Page 7 of Vetted for Vengeance
Rather than grabbing his wrists and dragging him, which is my preferred method of moving bodies, I lift him over my shoulder. He's light enough, but deep down I know that isn’t the reason. Pulling wrists is how I move bodies.
He isn’t a body.
Not yet.
He is a person.
A strange, mysterious person who wouldn't release a pregnant dog to fight off an attacker. She meant something to him, because he wouldn't let her fall even as he passed out. Enough to override instinct.
Enough to ignore self-preservation.
That’s… unusual.
I entered the medical profession because I enjoy solving mysteries about the body. I became a vet to add to that. Not relying on my patient to tell me how they feel. Now I wish this patient could speak to me. I would know within seconds what he is.
Fearful. Loyal. Stupid. Brave. The body always tells the truth, eventually.
The answers I want from him are in his mind, closed down like a computer doing a massive reboot.
I need patience, not patients for this one. I chuckle at my internal joke and slide Sleeping Beauty into my passenger seat. Once he's strapped in and tucked up in a blanket, he looks like he's sleeping peacefully. That should be enough to get him home without suspicion. I adjust the blanket once more before pulling away, tucking it higher around his shoulder than strictly necessary. There’s no practical reason for it. I do it anyway. His head tilts slightly towards the window, loose and unguarded.
His head rolls slightly with the motion of the car, but he doesn't stir. Most people react to the sedative eventually. A twitch. A groan. Something. He remains perfectly still. Too still.
Driving home, he is surprisingly distracting, for an unconscious man. He hasn’t groaned or sighed. No flicker of his eyelids or fingers. And yet, he has more of my attention than the road itself. I keep my eyes dead ahead, mostly, but it's my mind that can't focus on anything else.
There were no other cars at the puppy farm, besides the monsters driven by Frank and Derek. So how did he get there? The farm sits at the bottom of a dirt track road, and he’s not dressed for a long walk in the dark to the main road carrying a dog mere days from whelping. At the next set of lights, my hand casually flips the blanket off his legs for a moment, confirming what I already knew. His clothes are old and worn, but clear of mud. He hadn't walked down the lane today. Which means Frank and Derek wanted him there. Or at least allowed him to be. Staff? Caretaker? Something else entirely?
But then why carry a dog around in the dark.
“You are a complete mystery, my young friend.” And I’ve always had a weakness for a good mystery.
Chapter six
Noah
Waking up is… odd. It's not like taking a nap. It's like falling into an ice lake and forgetting which way is up. I come around thrashing and gasping. My lungs burn as if I’ve been underwater too long, dragging in air that doesn’t feel like enough.
Things swiftly change from confusion to a nightmare. Not a slow realization. Not creeping dread. Just immediate wrongness.
I'm lying down, but I'm not in the kennel block. I'm not in the farmhouse, or even a hospital, although the fact I'm lying on the floor is the biggest clue there. I'm in a steel room with no obvious doors or windows. The walls are bare, smooth sheets of brushed steel that reflect the light in dull streaks. The air smells faintly of antiseptic and something colder, like the inside of a walk-in freezer. In the center are two hospital beds, but my angle on the floor makes it impossible to tell if they're occupied. Part of me is too scared to look. A stronger part of me knows I have to.
Standing up is slow and difficult. My limbs don’t feel like mine. Slow to respond. Heavy. Like I’m dragging myself through thick water. I end up back on the floor several times before I finally manage something resembling upright.
The beds are occupied. I think I knew that before I looked, but I need to see it, anyway.
My stomach sinks when I recognize them. Frank and Derek lie sleeping on their backs, looking so much more comfortable than the floor where I'd been. Frank’s mouth hangs slightly open, a line of drool running down his chin. Derek’s face looks strangely peaceful without the constant scowl he wears on the farm.
If I didn’t know better, I’d think they were patients waiting for surgery. Waiting comfortably. Although comfort is a relative thing when considering the straps pinning their unconscious bodies to the bed. Restrained at the wrists and ankles, with straps across their chests and hips, I’ll gladly stick with the floor.
“Well, at least the puppy farm gets closed down now,” I inform them dryly. My hand moves gingerly forward towards Frank’s calf, but stops before making contact. I don’t actually want him waking until I know whether saving them is the right thing to do.
“Good morning, sleepyhead,” a voice calls from the ceiling, shattering the silence with a nerve-wracking force. He sounds calm, relaxed, and strangely familiar.
“Uh, good morning?” I reply, spinning slowly, hoping to find a camera to focus on. I hate not knowing where to look. Where is he?
“Did you sleep well?” The voice asks.
“You don’t care about that answer. If you did, you'd have given me a pillow, or something softer than the concrete floor.” I can't find anything to focus my attention on, which is annoying.
