lean back and look into his face. I'd temporarily forgotten about his injuries. Blood trickled down his left temple to his cheek; one tiny crimson branch made its way toward his lips. When I'd first met him, he wore a costume as Captain Blood. Now his real blood flowed because he'd rescued me again. The first instance, comparatively uneventful, was to find a cage in the dark and open the intricate latch. But our new experience was an entirely different strata — the stuff of action hero movies or historical romance novels. Someone able to protect me who was also willing to fight for me. A rescuer who put himself in danger for me. A pirate not for plunder, but for safe harbor. Odd combination.
When I turned to lead him toward my door, my hand brushed his right arm and he winced. His knife cut — I hadn't even examined it yet. The street light provided enough illumination but all I could see was the rip in the sleeve of his dark brown barn coat. Blood was soaked around and below it.
"Let's get you inside. You're a mess."
When he grinned with that head-wound blood near his mouth, I had a vampiric desire to taste it. But I resisted. Shouldn't lick blood, but I surely did want to kiss him. Later, Kristen. Time for some first aid.
Chapter Thirty-Two
I was still too shaky, so I gave my house key to Ryan, who used it left-handed. I wondered how badly his other arm was cut. "Can you shuck that jacket?"
"Might need some help with this sleeve." He nodded toward the injured side. "Uh, be gentle. It's my first time."
I gasped. The blood had soaked the heavy duck material of his jacket sleeve. "We'd better go into the kitchen. Tile is easier to clean than Mister Harold's carpet."
Ryan followed. I pulled over one of the two chairs from my small dining table. He remained standing and groaned considerably as we jointly removed the jacket. His shirt's long sleeve was sliced in the same spot and also soaked with blood. I bundled the jacket and placed it on the counter.
I began unbuttoning his shirt and got down below Ryan's ribcage before his left hand covered mine. "What's wrong?" I looked up into his face. "And don't tell me 'long story'."
He smiled. "No, it's a very short story. I've got a tickle zone down in that area…"
I wanted desperately to know how far down his tickle zone went, but that would have to wait. At present, there was blood to deal with. "Okay. You handle the tickle part and I'll help when you get to the sleeve. Meantime, I need to shed my own jacket."
I headed for the bathroom in the master suite where I dwelled. End of the hall, past the two locked bedrooms where my landlord kept who-knew-what.
I took a look in the mirror and nearly shrieked. I hadn't seen myself since I used the restroom during halftime, way before the attack. I was a mess, not even counting all the blood on my face and hair… and favorite leather jacket. Had to be Ryan's. My cheek still stung from Billy's backhand, but I wasn't injured — at least not any wounds involving blood. But I'd have to deal with my appearance later.
By the time I'd washed my hands and returned to the kitchen, Ryan had one arm out of the shirt, which hung oddly on his right shoulder.
"Unless you're planning to wear this shirt again, it'd be easiest to just cut it off. At least in the movies it is." We both knew that shirt was a goner. I turned to the drawer which held scissors and related implements.
Ryan nodded. "But be careful with those shears."
"I'll cut from the opposite side and we can peel past the wound. Okay?"
"Yeah."
I began cutting at his cuff. Slowly, I worked my way up the inside of his arm past the elbow. From there, I took care not to apply any pressu
re over the fabric on the outside rear of his bicep area, where the cut seemed to be. When I got to the armpit seam, I paused. "I guess I should just go on up past the shoulder." Never studied the protocol on cutting shirts off handsome, brave men.
"Whatever."
"I can't reach up top and I don't want to miss and slice off your ear or something. You'll have to sit down."
He did, with a groan.
I continued with the scissors until the main shirt portion was completely separated from the entire right sleeve assembly and the sleeve was split from stem to stern. It was a mess. "Okay to toss the pieces?"
Ryan nodded. "But check my pockets."
I did; both front pockets were empty.
Some rivulets of blood had curled around the back of his arm to his elbow. Others had trickled down to his wrist and at least one streak had partly dried in the coarse hair on the back of his hand. There was also a sizeable red stain soaking into his rather tight T-shirt, in the area of his right ribcage. "How much blood did you lose anyway?"
"Not sure. It burns like crazy."
"Turn around a bit so I can get better light on it."
He did.
"Oh my!"
"What?" He was startled by my volume. "How bad is it?" When Ryan stood, a few more blood drops fell to the kitchen floor. "Bring me a mirror so I can see."
I hustled to my bathroom, returned with a hand mirror, and positioned it.
"Back a bit. Lower. Okay, there. Hold it steady." Ryan's left hand reached around and tentatively touched the area around the cut. "Swab it with something so I can see the cut."
"All I have is alcohol and hydrogen peroxide."
His instruction was hurried. "Peroxide first."
I ran back to my bathroom and grabbed both bottles, plus a handful of cotton balls. Halfway back down the hall I remembered the box of assorted plastic bandages.
"Okay. Ready?" I held up the brown plastic bottle.
"Peroxide. Right?"
"Yeah. Raise your arm a bit." It needed to be somewhat horizontal.
I doused the liquid over a large cotton ball and he winced as I softly squeezed it above the cut. With our relative positions — me standing very closely to work on his wound — his dangling forearm brushed against my lower ribcage. My mind was on his injury, but I could feel his touch. It was difficult for the brain to focus on first aid when other sensors were screaming, pleasure. But I had to.