Chapter Nine
Stacy retreated to the boys’ bedroom while the police finished up their search of the property. She pulled her 1911 out of her pocket and laid it on the floor, then stretched out beside Jake between the two beds. Exhaustion flooded over her, both emotional and physical, but she was afraid to go to sleep, afraid that she’d miss something important again.
She’d left Tom out with Joe and the rest of the officers. It was already four a.m., in just another hour she’d have to be up to start her morning. She decided she’d call Blake’s owner and the vet around seven a.m., which was very early for a Sunday morning, but if Diabla had gotten hurt, she’d want to know. As Stacy lay there, wrapped around Jake, she debated calling Blake’s owner, but there was nothing to be gained by panicking his owner in the middle of the night. On that thought, she drifted off for a few minutes.
She awoke when Tom re-entered the house, her hand reaching for her 1911 before she remembered that Tom belonged there and that no one could get in the doors unless they belonged. “Stacy?” He whispered from the boys’ doorway.
“I’m up,” she answered, pulling herself up off of the floor.
“They’re gone. Come on, let’s go back to bed.”
“No. Gotta do chores in less than an hour. If I go back to bed, I won’t get up in time. It’s okay. You go to bed, I’ll sit out here and read or something.” She argued.
“It’s not negotiable. You’re dead on your feet. Get your butt back in bed. I don’t care if you sleep or not, but you are going to try to relax for an hour.” He told her firmly.
“Tom, really, I need…”
“You need to shut the hell up and get to bed before I pick you up and carry you.” He interrupted.
Stacy gaped at him, in all the time she’d known him, he had never spoken to her that way. Speechless, she left the boys’ bedroom and led the way to theirs, setting the gun back on the night stand and kicking off her boots. She sprawled out on top of the covers in her clothes, willing to follow orders only to an extent.
Quinn waited anxiously in her apartment; she’d been able to watch the search somewhat from her living room vantage point and she knew that the place had cleared out. She didn’t want to be a nag, she really wanted Joe to come back to her, but didn’t want to call him in case he was busy doing paperwork or something. Her heart skipped a beat when she heard the soft knock at her front door.
She couldn’t get the deadbolt unlocked fast enough and fell out the door into his big bear arms. She felt him sigh and smooth down her crazy hair. He pressed a kiss to the top of her head and swung her up into his arms to carry her back into her apartment.
“I missed him!” Joe growled, holding tightly to Quinn.
“Is Blake okay?” She asked, her big blue eyes staring up at him through pale lashes.
“I don’t know. He just had a couple of small puncture wounds, but we don’t know if the darts were dipped in anything. The way you said the bastard protected himself, I kind of believe they were.” Joe stood in her living room, not wanting to let her down, “Bedroom?”
Quinn snuggled into his chest and pointed down the hall with her toes. He walked back over to the door and managed to lock both locks without setting her down. Once the doors were as secure as they could be, he carried her down the hall to her bedroom.
“How about Stacy and Tom and the boys? Are they all okay?”
“Physically, yes. It’s starting to get to Stacy, though. I’m pretty sure I saw hints of tears on her cheeks. Kinda like the ones I see on your cheeks.” He kissed the tear tracks as he sank down onto the bed, settling Quinn into a more comfortable position on his lap.
“Stacy doesn’t cry. I’ve known her practically my whole life, trust me on this.” Quinn protested.
“She must have gotten dust in her eyes then,” Joe agreed, willing to go along with whatever Quinn said as long as she stayed right where she was.
“I watched you guys search, but I didn’t see you find anything. Was there anything?”
“Nope, just the bamboo darts, which won’t hold a fingerprint and a couple of footprints. I wish I could have caught the bastard. You were a huge help, I wouldn’t have gotten as close as I did without you being my eyes.
“I have to be back on shift at seven, but I had to come back by and see you. Maybe tuck you into bed or something silly like that.”
“You can tuck me into bed only if you’re going to stay for a little bit. I like having you here.” Quinn said and yawned.
“I like being here, too, but I’m beat. I do need to get some sleep,” Joe said, shifting her off of his lap.
“So we sleep,” Quinn shrugged, “I’d like you to stay, but I understand if you need to go home.”
“So we sleep,” Joe agreed and began unbuttoning his shirt. Quinn grabbed a t-shirt and pair of shorts out of her dresser and went to the bathroom to change into her make-shift pajamas. She’d need all of the help she could get to keep her hands off of Joe if he needed to sleep. He was already under the covers and half asleep, his clothes neatly folded on the chair, his gun on the floor beside the bed, when she came out of the bathroom.
“I set my phone for six. I’ll try not to wake you up,” he murmured as she curled up next to his warm body. She tucked herself under his arm and pressed a kiss to his bare chest. He sighed, pulled her tight against him, and promptly fell off to sleep.
At precisely six o’clock his alarm went off and he tried to slip out of bed without waking her. Quinn felt him extract himself from her and watched with delight as he got dressed in the early morning light filtering in through her window. He noticed she was awake when he bent down to retrieve his gun from the floor.
“Morning, Beautiful,” he said with a gentle kiss.
“Morning, Handsome,” she replied and kissed him back. “Sleep well?”
“Like the dead. Thanks for letting me stay.” He sat down on the bed to put on his shoes.
“When do you get off work? Will you come back?” Quinn tried her best not to sound desperate, but even with everything that happened at Stacy’s, last night had been the best night of her life. Even without sex.
