Chasing Demons

The woman's eyes were wide with horror, disbelief. She looked into his own, pleading with him to not let this man hurt her, not let her die, not like this, to not leave her. All without saying a word, all with only her eyes, which were beautiful: large, dark-gray ovals framed with thick, ebony lashes. Eyes that would never leave him for the rest of his life. He reached out to her, was within inches of pulling her from harm, when his face was spattered with pieces of her flesh, tissue, brain; drenched with hot blood. Feeling all this before hearing the fatal shot.
Garth awakened with a start, seeing those eyes dying, the light fading; catching at that final moment the accusation in the woman's eyes as she looked into his. Knowing the last thought she had on earth was that this man had let her down, had not saved her as she had so desperately needed, wanted him to do.
Garth groaned, forced himself to sit up, and waited for the shaking to subside. He wiped the sweat from his brow as he willed the images away. Rising, he glanced out the window, noticed darkness had descended, and cursed himself for thinking once again that maybe he would be lucky this time and he would not see those eyes when his own were closed in sleep.
At the kitchen door, he paused, swaying slightly, still sweating. He barely registered the softly whining dog nudging at his hand with its nose. He yanked his jacket off the coat-rack, threw the door open, and stomped to the stables, murmuring, "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry," never realizing these words were his mantra each time he awakened.
Close to the barn, the dog stopped, raised his nose, sniffed, and began to throw his head this way and that as he trotted ahead.
Entering the stables, Garth instinctively felt that something was amiss but dismissed it as his reaction to the dog's behavior. He began to check the stalls one by one, ascertaining the horses had entered on their own and were patiently awaiting the corn and rolled-oats combination he fed them each evening.
The dog had gone to the farthest stall and was now emitting bursts of frustrated whines, darting looks inside the enclosure and then back to Garth, as if to urge him to come see.
Garth ignored the animal, thinking one of the cats or maybe a field mouse or rat had caught his attention. He murmured soothing words to the horses, stroking muzzles reaching out to him. He closed the lower halves of the stall doors as he moved toward the one at the end occupied by his favored horse.
Garth became alarmed when he didn't see the Tennessee Walker waiting on him, which was unusual. Peering further into the stall, he grew puzzled at the sight of the young horse reclining on his side in the far corner. Garth had never known him to lie down at mealtime.
The dog darted toward the large animal, then away, emitting short barks, as if to say, hurry up, why don't you. He would not go too close to the horse, having a healthy respect for the damage his hooves could inflict.
Garth shooed the dog away so that he wouldn't be hurt if the gelding got feisty. "Anything wrong, boy?" he asked, entering the stall, wondering if the animal had gotten tangled in barbwire again. The horse raised his head and snickered at him but did not rise.
Garth approached carefully, aware of the strength of this animal, knowing he could be killed from one kick, knowing if the horse was in pain, he would strike out at anyone or anything.
Garth murmured reassuringly as he knelt close to the horse's head. He stroked the gelding as he looked him over. His eyes stopped at what lay behind.
Something wrapped in a horse blanket was bundled up against the back of the stall. Garth could see tufts of dark hair but nothing else. He reached out, drew the blanket back, and felt his body jolt at the sight of those same eyes he had just witnessed in his dream. "Jesus," he grunted, shifting his weight, losing his balance, and landing on his rear.
The dog, which had peering over Garth's shoulder, leapt back, yelping in alarm.
Garth closed his eyes and tried to gather his wits, telling himself he hadn't actually seen what he had just dreamt. "It's okay, Boo," he said to the dog, more as a means of reassuring himself than anything else. He forced himself to move toward the blanket once more, forced himself to look at the face more closely. He was thankful the eyes were now closed and realized with relief this was not the same face that had housed the eyes that dwelt in his dreams. He slowly drew the blanket away and felt his heart lurch when the eyes came open suddenly, widely, looking at him with the same alarm as in his dream.
