Forsaken

by Jana Oliver

  “Yeah, big-time,” Beck said.

  Carmela paused to hit the light switch by the door, then hefted an orange suitcase onto the end of the bed. Flipping it open, she tossed out medical supplies like a squirrel unearthing acorns. Bandages, scissors, empty trash bags, IV solution, and tubing all fell in a disorganized heap on the covers.

  “The Holy Water I have is a few days old. We need fresher than that,” she said.

  “Harrison’s on his way,” Beck replied. He grabbed a pair of surgical scissors and applied the business end to the left blue jean leg, trying to keep his cool. He’d treated soldiers on the battlefield. You worked on what would kill them first. In this case, it was the poison in Riley’s system. But this wasn’t some young private from Ohio. This was Paul’s daughter, the little girl who used to follow him around like a heartsick puppy.

  “Hey, don’t be stupid,” Carmela said. She tossed him a pair of latex gloves. “You don’t want that crap in your system. All it takes is a paper cut.”

  “Thanks.” Why had he forgotten that? His hands shook as he tugged on the gloves, making the job twice as hard.

  Get your head in the game! It was Paul’s voice and it had the desired effect. He bent down and began to work on the denim. The pants leg came free, leaving only an inch or so for modesty at the top. He examined the thigh—six individual claw marks, all of them swollen and draining brown pus.

  “Now that’s seriously gross,” the doc said. She gently placed an electronic thermometer in Riley’s ear and then whistled the moment the numbers appeared on the digital readout. “104.3. I’d expect 103, tops. Something else is going on.”

  Carmela took hold of Riley’s ankle, carefully lifting the leg. The girl moaned in response. “Lay down a plastic barrier, then a bunch of those disposable towels. By the time we get done this place is going to look like an oil slick.”

  Beck did as he was told, trying not to wince every time Riley moaned.

  “What happened?” the doc asked.

  “She went trappin’ on her own.”

  “Why the hell didn’t she treat it?”

  He had no answer.

  “Beck?” They turned to find Father Harrison in the doorway. He was in his usual black suit and clerical collar, a large backpack in hand.

  “Father,” Beck said. “Thanks for comin’ so quickly.”

  He could tell the moment the priest saw Riley: Harrison’s face sobered and he made the sign of the cross. “How much do you need?” the priest asked.

  “At least a half gallon to start with,” Carmela replied, her back to him.

  It took three attempts before the doctor found a decent vein in Riley’s right arm. Once the IV was secured, she flipped it wide open, then applied a snug bandage. “Maybe that’ll keep her from tearing the thing out. This is going to get rough.”

  “Yeah.” The fresher the Holy Water, the more it hurt when it came in contact with anything demonic. The treatment was going to rip the girl apart.

  Carmela studied him. “I know what you’re thinking. Trust me, it beats being dead.”

  “Maybe that’s what she wanted,” he replied.

  “Ugly way to go.”

  Beck caught her tone of voice. “Ya don’t think she’ll make it, do ya?”

  “Not sure. The one thing she’s got going for her is her age.”

  “And God,” Father Harrison added from his position near the door. He offered up two quart jugs of Holy Water.

  “Him, too,” Carmela replied. She took the jugs from Harrison and then handed him a pair of gloves. At the priest’s quizzical look, she explained, “Hold down her legs. You try to keep her on the bed, Den. I’ll do the honors.”

  As he bent over to pin Riley’s shoulders down, Beck whispered in her ear, “Sorry, girl. This is gonna to hurt like a sonovabitch.”

  Father Harrison closed his eyes and began to pray, his steady voice filling the room with verbal hope. Beck wondered if it would be enough.

  Beck heard the doctor mumble something as she spread wide the first claw mark. The priest changed tone, speaking louder now.

  “In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost, we humbly implore you to heal your servant who has valiantly fought the legions of darkness. Drive out the poison that afflicts her body and purify her soul.…”

  Beck swallowed hard as the sacred liquid sank inside the wound.