“I’m off at seven. How about a real date, just the two of us? Without the twins trying to get me to marry their mother?” His big blue eyes looked vulnerable, despite the light tone. It had been a pretty monumental night for him, too, and he didn’t want to blow it.
Quinn squealed in delight and sat up in bed, throwing her arms around him. “I thought you’d never ask!”
“I need to warn you. Cops, well, being involved with them, it’s not easy. Just because I’m supposed to get off at seven doesn’t mean that I always do. So, even though tonight’s supposed to be a real first date, don’t get mad if I’m late. Emergencies aren’t always convenient.” Joe looked down at his hands and Quinn got the sense that he job had caused problems with his relationships in the past.
“It’s okay. Really. I’ll be ready to go by eight, but you call and let me know what time we’re really going to go out. How’s that sound?”
“Fabulous. Thank you, Quinny.” He gave her another quick kiss and stood up. “I’ll call you when I get a chance today. We’ll need copies of the videos from last night. I’m turning the case over to another officer, but I’ll make sure that he treats Stacy right.”
“Does Stacy know this?” she asked, alarmed.
“Not yet. I’ve got to go back over to her place later to get the videos. I’ve got a great guy to assign to her case.”
“Why are you handing her off? She’s going to be really hurt. She trusts you.”
“I know. And I don’t want to hand the case off, but I’m too close. I don’t want to do anything to compromise it if we can take it to court. I’ll still be working on her case, but I can’t be in charge of it. Not anymore.” He looked down at Quinn and she suddenly understood. He couldn’t be in charge of Stacy’s case because of his involvement with her.
“What if I turn you down for the date tonight, then can you stay on Stacy’s case?”
“I’m afraid not, Honey. It’s not just you. I consider Stacy and Tom friends now too, I can’t risk her case getting screwed up in court because of a conflict of interest.” Of course. That’s part of the reason why he was such a good cop; he was cognizant of such things. Quinn understood, and knew that Stacy would understand, too, but it was going to be a blow. Joe bent down and kissed Quinn, lingering, promising, before he stood up again. “I’ve really got to run. Be careful today, will you? Keep an eye out.”
“You be careful, yourself. I’ll see you tonight.” Quinn enjoyed the view as he strode out of her bedroom. Try as she might, she couldn’t get back to sleep, so she got up to face the day. She didn’t even bother with a shower, just pulled her ponytail through a baseball cap and called it good. She was worried about Blake and wanted to get to Stacy’s to check on him.
“Stacy, Stacy,” Tom shook her awake, his eyes full of worry.
Stacy blinked the sleep out of her eyes, and then sat upright abruptly, almost hitting heads with Tom, “Shit! What time is it? I’ve got to check on Blake. I told you I couldn’t sleep!” She fumbled with her boots, slipping her sock-clad feet in them.
“Blake’s not doing well. I don’t know what’s wrong with him, but I’ve already called the vet. He’ll be here in just a little bit, he was off with a colic case. I’ve already fed and turned out the others, but Blake doesn’t want to touch his food and the areas around the puncture wounds feel hot, so I kept him in his stall. Don’t be mad at me for letting you sleep. You needed it so much.”
Stacy looked at Tom’s earnest face, “Honey, I’m not mad at you. You’re right, I did need the sleep. More than I realized. Let me look up Lisa’s number and give her a call.”
The last thing Stacy wanted to do was call Lisa and let her know that her beloved gelding was sick and all because of that bastard Mark. The phone call to Lisa was every bit as dreadful as Stacy imagined it would be and Stacy had no answers for Lisa. She was honest with her, but she didn’t know much and wouldn’t until the vet showed up. Lisa said she’d be at the barn in just a few minutes, but warned Stacy that she couldn’t afford to do much in the way of veterinary care. That being the case, the very next call Stacy made was to her insurance agent, waking him early on his day off. Even with the early wake-up call, he pulled her policy and assured her that due to the nature of the horse’s injuries, her liability insurance would cover any vet care required. Stacy dug around on her desk, looking for the new case number assigned to Blake’s attack and opened a claim, telling her agent that as soon as she knew more about the required care and costs, she’d get back in touch with him.
Armed with Blake’s insurance claim number, she strapped on her gun and pulled her sweatshirt over her head. Given the events of last night, she decided to let the boys sleep in, a rare treat for them. Even though Tom had warned her about Blake’s condition, she was totally unprepared for the sight that met her when she stepped into his stall.
He didn’t even bother to lift his head to look at her when she entered; he was completely lethargic, his eyes dull, muzzle dragging the ground. She sent Tom to the tack room for the first aid kit and went about assessing the handsome gelding. Her gut twisted in fear – just looking at Blake, she knew something was terribly wrong, but couldn’t put her finger on it. He turned his head away from both water and grain when offered, pointedly letting her know that he wasn’t hungry.
Tom took his position at Blake’s head while Stacy took his temperature, something he normally detested. He didn’t even flick an ear at her this time. Stacy took the time to palpate around the puncture wound in his left rump while she waited on the thermometer and was astounded at the heat radiating from the wound. She knew she’d done a thorough irrigation; she’d flushed that particular wound for almost ten minutes, wanting to get all traces of whatever the bamboo was impregnated with out of it. The area around the wound felt, in turns, both crunchy, like Rice Krispies under the skin, and mushy, like rotting flesh. She checked the wound carefully for drainage and saw none, though the wound itself smelled foul. The affected area extended a full six inches from the site of the wound.