The woman reached toward him, and he instinctively moved back away from her. Boo let out a bark of alarm. "Don't let him find me," the woman pleaded with him in a weak voice. "He killed my baby. Please don't let him find me, he'll..." She closed those eyes again and her body went slack.
Garth reached out and shook her slightly. "Miss?" he asked her, then, "Miss?" When she didn't respond to him, he stood, urged the horse up with him, and moved him to the far side of the stall. He bent down, picked the woman up in his arms, and carried her to the house. The dog trailed behind, sniffing the air.
Garth took the unconscious woman to the extra bedroom and lay her on the day bed, unsure what to do with her. He noticed his arms and stomach felt wet and turned on the lamp by the bed. His eyes widened at the dark red splotches, then darted to the bloodstained blanket.
"My God," he said in a raspy voice, as he gently peeled the blanket away. His eyes traveled the woman's body, taking in the dark stains on her lower sweater and jeans. He straightened up, walked to the window, and stood there, staring at her, wondering what in the hell had happened. Boo sat watching him, every once in awhile issuing a worried whine.
Garth finally pulled a quilt from the closet and covered her. He walked out of the room, to the kitchen, and called the only close friend he had: Thad Brownlee, a nurse practitioner who also served as their small community's veterinarian, although he did not have the license to go with it.
"Thad," Garth said into the phone. "It's Garth. I need your help. It's—well, I guess it's an emergency. Can you come now?"
He listened for a second. "I'll leave the door unlocked, just come on in." Ignoring Thad's queries as to which animal was in jeopardy, he hung up the phone and returned to the bedroom.
Garth had had medical training as a policeman but didn't want to do any more damage than had been done. After ascertaining there wasn't a steady flow of blood that he could detect, he waited for Thad. He paced back and forth as he watched the woman beneath the quilt, the dog keeping pace with him.
When his friend entered the house, Garth left the room to meet him. He told him as he led him to the bedroom what he had found in the barn and about the blood. "Jesus, Thad, there's so much blood, I don't see how she could still be alive."
Thad uncovered the woman, then glanced at Garth. "Why didn't you call 911 or take her to the hospital?" he asked as he removed the now-bloody quilt and dropped it on the floor.
"Before she passed out, she said something about not letting someone find her, that he'd killed her baby, he'd kill her, I think. I could barely understand her," Garth said, watching his friend.
Thad ceased his visual examination and approached Garth. "If someone's after her and they did this to her, then they sure as hell aren't going to stop because of you. Come on, let's take her to the hospital."
Garth remained silent, watching the woman.
"I'm not a doctor, Gar. I can't help her, not like they can. Come on, let's get her in the car."
"Wait a minute." Garth continued to stare at the unconscious woman. "She looks familiar, Thad. I think I know her." He approached the bed, stooped down, and gently pushed her hair away from her face. He leaned close to her, studying her features. "Damn," he said in a low voice.
Thad joined him. "What?"
Garth glanced at him. "You know who this is?"
Thad peered down at the woman's pale, upturned face. "No, I don't think so." He leaned down to regard her more closely.
"Angel Salvatori, wife of Tony Salvatori," Garth muttered.
"Who?"
"Biggest kingpin in the Southeast." Garth's eyes returned to the woman. "Connected to the mob; controls all the drugs, firearms, prostitution, gambling, anything illegal you could think of. KPD Vice has been after that guy hot and heavy as long as he's been in Knoxville."
Thad's face held a worried expression. "Uh-oh."
"There are bodies all over East Tennessee because of him." Garth glanced at his friend. "He's a violent, dangerous man. If she's running from him for some reason, then she wasn't lying when she said he'd kill her. People have been known to die just for looking at the man the wrong way."
Thad's face blanched. "Are you sure it's her? I mean, it may be someone that looks like her, you know."
Garth shook his head. "No, it's her. I actually met her a couple of times when I lived in Knoxville."
"Oh, man," Thad said in a low voice.
"Can you help her?"
Thad thought a moment. "You got any scissors?"
Garth cocked his head at him.
"We'll probably need to cut these clothes off her, find out where all this blood is coming from."