  The reaction was immediate. Riley’s shriek nearly deafened him as she shot straight up off the mattress. He forced her down as she screamed and cried, her fingernails digging into the flesh on both his arms. He winced at the rush of pain as she found his healing wounds. No matter how bad it hurt, it was nothing compared to what she was feeling.

  Come on girl, pass out, will ya?

  But she didn’t and continued to tear at him. Carmela moved to the next wound, then the next. The Holy Water bubbled and hissed, sending up a thick vapor that hovered in the air for a moment then evaporated.

  Father Harrison continued to pray, his face as white as his collar.

  “No! No!” Riley screamed. As she twisted and cried, Beck knew how it felt—like someone was burning her bones from the inside out.

  “There’s the problem,” Carmela said, sounding relieved. “A broken claw. No wonder she’s like this.” The doc plucked a set of forceps from the bag and turned her attention to the wound.

  As the doc removed the hooked claw, Riley painted the room with an earsplitting scream. Then the darkness pulled her under.

  * * *

  His muscles aching from the effort, Beck slumped against the wall, his stomach tumbling. He swallowed repeatedly to keep from heaving. Riley had looked right at him, cursing him. She would never forgive him.

  “Sweet Jesus,” he whispered.

  “Yeah,” Carmela muttered.

  Father Harrison slowly made the sign of the cross and finished his prayer.

  “Hands of God and all that?” Carmela asked, regrouping with that particular resilience that doctors seemed to possess.

  “It always is,” the priest replied. His forehead remained furrowed. “Do you need more Holy Water?”

  “I think we’ve got enough. At least the next time it won’t burn so bad.”

  Stripping off his gloves and throwing them on the bed, Beck crossed to the window and sucked in deep gulps of air to clear his head. When he turned around, Carmela was sitting on the wooden chair near the bed, her mouth a grim line.

  “Tell me that was worth it,” Beck said.

  She arched an eyebrow. “Too soon to tell.”

  Someone pounded on the apartment door and the priest headed in that direction. Words were exchanged and then the priest reappeared.

  “Tenants from downstairs. They were upset that we woke them up. I reassured them that we’d be quiet from now on.”

  Beck snorted. He turned and stared out the window for a long time, listening to the whimpers coming from the bed behind him.

  What if she dies? The very thought felt like ice in his veins.

  “Den?”

  “Huh?” He found Carmela packing her bag. The bed was clean and she had a trash bag on the floor by the door. “Yer leavin’?” he asked, feeling an uncharacteristic panic.

  “Only for a few hours. I’ve got some other folks to check on.”

  When he didn’t reply, Carmela cocked her head. “You okay?”

  He waved her off. No way he could admit what he was feeling at this moment.

  “You know how to change the IV, so I can skip that lecture,” Carmela said. “I bandaged her hand. Looks like she sliced it on something. It should heal just fine.”

  “I didn’t even see that,” he admitted.

  “Easy to miss with the thigh being as bad as it is. I’ve put one liter of fluid through her and I’ve set the rate at one-fifty an hour. If she starts to pee, turn it down, though I doubt you’ll have that problem to contend with.” She scratched her chin. “I’ll file the tax paperwork for the Holy Water.”

 
“Yeah, can’t have the city not get their tax money,” Beck replied bitterly.

  “I’ll be here at noon and we’ll do it all over again.”

  “Noon. Okay.” He could make it until them. “Harrison still here?”

  “Gone. He’s got mass this morning, so he had to scoot.”

  Carmela zipped the suitcase closed, watching him more closely than he liked.

  “Thanks. I owe ya,” he said.

  The doctor nodded. “You do.” She glanced over at Riley. “If the Holy Water works, she’ll live. If not…”

  The words hung in the air, like a sword pulled from a sheath.

  When Beck heard the apartment door thud closed, he collapsed into a chair near the bed. His eyes shut immediately, the stress and exhaustion pulling him down toward needed oblivion.

  Riley called out for her dad. Then her mother. It tore his heart to hear her like that. He took her sweaty hand, holding it as gently as possible.

  “Sorry, girl, they’re gone.”

  All ya got is me.