When the timer on the thermometer beeped, she wasn’t terribly surprised to see that Blake was running a fever of near 105° Fahrenheit. It was high, some might say dangerously so, but it was also his body’s attempt to burn out whatever pathogen was causing the inflammation. Stacy decided it wouldn’t hurt to wait until the vet came to treat the fever; the science was sketchy either way. She knew that if his temperature continued to climb, she’d start hosing him down with cool water in an attempt to cool him. His elevated pulse rate and decreased capillary refill worried her as more than her fever; the combination of everything led her to believe that he was septic, that whatever the bastard had shot him with had caused an infection throughout his body, not just in the wounds.
“Where is Doc?” Stacy wondered outloud. This is too much, she thought to herself. I’m comfortable taking care of inconsequential injuries. I have no idea what this is or what to do. Should I give more penicillin?
“Want me to give him another call?” Tom offered, patting Blake on the head. Stacy nodded mutely, palpating the chest wound. The affected area extended well up into Blake’s neck and the feel sickened her. It had only been about four hours since he’d been darted, whatever that bastard Mark used was fast acting. She gathered up her first aid equipment and motioned Tom out of the stall. Going into the barn’s bathroom, she scrubbed her hands well and then repeated the procedure. She slammed her equipment into the sink to disinfect it, wincing when the thermometer clanged against the side of the sink. A healthy dose of bleach was splashed in the sink, which was then filled with luke-warm water to soak.
Tom was waiting patiently outside the bathroom door, holding his phone in his hand and looking dejected, “The doc says it’s going to be another hour at least before he can get here. He says it won’t hurt to give another dose of penicillin and not to worry overmuch about the fever.”
“How did the other horses look this morning when you fed them and turned them out?” She asked, dejected. Tom worried about the toneless quality of Stacy’s voice.
“They’re fine. I looked all of them over with a fine tooth comb. None of the others have been affected. They’re okay.” Tom assured her, taking her into his arms as long as she would allow him to, which wasn’t more than a second or two.
Driven by nervous energy, Stacy administered another dose of penicillin and offered Blake more water, afraid that he’d become dehydrated. Then she sent Tom into the house after her video camera, so she could document Blake’s signs. A quick peek out the back of the barn reassured her that the rest of the horses were fine, just as Tom had said.
“The boys are up. I told them that you have a sick horse and that you’ll be busy out here for a little bit. I’m going to go make them breakfast and try to keep them entertained for a little while. Quinn just got here. She said she’s got some work she has to do, discs to burn or something for Joe.”
“Thank you.” Stacy kissed him quickly, wishing that their life together was starting on a less stressful note than this. She turned off the barn’s overhead lights and stood outside of Blake’s stall, praying for a miracle.
She turned toward the door when she heard Lisa’s truck drive up and went to meet her, wanting to prepare her for what she was going to see. Outwardly, Blake didn’t look horrible, but Lisa was a horsewoman, she would take one look at Blake and know that he was teetering on the edge. Lisa’s normally beautiful face was tight with tension and she was fighting back tears. Stacy stopped her before she could enter the barn and told her, as gently as possible, what she thought was going on.
“I’m not a vet, Lisa, but I think this is bad. I’ve never seen anything move so fast.” Stacy said, walking beside her.
Lisa noted the dim barn interior and the fact that the rest of the horses were turned out, “Let’s go see him. The doc said that he’d be another hour?”
Stacy nodded and walked toward Blake’s stall, each step taking more and more effort. At the stall door, Lisa took one look inside and crumbled. She cried for a few minutes, while Stacy stood beside her at a loss. In the few minutes they’d been outside talking, Blake had taken a turn for the worse. He was agitated and pacing, blood and pus dripping from his wounds. A putrid smell wafted off of him as he paced around his stall. He caught a whiff of Lisa’s scent and stopped moving long enough to reach out with his muzzle to sniff the air near her. She rubbed his velvety muzzle and murmured a few words to him before he resumed his pacing.
“Can you get me his halter, please?” She asked Stacy, who immediately turned to get it, feeling relief that she could do something other than stand by. Lisa was one of her first boarders; a divorced woman in her mid-forties who had always had horses in her life. Her divorce left her without property to keep her horses and she sold off all but Blake – he’d been born and raised on her property and they shared a special bond. “And turn on the overheads, I need to see what we’re dealing with.”
Blake looked worse with the overhead lights on. Stacy noticed that he now had blood dripping from his nostrils when she haltered him. It wasn’t a lot of blood, but enough to be alarming. She tried to hold Blake still while Lisa examined him, but he had forgotten his ground manners in his discomfort.
“I’ve seen this before. Once.” Lisa said, palpating his chest wound. The affected area had doubled in size and the swelling was beginning to encircle his neck. When she pressed gently around the wound, blood and pus flowed freely. Blake struck out at her with his front hoof, something Stacy had never seen him do before. “There’s no cure. Oh, the docs, they’ll try, but it won’t work. Even if it did, he’d have no quality of life. He’d have to endure a lifetime of surgical debridements and antibiotics. We’d always be on the look out for the next bug that could get him; his wounds won’t heal properly and he’ll lose a lot of muscle tissue. And that’s if the docs can save him.”
“What is it?” Stacy asked.
“Myonecrosis. Like flesh-eating bacteria in humans. It spreads fast and kills the muscle tissue. It normally shouldn’t spread this fast, but that bastard who darted him must have used some purified bacterium. Most likely a Clostridia species,” Lisa said, her voice void of all emotion. “You’ll have to put him down. There’s nothing the doc can do and I don’t want him suffering any more than he already has. Take him out in the run, where he can see the mountains, but wait until I leave. I can’t be here for this.”
