A single bullet rips right through Carmela's skull, dropping her instantly. I hesitated longer than she even felt it.
The growling turns to frantic barking. I turn the gun, pointing it at the mutt. His ears are laid back as he viciously bears his teeth, coming right toward me defensively. My gloved finger rests on the trigger.
I try.
I try.
I fucking try to do it, to pull the goddamn trigger, but I can't.
I can't do it.
"Fuck," I curse to myself, dropping the gun, abandoning it. The clank of metal against the floor makes the dog cower briefly. He whimpers before growling once more, terrified but protective, following me through the house as I head for the front door. I unlock it, opening it, holding it open for the dog to run out, but he backs away, staying in the foyer.
I consider leaving him there.
I almost do.
But I can't.
Again, I can't do it.
Karissa's voice echoes in the back of my head.
She loves him.
He's innocent.
On a whim I reach down and snatch ahold of the dog, lugging it outside with me. He barks and wiggles, frantic to escape my grasp. The second my grip loosens, he rears back, bearing his teeth as he clamps down on my forearm.
Pain shoots through arm and I instinctively let go. Shit. The dog hits the ground and I expect him to run, to escape, but he just stands there, growling some more.
Shaking it off, I do what I need to, improvising to ignite a spark, sending the porch of the house up in flames. I watch the fire spread, my thoughts drifting, a strange numbness running through me.
The affects of watching death used to linger for hours, making my fingertips tingle and my heart race, my body twitching as I tried to come down from it, but there's nothing today.
No euphoria.
No adrenaline.
Nothing.
My heart isn't racing. There's no life inside of me.
I'm a monster.
Karissa was right about me.
The only thing I feel at the moment is the throbbing of my arm and the stream of blood from the fresh wound running along my skin.
I can't believe the mutt bit me.
I save his life and this is the thanks I get?
I wait until the flames start sweeping through the house before I walk away. The dog follows me to my car, growling, trying to intimidate me. I have no time to dawdle, no time to waste. Someone will see the fire and call it in, and I can't be here when they come.
Nobody around here can know I exist.
Opening the back door, I snatch a hold of the dog and throw him in the backseat before he can bite me again.
Dr. Carter's once again half-asleep. He stands at his front door, blinking rapidly as he gapes at me under his dim porch light. "Another?"
His voice is gritty, full of disbelief.
He didn't expect to see me again so soon.
He thinks my body count has risen again.
It has, sure, but I don't need him for this one, just as I hadn't needed him when I killed Johnny. Ray would want evidence, tangible proof that justice was served.
He'd want Carmela found.
Shaking my head, I yank my shirtsleeve up, showing him the bite. Blood streams down my arm. I can feel it seeping into my button down shirt, staining the pristine white a dark shade of red.
"Come in," he says, waving for me to step inside, his eyes frantically darting all around before he shuts the door behind me. I follow him down the hallway, to the kitchen, trying not to drip blood on his floor.
Not because I care about his things.
More like I don't want to leave more of myself behind than I have to.
This isn't the first time he's sewn me up, and it won't be the last. I take a seat at his kitchen table as he flicks on the overhead light and gets down to business. His supplies are gathered, the bare minimum needed: just a needle and some thread.
I'd do it myself, but I can't sew for shit.
I know.
I've tried.
"I just need to grab the anesthetic," he grumbles, heading for the doorway, but I reach out and grab his arm, stopping him. His panicked gaze darts down to where my hand clutches him before he meets my eyes.
"Don't bother," I say, letting go of him. "Just get on with it."
"Are you sure?"
"I wouldn't say it if I wasn't."
Nodding, he proceeds to clean up the blood and disinfect the wound. It burns as the peroxide seeps into the small gashes lining the circular injury. I can make out the imprint of teeth, the skin already bruising in the familiar pattern.
The veterinarian eyes it warily before getting to work.
I hardly feel the needle when it goes in.
"Run in with an animal tonight?" he asks, making the first stitch.
"I don't think that's any of your business."
"No, you're right," he mutters. "It isn't."
Just a few stitches to close the biggest gash and he's done, pushing away from the table to clean up the mess. "When was your last tetanus shot, Vitale?"
"You'd know better than I would."
He pauses, contemplating. "You should probably get a booster, just to be safe."
"I'm not worried about it."
"You should be. Tetanus is—"
"The least of my problems right now."
"Well, at least let me get you some antibiotics."
"Don't bother," I say. "I'm not going to take them."
He shakes his head, turning to me. He's wide-awake now. He knows his chance for peaceful slumber is over. "It's amazing you're still alive, you know."
"I know," I admit, standing up. "I'll get going now."
I leave before he can offer any more sort of inane care, heading back out to my car. I pause beside it, seeing the dog in the backseat, still growling at me.
My gaze turns to the doorway, to where Carter stands, watching me. I motion with my head toward the backseat. "You think you can do something with this for me?"
His eyes widen. "The dog?"
"Yes."
"You don't mean..." He turns his head toward the back yard. "You don't want me to... do you?"
His stammering makes me laugh.
"I'm not telling you to kill it," I say. "I'm just asking you to do something with it. Tie it up out back, just temporarily, until I can make other arrangements."
Opening the back door, I let the dog run out. I don't wait for Carter to say anything else, to even confirm he'll take care of the thing. Without another look, I get in the car to leave right away.
It's nearing sun up when I reach my neighborhood in Brooklyn, a touch of light spanning along the horizon. I'm exhausted, and frustrated, wishing I felt something more.
I pull the car into the garage, knowing I'm going to clean it out first thing, and head inside to get what I need. A towel, bleach, something to get rid of the dog hair. Something to wipe away the memory.