I hurled the lighter at him. With a whoosh he burst into flame.
I watched as he jumped to his feet, screaming at the top of his lungs, hitting at the flames that were ripping at his flesh. He staggered toward us.
“Damn it!” Nevio snarled. He picked up a steel rod from the ground and struck out like a baseball player, hitting the burning man’s head. As if a plug had been pulled, the burning body dropped to the ground. I watched as the flames consumed the body.
“Your turn,” Nevio told the other guy, taking out his knife.
“Make it quick but painful,” I heard myself say as I crawled over to the dog and touched its neck. It trembled. “We need to get the dog medical help.”
“Quick isn’t my thing,” Nevio muttered but his eyes were on me with an intense worry I’d never seen on his face before.
Massimo stepped forward, pulled out his raptor claw and dragged it along the man’s abdomen. His bowels spilled to the ground. “Done.”
“Where’s the next vet?” Alessio asked.
“Call our doc,” I said. Our Camorra doctor was always the quickest to respond to emergencies. Even if this wasn’t a human patient, he’d come if we called.
They exchanged a look but Massimo picked up his mobile and agreed upon a meeting spot with the doctor close by. It was one of the fully equipped hospital rooms that the Camorra had all over the city.
“We have to carry the dog to the car,” Alessio said.
“It’ll be too painful for him.”
“Let me grab my kit from the car,” Massimo said and jogged away. Alessio grabbed his lighter from the ground and lit a cigarette before he walked around the burned body, shaking his head.
Nevio still only watched me.
The stench of burnt flesh registered on me for the first time. My chin was sticky. I wiped at it with the back of my hand and even in the dim street light I could tell it came away stained with blood.
I dropped my hand, felt the terrifying urge to get rid of this limb, somehow. My eyes darted to Nevio’s knife that he was still holding in his hand. He clucked his tongue, bringing my focus back up to his face. He pocketed the knife then came over to me, got down on his knees and ripped a piece off of his shirt, then rubbed first my hand then my chin clean with it.
He motioned at the bodies. “These are mine.”
I didn’t understand.
“Forget what happened. They are on me.”
“No,” I said, still patting the dog’s neck.
“Don’t argue. My darkness spilled over. It wasn’t you.”
Was it Nevio’s darkness? Or was it mine?
Massimo jogged over to us, pulled a syringe from his medical kit and injected the dog. Then he prepared an infusion which he attached to the dog’s front leg. I watched but didn’t ask. I knew what they were doing by night, and these tools usually weren’t for saving a life.
I got up, feeling hollow. My always overactive mind was quiet. My legs were steady. My body didn’t react as it should with revulsion, with heart pounding and sickness, with cold sweat and goose bumps. In that moment I felt nothing. I was empty, as if everything that had made me me had been erased by what I’d done.
Massimo picked up the dog and I carried the infusion. Nevio never left my side, watching me as if he worried I’d break down. I wouldn’t. Not today.
I rode in the truck bed beside the dog and touched her neck to assure myself that she was still alive while I held the infusion up. The dog was breathing slowly but steadily, relieved of its pain. She was black with a few random white spots like a cow. “I’ll call you, Dotty, okay? You’re going to live with me and my family, and no one’s ever going to dare hurting you again.”
We arrived at the designated meeting space a few minutes later. Our Camorra doctor and a nurse were already waiting for us there. But so were Dad and Savio.
I could see the concern on Savio’s face. Maybe one of the boys had sent them a text or called them, and told them what had happened. The nurse and doctor rushed forward with a stretcher, not questioning why they had to take care of a dog. I handed the nurse the infusion and hopped off the truck bed. Massimo had already walked over to Savio and Dad, and was talking to them.
“You have blood on your face, let me take a look at you to make sure you’re not hurt,” the doctor said, reaching out for me without permission.
“No,” I growled, backing away. “I’m fine, it’s not my blood.” I swallowed and smiled weakly at him, motioning at the dog. “Please take care of her.”