Stacy’s eyes filled with tears of rage and heartbreak. Lisa leaned her forehead against Blake’s, her tears flowing freely as she said goodbye to her last horse. She kissed him gently between the eyes and left the stall quickly, her boot heels clicking along the floor had a note of finality as she swung the barn door open.
“I don’t care what you have to do, but you find the bastard who did this to my horse and you kill him,” Stacy heard Lisa exclaim to someone before stomping off to her truck. Two sets of footsteps approached the stall.
“Oh my God,” Joe exclaimed, peering through the stall door. “How could he have gotten so bad in just a few hours?”
“Lisa thinks it’s myonecrosis. She’s seen it once before.” Stacy unhooked the lead rope from Blake’s halter and joined Joe and another officer in the aisle way.
“What can you do for it?” His blue eyes hardened when he looked at Blake, a shell of the horse he was just five hours ago.
“Nothing. I’ve got to shoot him,” Stacy said. “Lisa doesn’t want him to suffer any longer than he has to, and the vet can’t get here for another hour. I don’t want to sound like a cold bitch, but you’d better get all the pictures you need while I fetch my rifle.”
She pushed her way between the two of them and went to her office to load her .22 rifle. She had hoped she would never have cause to load her little Henry rifle. When she bought it for the office, she had anticipated that she’d use it to scare off coyotes or for varmint control, she never believed that she would have to use it on a horse. She had her .45 strapped to her belt, but she couldn’t face the damage it would cause to Blake. The .22 would punch a neat little hole and do its job efficiently; it was the right tool for the job, however distasteful the job was.
She took a few minutes to mentally review the process and to harden herself. The last time she’d had to shoot a horse was long before the boys were born. One of her pack horses had slipped and slid down into a ravine, severely breaking two of its legs. She hadn’t thought twice about shooting him. But he had been a work horse and he was writhing in pain. Blake was also in a lot of pain, but he was part of Lisa’s family. The last horse she had from her once plentiful herd.
When she emerged from her office, with rifle in hand, she had prepared herself for what she had to do. She opened the stall door and hooked the lead rope back onto Blake’s halter after a brief struggle. He was growing increasingly agitated and Stacy knew her aim had to be true. She didn’t want to have to shoot him twice. “Joe, can you please slide this outside door open? And be careful, he’s cranky, he might kick out at you. Just walk behind me and you should be okay.”
Stacy angled her body to stay between Joe and the horse until he got the door open. Smelling fresh air, Blake lunged toward the door, catching Stacy by surprise and almost knocking her down. She chided herself for forgetting that this wasn’t Lisa’s normal, well-mannered Blake she was handling; that Blake was forever gone. This Blake, this infected, rotting from the inside out, agitated Blake was in pain and needed her help.
“Stacy, what can I do? Do you want me to do it?” Joe asked quietly.
“No. It’s my job, I’ll do it. I owe it to him and Lisa. I should have better protected him. The least I can do is help him over the Rainbow Bridge.”
Outside, she breathed in the fresh air, as glad to be out of the stall as Blake, who was jigging at the end of his lead rope. “You’ve been a good horse, Blake, and I’m sorry that I have to do this. But I’m even sorrier that you got hurt.”
He suddenly stopped jigging and looked at her with soft eyes, as though telling her it was alright and that he was ready. Stacy dropped the lead rope, shouldered her rifle and sighted on the center of the imaginary X she mentally drew between his ears and eyes. He stood patiently awaiting his death as her barrel waivered just the slightest two inches from his head. She steadied her rifle and fired.
Blake went down heavily and she knew that her shot had been true.
“Fuck you Mark! You gutless fucking coward!” Stacy screamed in outrage, feeling something stir inside of her. “It broke my heart to kill this horse, but I’m going to dance on your fucking grave when I’m done with you!”
It was all too much. There was no reason why such a wonderful animal had been made to suffer. She cleared her rifle and went back into the barn, stalking past Joe and the other officer to put it back in her office. When she came back out, she had calmed somewhat, but was still shaking with anger. Part of her wanted to scream and cry, but another part had hardened, given birth to a new, stronger, more determined Stacy.
“Stacy, I want you to meet Jason Clancy. He’s going to be working with me.” Joe said by way of introduction. Stacy shook Jason’s hand, looking at Joe in confusion.
“I’ll still be working on your case, but I’m removing myself from the lead.” He explained awkwardly. It took a moment for the reason for the switch to sink into Stacy’s overwhelmed brain. Once it did, she nodded in agreement. They discussed her case while she went about the business of covering Blake’s carcass with a tarp to protect it until the vet could get there. Joe excused himself to the house to retrieve the discs of the videos from Quinn while Jason continued to ask questions of Stacy.
“So, are you going to work as hard as Joe has?” Stacy finally asked, point blank. “Because I’ve got no tolerance or time for someone who’s just going to try to placate me. I need someone who believes in what’s going on.”
“Ma’am,” Jason started.
“I am twenty-eight years old, I am not a ma’am,” Stacy snapped.
“Fine, Ms. Lyon, I believe that you are being stalked. Even if Sarge hadn’t convinced me before we got her, what I’ve seen does. I will work hard to help you with this, and I’ll continue to work with Sarge.” He finished patiently.
“Thank you. And it’s Stacy.”
Beating A Dead Horse To Death
Or something along those lines. I hope you all enjoyed the video from last night and weren’t too sick from the running part.