  EIGHTEEN

  Riley awoke in semidarkness. She wasn’t boiling hot now. That was good. Her mind felt hazy from the fever, and all her muscles ached like she’d run a marathon. It took a while to realize she was in her own bed. There was a creak of wood; someone was sitting in the chair, reading by the light of a dim lamp.

  “Dad?”

  “No honey, it’s Carmela.”

  “Carmela?” The brain wasn’t cooperating. It felt like it was full of week-old pudding.

  When she didn’t reply, the woman added, “The Guild’s doctor?”

  “Oh, yeah, sorry,” Riley said, trying to sit up. “Where’s my dad?”

  The doctor didn’t answer, but Riley’s memory did, slitting through the fog with frightening clarity.

  Dad’s gone. The tears wouldn’t come.

  Why didn’t I die? I’d have been okay with that.

  More bad memories trooped in like an avenging army: She’d caught a demon and lost it, but not before it had ripped her to shreds. Riley tried shifting her left leg, but she couldn’t feel it. Maybe they’d sliced it off. They’d probably give her one of those high-tech titanium legs, like some of the soldiers used.

  I’ll never find shoes to fit.

  “My leg, is it—”

  “It’s still here. The Holy Water makes it numb. Trust me, it’s for the best.” A pause. “Why didn’t you treat your wounds, Riley?”

  “I did. It hardly hurt at all. When you guys did it…” She shuddered.

  “You must have used older Holy Water. Father Harrison was here, so ours was really stout. He’d consecrated it that morning.”

  They called in a priest? That was sobering. Riley pulled herself up again. It was hard to move when her leg acted like it wasn’t there.

  “Here.” Carmela handed her a glass of clear soda, and she took a lengthy sip. The cold fluid felt good going down and rinsed away the yucky film in her throat.

  “So what happened?” the doc asked as she settled on the edge of the bed. Her hair was in a bun at the back of her head, and she was wearing a light orange shirt and blue jeans.

  Riley didn’t think a lecture was in the works, so she laid it all out. “I caught a Three all by myself and it, like, got me. Then they took it away from me.”

  “They?” Carmela asked, brows furrowed.

  “A couple of guys. I thought they were trappers at first, but they weren’t.”

  “They stole your demon?” There was shock in the woman’s voice.

  “Yeah. I told them I was with Beck, but they didn’t believe me. They wanted to party.” She bit her lip at the memory of the pair of them leering at her.

  “Come on, tell me,” Carmela urged. “Did they hurt you?”

  Riley shook her head. “No.” She straightened the sheet on her lap. “I had no choice. I had to leave the Three behind or they would have…”

  The doctor lightly touched her arm. “Got it. What did they look like?”

  Riley gave her the descriptions, including that one of them was named Dodger.

  “I’ll tell Den.”

  Riley frowned. Why does everyone think Beck’s my babysitter?

  “I don’t need his help,” she snapped. “I caught the demon, didn’t I?”

  Carmela frowned back. “Not asking for help bought you six claw marks in your leg. Den will handle it. He’ll make sure they learn some respect.”

  “Why would he even care?” Riley asked. “He doesn’t owe me anything.”

  Carmela’s frown faded. She leaned closer, pensive.

  “Den never had a father. The closest man to fill that role was your dad. I think he sees you as his little sis, and he’s not going to let anyone jack with you.”

  “He acts like he knows everything.”

  Carmela chuckled. “Honey, that’s what all guys are like. You should know that by now.”

  Riley managed a weak smile, causing her lips to crack. “How mad is he?”

  “In-can-descent. Prepare to have your butt chewed. Major league. You scared the hell out of him. I’ve never seen him that worried.”

  “If you say so.”

  The doc wasn’t reading him right. Beck believed the world should do whatever he said, just because he said it. He was only upset because Riley wasn’t playing his game.

  Carmela took the glass to the kitchen, refilled it, and returned. Riley sucked down half of it in one long gulp.

  “So, you got a boyfriend?” the doctor asked, propping her feet on the bed. Then she grinned. “Inquiring minds want to know.”

  Peter came to mind. “Just a friend who’s a boy.” But then there’s Simon. Riley couldn’t hide the smile.

  “I know that look. You have your eye on someone. Good for you.”