I went back to The One’s neighborhood today to see if I could see how the big black bastard that I darted was. The store lot where I usually park is on the wrong side of the barn for me to be able to see the horse I needed to, but I parked anyway and walked toward her house. The trick is to act like you belong. I was just another person walking around the neighborhood. I walked past her place and found a house just three doors down from her where no one appeared to be home. Probably out at church, seeing as it’s Sunday and all.
I settled myself in their back yard gazebo, which offered some concealment and an excellent view of her barn. I’m not sure why I settled for laying in the dirt in the grove of trees the first night; this was a first class gazebo with comfortable bench seats and shades that could be lowered to block the sun. I lowered as many of the shades as I dared without risking being noticed and settled in to watch a whole lot of nothing.
I was getting ready to leave, when I saw someone drive up in a truck. The lady who got out looked really scared and upset, so I guess she was the horse’s owner. The door between the pen and the stall was closed, so I couldn’t see into the stall, but a few minutes later the lady came out of the barn. She said something to the police officers who had just arrived and then sat in her truck crying for a couple of minutes. It was delicious.
I wanted to see what the officers were going to do, so I pulled out my camera and attached my telephoto lens. For a while, all I could see was the closed door. I had my camera trained on the door, so I saw the big cop, the one who has been teaching the bitch to shoot open the door and the horse lunged out.
The bitch had a rifle in one hand and the horse’s lead rope in her other. She said a couple of words to the horse and then she shot it. It dropped like a rock. She turned to look right at me and screamed so loudly I could hear her clearly, “Fuck you! You gutless fucking coward! It broke my heart to kill this horse, but I’m going to dance on your fucking grave when I’m done with you!”
I maybe have pushed her too hard; she’s changed. I could see it in her eyes when she was screaming at me. And how did she know where I was? Could she see me?
If she could, she gave no indication of it and didn’t tell the police. I waited around for twenty more minutes and left the way I went in. No one suspected a thing.
Since I had my camera, I took some pictures for your viewing pleasure.
Posted by: secret_admirer on 1, 2, I’m coming for you…
Comment by: hurtbabyhurt
You better be careful, she handles a rifle like she’s done it before. And she looks plenty pissed. She just might dance on your grave when she’s done with you.
Comment by: secret_admirer
Fuck you, hurtbabyhurt. You were one of my most loyal readers and now you turn on me like this?
Comment by: hurtbabyhurt
I’m still on your side, bro. I’m just telling you to be careful. She doesn’t look like the pushover your GF is.
Comment by: lab_death
What great pictures of the horse! I was interested to see how quickly it could manifest. It was, what? 4 to 5 hours. The literature says between 12 and 24, but such a high dose delivered twice jump started it. How deep do you think you managed to bury the darts?
Comment by: secret_admirer
@lab_death – that was awesome! He had pus and blood running down his chest and blood dripping from his nose. It was so much better than when I skinned the cat. I’d tested the blow dart gun at home and could consistently bury the darts into a phone book two inches or more. I think I lost some velocity by wearing the surgical mask, since I couldn’t get a good seal, so I can’t tell you exactly how deep I think they went. All I know is that it worked!
Quinn’s heart gave a little kick of joy when Tom let Joe into the house. The boys were planted in front of a movie that Tom had put in for them, munching on popcorn, enjoying the rare treat of TV time. Joe noted the drawn look on Tom’s face and immediately forgot about it when he looked at Quinn. So that’s what it takes to tame that hair, he thought, a baseball cap.
“How’s Stacy?” Tom asked, pretending to miss the looks being exchanged between Quinn and Joe. The air fairly sizzled between them, but he had to get them back on track.
“She’s different. That bastard broke something in her. It was like one minute she was Stacy, tough, but scared and the next, she was different. Scary. Fearless. I don’t know what to do about it, but I’m awfully glad I’m not the one who did this to her,” Joe said honestly, finally breaking eye contact with Quinn.
“I’m going out to her. Quinny, can you keep an eye on the boys?” Tom asked and left the house without waiting for an answer.
He wasn’t sure what Joe had meant when he said Stacy had changed, until he walked into the barn and saw her talking to the officer. She stood, talking to the officer as though she was talking to a subordinate; she’d assumed an aura of power. She wasn’t talking down to the officer at all, but she was definitely in charge. He’d seen that attitude from her before, when she was working with horses that needed a clear leader, but those times it was an assumed role, something she put on like a costume. Looking at her standing there, he could see that she wasn’t assuming the role, she was the role. Frankly, it scared him a little to see the change. The alternative, that the creeper might have broken her, was far worse.
“Tom,” she said, spying him in the doorway. Warmth and gratitude filled her eyes, relieving him greatly. He went to her and slipped an arm around her waist and felt her lean almost imperceptibly into him. He knew then, that whatever had shifted in her, whatever had changed, it would be okay.
“Officer Clancy, this is my fiancé, Tom Pratchett,” Stacy made the introductions and left them to greet the vet, who had finally arrived.
The rest of the morning was a flurry of activity as Stacy and the vet arranged for Blake’s carcass removal to the vet hospital for a necropsy to confirm the working diagnosis of myonecrosis. Quinn spent the morning keeping the boys entertained in the house. Stacy didn’t believe in shielding them from the facts of life, death being one such fact, but she did not believe that they were quite old enough to understand that the bad man had poisoned Blake and that the nicest thing to do for Blake was to shoot him. They were afraid enough of the bad man as it was.
Tom rolled up his sleeves and helped Stacy clean and disinfect the stall and run; the smell of bleach finally overpowered the stench of rotting, infected flesh. The number of boarders in and out were blessedly few and sympathetic over the loss of Lisa’s horse. Again, Stacy offered to release them from their contracts without penalty if they chose to leave her barn. Much to her relief, they all declined the offer.
Stacy was absolutely, one hundred percent ready to escape from reality by the time they were finished cleaning Blake’s stall. The boys had been cooped up inside all morning and were climbing the walls; her nerves were stretched to the breaking point, and she knew that if she had to be cooped up with the kids she would turn into a screaming shrew. The weather was beautiful and they might as well enjoy it. Stalker or no stalker. The bastard was not going to turn them into prisoners in their own home.
“Boys!” Stacy called into the living room, interrupting their wrestling match. They had used baling twine strung between four chairs to make their wrestling ring. The couch cushions acted as the floor, giving them a soft landing place. Quinn, poor, patient, love-sick Quinn was acting as both the ref and the ring girl and looked exhausted. Stacy felt for her. She knew exactly how draining it was to be stuck in a house for hours on end with those two.
“Mommy! Do you see? We’re like the TV wrestlers.” Dylan said, huffing and puffing from throwing his bother to the ring floor.
“I do see! Are you bored with wrestling yet?” Stacy asked. Quinn nodded emphatically, re-arranging her baseball cap on top of her head. Both boys shook their heads. “Well, how about if you clean up your wrestling ring while I take a fast shower and let’s go do something fun outdoors?”
Tristan looked at her suspiciously, “What do you mean do something fun outdoors?”
“Yeah. Last time you said that, we had to scoop poop,” Dylan reminded her, crossing his arms over his chest.
“I don’t know. What do you think? Go-karting? Putt-putt?” Tom answered for Stacy, pushing her in the direction of the bathroom. “You go take your shower, I’ll help take down the ring.”
“Go-karting? Whassat?” Dylan asked, still suspicious.
“You boys have never been on a go-kart? Has your mom been raising you under a rock?” Tom asked as he relieved Quinn of her duties. Quinn wasted no time handing over the responsibility and taking her leave, with a yelled ‘Goodbye’ to Stacy through the bathroom door.
Stacy hurried through the shower and felt immensely improved both physically and mentally afterward. She got the boys ready to go while Tom took a fast shower and in under a half hour they were loaded up in his car, headed out, away from the house. Tom drove carefully, watching for cars following them. Stacy watched, too, distracted to the point that the boys gave up trying to give her the blow by blow of their wrestling match. For once, they sat quietly in their car seats.
“You know, boys. What do you do if the bad man tries to take you away?” Stacy quizzed them.
“Kick and scream and bite and fight.” They chorused.
“Good. Are you ready to learn some new safety rules?” Stacy tried to turn it into a game.
“Yes!” They hollered, thumping their seats excitedly.
“Okay. New rule. Are you ready?” She asked, pumping them up. “Are you really ready for the new rule?”
“We want a new rule!”
“New rule: when Tom or I say the word ‘emergency’ you guys hit the floor.”
“Hit the floor? Like a gorilla?” Dylan asked, taking what she said literally.
“No, I mean get on the floor. Lay down on the floor.”
“What if we’re in our car seats? We’re not supposed to get out of those while we’re in the car. You said so.” Tristan asked.
“If you’re in your car seats, make yourselves as little as possible. Ready to try? Tom’s going to say ‘emergency’ and I want to see which of you can make yourself the littlest.”
“I’m gonna win!” Tristan declared.
“No, I’m gonna!” Dylan argued.
No matter how much Stacy tried to tamp down her temper, she felt it rising to the surface. The boys’ constant full-volume was wearing on her last nerve. Tom reached across the car and put his hand on her knee, squeezing sympathetically.
“Emergency!” He bellowed suddenly.
Stacy heard the boys ball up and peeked around the seat to look at them. “Dylan, I think you’re a little smaller than Tristan.”
“Aawww,” Tristan whined. “Again, Tom, again!”
Over and over again, Tom played the emergency game with the boys until they spotted the Golden Arches.
“McDonald’s! We’re starving! Breakfast was hours ago!” They wailed. At times, Stacy would swear that they shared the same brain and she got tired of hearing everything in stereo. “Mommy never lets us go to McDonald’s. Can we stop? Please, please, pleeeeeeze?”
Stacy nodded her acquiescence, Tom flicked on the turn signal and began his turn. Out of the corner of her eye, Stacy saw a car behind them speed up. She didn’t even have time to get out a warning before the car hit Tom’s quarter-panel just behind the rear tire, spinning the car in a three-sixty. The sickening sound of the collision was quickly drowned out by the boys’ cries of terror. Tom wrestled with the steering wheel, trying to get the car back under control. Out of control, their tires slammed into the curb, tipping the car up onto two wheels briefly. Brakes all around them squealed as drivers tried to avoid them, but had no room to maneuver. Stacy tried to get her hands up in front of her, but only succeeded in breaking her own nose when the airbag went off, throwing her arm into her face. Blinded by the airbag and the tears welling up in her eyes from the exploding pain in her face, she listened to the crunching that never seemed to end.
She reached her left hand out to find Tom, fumbling blindly, fighting panic until she felt his arm and heard him groan. She could hear the boys crying in the back and reached back, struggling until she got her hand on each one of them. Oh shit, what if he’s coming for us while we’re trapped, she wondered, her right hand trying to get at the gun on her hip.
“Shhhh, boys. We’re okay,” she said, patting at their legs, unable to turn around to see them. He seatbelt had locked in place and she couldn’t get it to release. With some tugging on her sweatshirt, she was able to pull it up over her gun and reassure herself that she could reach it if the need arose.