  Riley wasn’t so sure. “I don’t think it’ll go anywhere. He’s Harper’s apprentice.”

  “Simon Adler?” the doc guessed. Riley nodded. “Cute. You’ve got good taste.”

  “He’s way tightly wrapped,” Riley admitted.

  “Well, you won’t have to worry he’ll paw all over you, that’s for sure. Some of those guys…” Carmela shook her head in disgust.

  Riley’s bladder kicked in, sending an urgent message to her brain.

  “Ah, can I get up and pee and take a shower? I smell,” she said, wrinkling her nose.

  “Yes on the toilet, no on the shower.” Carmela rose. “That leg’s going to feel like dead wood, and I don’t want your IV to get screwed up. You can wash at the sink if you want, sitting in a chair.”

  “How soon will it be out?” Riley quizzed, peering at the clear tubing in her arm.

  “Since you’re peeing, tomorrow morning. The wounds look tons better.”

  “Can I see it?”

  Carmela reached over to uncover Riley’s leg. “You ready?”

  “Is it really gross?” she asked, scrunching her face.

  “Sorta. Not as bad as two days ago.”

  “Two days?” Riley gasped. “I’ve been sick that long?”

  Carmela nodded. She pulled off the gauze. “Ta da!”

  Riley gasped. It looked like a moonscape. The claw marks were encircled by red, puffy skin, but at least there was no brown gunk now.

  “No shorts in my future.”

  “Hey, I’d show off those scars. How many girls can say they caught a demon?”

  “But I didn’t get to keep him,” Riley complained.

  “That’s not the point. You caught a Three. That takes chutzpah. Next time have Den waiting in the wings. He’ll teach those thieves some manners.”

  That sounded like a plan, despite the fact that it involved Beck. She could only imagine what Backwoods Boy and his steel pipe could do to Dodger and his fat buddy.

  “It’s healing so fast,” she said, peering down at the slices.

  “The Holy Water does that. Doesn’t do much for regular wounds, but get chewed up by a fiend and it’s the treatment of choice.” Carmela looked around the room as if
searching for something. “There was a claw in one of them. I took it out. It’s around here somewhere.”

  Euuuu …

  Riley pondered that as she hopped her way into the bathroom, Carmela holding on to her arm. When she saw herself in the mirror she moaned.

  “Medusa hair. That’s so gross.”

  “But curable.”

  Riley pushed a greasy lock out of her face. Then a horrible thought hit her.

  “Simon didn’t see me like this, did he? I mean, he didn’t come over and—”

  Carmela’s musical laugh filled the small room. “I wouldn’t do that to you. Now hit the can and let’s get you cleaned up. You’re going to run out of steam really quickly.”

  Riley hated to tell her—she already had.

  * * *

  By morning, the IV was out and Riley had experienced a long hot shower. Two, actually, though one had been plenty. The Holy Water treatments only stung now, and the wounds were knitting together. Carmela had found some clean sheets in a drawer, and when Riley flopped in bed after the second shower it felt like heaven.

  It was late in the afternoon when she woke to find Beck parked in the chair, arms crossed over his broad chest as he glared at her like a malevolent gargoyle. He had three days’ worth of beard and a powerful frown on his face.

  He was clearly over being worried about her.

  “Lookin’ better,” he said, his drawl thicker than usual. That wasn’t a good sign.

  “Thanks,” she said weakly. She reluctantly sat up in bed, tucking the sheets around her waist. When he made no move to help, she knew she was in for it.

  “So let me get this right,” he began. “I blew off an entire night’s trappin’ because ya just had to get yer beauty sleep.”

  Riley remained mute. Experience had taught her that if you jumped in too quick, people only got madder.

  “But instead of sleepin’, ya decided to play trapper and take yer little ass down to Five Points. Demon Central, no less.”

  She bit the inside of her lip and tried not to fidget.

  “And ya went down there … alone.”

  Riley studied the geometric pattern on the sheets, waiting for the shouting to begin. She hated when people shouted.

  “Tell me what happened,” he barked.

  Riley blinked at the demand. “I caught a Three and—”