“Mommy! The bad guy hit us!” Dylan wailed.
“Blood! Blood!” Tristan started screaming. She could feel him kicking his legs and flailing around in his car seat.
“Tristan, shhh.” She tried to calm him down. “Tristan, where is the blood? Is it on you? Are you bleeding?”
“Tristan’s arm is bleeding,” Dylan said, calming down enough to report to Stacy.
“Tristan! Tristan, listen to me. Put your hand over the blood and push really hard. That will stop the bleeding.” Stacy tried to reason with him, but his panic had taken a firm hold. She yanked at the seatbelt, angry that she couldn’t release herself to get to the kids.
“Ouch, Dylan! Stop hurting me!” Tristan screamed. Stacy was able to turn her head just enough to see that Dylan was reaching across to his brother, pushing on the bleeding.
“Great job, Dylan. That’s a big help.” Tom said, struggling to enunciate his words. His entire face was swollen, his lip bottom lip split grotesquely. He tried to smile at Stacy reassuringly, but only succeeded in splitting his lip further.
She flopped her head back against the seat and closed her eyes while she listened to the approaching sirens, “What a day. I’m so sick of the guys with the red and blue lights. Why can’t life go back to normal?”
“What? And give up all of this excitement?” Tom deadpanned.
All told, there were four cars involved in the collision, not including the car that hit them and continued on. The firefighters and paramedics quickly triaged the victims in the other cars, working their way through the tangled mess to Tom’s mangled car.
“Is everyone in here okay?” An EMT asked, poking his head in through one of the broken windows.
“Blood! Blood!” Tristan started up again, waving his arm at the EMT.
“Do we fucking look okay?” Stacy muttered under her breath.
“We’re going to have to extricate you all from the car,” a firefighter told them. “I think we’ll be able to just take the top off to get you all out of there.”
“Stacy? Tom? Is that you?” Joe’s voice broke through the other rescue workers’.
“Sergeant Joe! Sergeant Joe!” Dylan screamed. “The bad guy hit us with his car and we got all smashed up. Sergeant Joe, I can’t see you. Where are you?”
“I’m right here. Which one are you again?” Joe teased, reaching through the broken window to pat Dylan on the head. “Wow, Tristan, that’s a great cut on your arm. You’re going to have a great scar.”
“I don’t want a scar!” Tristan yelled, starting to panic again.
“Sure you do. Chicks dig scars. Trust me on this. C’mon, there’s a cute little girl at day care that you like isn’t there?” Joe asked conspiratorially.
“Girls are gross!” They both exclaimed.
“One of these days you’re going to think girls are pretty cool and they’re going to dig that scar. I promise.” Joe continued to talk to the boys, distracting them while the extrication team got set up. The noise during the extrication process was horrendous and Stacy expected the boys to be frightened, but the firefighters took time to explain to them what they were doing and the boys were fascinated as they cut through the posts and lifted the entire roof off of the car.
Once the roof was off the car, the firefighters cut the boys’ car seats free of the anchors. They left the boys in their car seats, and secured their necks with towel rolls and tape. Joe walked to the ambulance with them while the rescuers went about backboarding Stacy and Tom to remove them from the car.
Stacy felt her rescuer tighten up when he was performing his head to toe assessment on her and realized that he’d found her gun on her belt. “You can have the sergeant come over and take possession of my gun if you’d like,” she offered. “I trust him and I’m in no position to remove it myself.”
“Yeah, I think I will have the sergeant come over here,” he said nervously. “Sergeant, can you come here please?”
Joe’s friendly face loomed over hers. Secured to the backboard as she was, she couldn’t see anything except what was directly in front of her. “You causing trouble?”
“Yup. Can you take my gun? It’s making everyone a little nervous.” She motioned with her eyes to her rescuer. Joe deftly removed her belt, catching the holstered gun as the belt slid free. “Don’t forget the magazines.”
“I meant to talk to you about your magazines,” he said. “Are you sure four extra ten-rounders is enough?”
“You know, if I could hit you, I would. But only because I seriously debated carrying six extra, but thought that might be a bit paranoid.” Stacy only half-joked, stopped mid-laugh by an excruciating pain in her chest. She gasped for like a fish for air before the EMT put a non-rebreather oxygen mask over her face.
Joe turned away from her before she could see the look on his face. She looked like hell; her nose was obviously broken and had bled down her face, soaking her shirt. Both eyes were black as a raccoon’s. None of that was nearly as worrisome as the way she gasped for breath and took on an unusual pallor when she tried to laugh.
Tom looked worse. He’d broken his arm and his face trying to protect himself from the airbag and had an open tib-fib fracture of his right leg from jamming on the brakes. At least he didn’t turn funny colors when he tried to laugh or gasp for air.
The boys, though, came through it intact. Thank God for well-made car seats. The cut on Tristan’s arm that had him in a panic wasn’t even going to require stitches; Dylan was going in to be checked out just to be on the safe side, but he was likely to come through the whole thing completely physically unscathed.
Joe locked Stacy’s gun and extra magazines in the trunk of his car and took a second to call Quinn. “Honey, don’t bother getting all gussied up for dinner tonight. Do you mind if our date takes place in the hospital cafeteria and we’re chaperoned by two four year-olds?”
Quinn was not amused. “What the hell are you talking about? The hospital café… Oh, no. What happened?”
“They were in a car accident. They’re all going to be okay, but it looks like Tom’s going to need surgery.”
“Was it that bastard Mark? Did he do this to them?” She demanded.
“I don’t know. It was a hit and run, so I’m going to assume yes, but we can’t prove it. Just like we can’t prove most of the stuff the bastard’s done. God, I’m so tired of this. Why does it have to be a complete, random stranger? Why couldn’t it be an ex of some sort?” Joe rubbed his temples and lowered his voice, “The only good thing to come out of this is that I met you.”
Quinn’s heart skipped a beat and her breath caught in her chest, “It’s kind of a double-edged sword, isn’t it? Both good and bad are coming out of this. Let’s just hope more good than bad.”
“Let’s hope,” he fairly whispered and then returned his voice to normal. “Does Stacy have any family close by that I should call to come be with her?”
“No. They all live out of state. I’ll head over to the hospital and meet them there.” She said, already gathering up her things.
A Smashing Success!
Just a couple of posts ago, I was whining, wondering if anything was ever going to go my way. Darting that damn horse was just the thing to turn my luck around.
The cops on TV are right; the perps always return to the scene of the crime. It’s like a tether. I just had to go back this afternoon after all of the cops were gone, just to see. On my way back, I passed the happy little family in town. It was nothing to turn around and get behind them. I didn’t really have any plan in place, but the opportunity presented itself and I just had to take it. Every word that bitch has ever said to me. Every time she’s hung up on me. It all piled up and I was blind with rage.
When I saw that they were going to make a right hand turn, it was just a simple matter of hitting the gas and driving right through the bitch’s quarter-panel and keep going. I had a good view of the catastrophe in my rear-view mirror. If only I’d had my video camera with me. It was like something out of Grand Theft Auto. The cars just kept smashing into the bitch’s car. It was beautiful.
I couldn’t help myself. I had to stop with the rest of the looky-lous. I pulled into a conveniently located parking lot and walked back to join everyone on the sidewalk. Their car was smashed to bits and they had to use the Jaws of Life to cut them out. That big fucker cop was there, too.
I don’t know how badly hurt any of them were, but it looked pretty bad.
Posted by: secret_admirer on 1, 2, I’m coming for you…
Comment by: justanotherasshole
Well done! Way to seize the opportunity given to you.
Comment by: sickbastard
You’ve got to start carrying your camera with you. How do we know you’re not just fucking with us? You could be lying about causing the accident or the damage done.
Comment by: secret_admirer
@sickbastard, it made the news. Look it up. You’re right; I should have had the camera with me. I’ll put it in the car so that I’ll always have it available.
Quinn was appalled when she saw Stacy in the Emergency Department. Joe had tried to prepare her for what she’d find, but she couldn’t imagine it. The woman laying strapped to the backboard with the oxygen mask strapped to her face looked nothing like her best friend. “Stacy, you look like shit.”
“I know,” was the muffled reply. “And my chest hurts like hell. We’re waiting on the x-rays, but it feels like I broke my damn sternum from the seatbelt. Broke my fucking nose with my own damn arm trying to avoid the airbag.”
“You’ve also got quite a gash on your forehead from that rock Tom put on your hand. It looks like you dug out a furrow.” Quinn added.
“What? No one told me about a cut on my forehead. I thought all of the blood was from my broken nose.” Stacy tried to reach up to her forehead to feel what Quinn was talking about.
“I’m just screwing with you,” Quinn joked. “But you are lucky you didn’t put your eye out with that rock. I don’t know how you can even lift your arm.”
“He done good, didn’t he?” Stacy said. “He’s a good man, who loves me and the kids. And now he’s in surgery getting his leg fixed. What if he’d been hurt worse? That bastard could have killed all of us.”
“But he didn’t. Stacy, you’re stronger than that coward. Can you imagine his frustration? He’s trying to terrorize you and you just keep coming back. You’re not running and hiding in fear. You’re out there, taking care of business, getting things done. And you’re good at it!” Quinn couldn’t mask the admiration she felt for Stacy; she wasn’t sure she would do as well in the same position.
Tears slowly ran down Stacy’s face, pooling in her ears. “He is terrorizing me. I’m tired of looking over my shoulder all the time. I’m tired of not knowing when he’ll appear.”
“It’s okay to be tired, but you’re not backing down. You’re standing your ground and it’s got to stick in his craw.”
“Well, what else can I do? I’ve got the boys and Tom and a business to run, I can’t just curl up and hide in a hole.”
“The poor guy doesn’t know who he’s messing with,” Quinn squeezed Stacy’s hand. “I’m going to go sit with the boys. I think they’ll be okay, but they’re scared. Lord knows we can’t let them come in here to see you. You look like death warmed over. They’ll have nightmares for a month.”
Stacy coughed out a laugh, “Thanks a lot for that. Maybe I won’t be so scary once I’m off of this backboard and get the blood cleaned up.”
“You haven’t seen a mirror yet, have you? Trust me, the boys and I are going to be friends for a while. Besides, Joe and I are counting on them to be our chaperones tonight for our hot date in the cafeteria.”
“Thank you, Quinn. I’m sorry about all of this. And I’m sorry that you’ll have the boys around for your first date,” Stacy told her mournfully.
Joe briefly hugged Quinn when they passed in the hall. Their stolen brief kiss meant the world to both of them. Jason met up with Joe and they entered Stacy’s curtain area to take her official statement of the accident. She racked her brains trying to remember a description of the vehicle that hit them, but kept coming up blank. It all just happened too fast. She saw the movement and then felt the impact. A hit and run was just too coincidental to be anyone but the creeper, Mark.
