Danville Horror: A Pat Wyatt Novel (The Pat Wyatt Series Book 3) (16 page)

chapter

SIXTEEN

“Oh my goodness,” my voice was soft as I bent down to see the cutest Husky puppy with the biggest blue eyes. He was looking up at me and whimpering, so I bent down to see if he had a collar or anything, and when I did, the poor little guy licked my face. I couldn’t help myself. I picked him up, not knowing if he had fleas, and, at that moment, I didn’t care. He was just so darn cute. “Hi, puppy,” I cooed, standing up with him in my arms. The only reason I knew it was a little guy was because he most definitely was
not
neutered.

I walked him inside, looking him over as I shut the door with my foot. It looked like he was bleeding from his front right paw. It didn’t look bad, but I would have to have Doc Miller look at when her office opened. She was one of the best vets in the area. The only thing was her office didn’t open until nine. Nevertheless, I was sure if I called her at home, she’d open a little early for me.

The poor little boy nuzzled against me and yipped a little when I touched his injured paw. I petted him to keep him quiet so the whole house wouldn’t wake. Then I walked him into the kitchen, turned on the light, and checked to see if the little one had mites or anything like that. As I placed him on the median, he cried, but not enough to suggest that he was in terrible pain. Finally, I looked into his fur, and I didn’t see anything creepy-crawly, but he was in serious need of a bath. The poor little guy was covered from head to toe in dirt, and his paws were caked in mud.

“You poor baby,” I said, trying to get him to stop shaking. He was bone cold, and I grabbed a dishtowel to wrap him in it until I could run him a hot bath. “How long have you been running around? You look so tired. Poor baby.”

“What’s goin’ on?” Mortimer whispered. But before I answered, his eyes grew wide, and he smiled. “Puppy,” he said, picking him up off the counter, and rocking him in his arms. The pup seemed to take to him immediately and licked his nose while Mortimer kissed him back. It melted my heart.

“Ye poor t’ing,” he said softly to the dog. “Where’d ye find ‘em?” he asked me not looking up.

“Outside,” I replied. “He seems to be hurt. And in bad need of a bath.”

“The poor little lad. What’re we gonna do fur his paw?”

“Wait until the vet opens and see what she says. But first,” I paused walking over to them, “someone needs a bath and some water to keep him hydrated.” I looked at the clock over the stove, and it read almost four in the morning. “We’re going to have to be super quiet.”

“Whatever ye say, Captain,” Mortimer whispered, winking at me. Then he turned around and nearly skipped down the hall with the puppy in arms.

I shook my head, turning off the light. But before I followed, I had the oddest feeling that someone was watching me. I turned on my heels, looking out the back doors, but there was nothing out there. Still, it didn’t mean that someone wasn’t watching me another way, so I ran down the hall, nearly killing myself when my socks slipped on the hardwood floor.

Mortimer was already at the top of the stairs and I smiled at him, walking up in a hurry. “Come on,” I said, gesturing for him to follow, and I went to the bathroom in front of him.

“I’m not the one bein’ a slowpoke,” he muttered.

“I heard that,” I breathed, trying to get my heart rate under control before he sensed something was wrong.

Once inside, we closed the door as quietly as possible, and I began to run a bath for the little one. Mortimer washed him, considering that my one arm was in a cast, and the puppy seemed to enjoy every minute of it. He whimpered a little when Mortimer got to his bad leg, but other than that, not a sound came from him. I told Mortimer to use the regular shampoo, and when he did, all the mud and dirt washed away. We watched as the husky went from brown to white, except for his very black nose. Then as I looked him over again, I noticed that the blood I thought was coming from the paw was actually coming from his leg. He had an ugly two-inch gash, and as Mortimer dried him, I went into my room to get the gauze in my toiletry bag.

I tiptoed back into the bathroom, seeing Mortimer had the puppy wrapped snuggly in a towel. “Hold him so I can get the bandage on,” I said, using my good hand to wrap the gauze around his skinny leg.

“What’re we gonna name ‘em?”

I shrugged. “I don’t know. The vet is going to have to check to see if he has a chip in him first. Then we can think of names.”

Mortimer frowned a little. “Ye mean, we may not be able ta keep ‘em?”

“I doubt he belongs to anyone,” I answered. “But better safe than sorry.”

“What do we call ‘em until then?”

“Puppy,” I replied, and the little fellow’s ears perked up. “See? He likes it.” I petted him on the head, and he closed his eyes. “Poor thing probably needs a nap.”

“Can ye take ‘em while I get ‘em somethin’ ta drink?” Mortimer asked, and I nodded. He handed me the puppy-filled towel and left us in the bathroom.

Carefully, I walked into my bedroom, sitting on the bed. “You tired, puppy?” As if to answer me, he yawned, and I yawned right with him. “Yeah, me too,” I sighed, so I placed him down on the bed. When I finally looked down at my shirt, I saw that it was covered in dirt, so I decided to change.

As I grabbed another one out of the bag, I took the dirty one off in the process. As I looked back, the puppy was covering his eyes with his paw. I just shook my head. “What a little gentleman,” I cooed, placing the clean shirt on.

I turned back around to see that he was looking at me again, so I decided to cuddle with him until Mortimer came back with the water. Picking him up, I placed him next to my neck as I lay down, putting the covers over both of us. He snuggled in closer to me, and his warmth relaxed me enough that I closed my eyes.

The next thing I knew, Mortimer was shaking me awake with an almost panicked look on his face. “Mortimer?” I yawned. “What’s wrong?”

“It’s gonna be a sunny day t’day,” he said.

I blinked a couple of times, trying to understand what he was saying, and then my eyes widened. I bolted upright, disturbing the sleeping puppy, and he cried a bit. “Oh, shit. What are you going to do?”

“I was wonderin’ if I could stay in the garage?” he asked, his voice slightly panicked.

“Sure,” I breathed, “I’m just going to have to keep Pops out of there.”

He nodded abruptly. “Dat would be smart.”

“What time is it anyway?”

“Almost seven,” he answered, frantically looking out the window.

I was in awe of how long I slept, but I guessed that was what happened when you forcibly broke the connection with a vampire. “Please, go. Don’t worry about anything. I have to take the puppy to the vet anyway.”

“Ye sure?”

I nodded. “I’m sure. Now go before you turn into ash.”

He gave me a smile, kissed me on the forehead, and left in a blur.

I sighed, reaching over the pup to get my phone out of my bag. After I called information, I had them patch me through to Doc Miller. She answered on the second ring. “Doctor Miller’s office, Doc Miller speaking, how may I help you?”

“Doc,” I said, happy and relieved to hear her voice. “Patricia Wyatt here.”

“Pat,” her voice was happily surprised, “how’s everything going over there with your father’s wedding?”

Small town life. Everyone knew everything about everyone. “So far so good,” I answered, trying to keep the conversation on track. “What are you doing there so early?”

“Changed my hours. I open an hour earlier and close an hour later. Now I know this isn’t a social call, so what’s up?” That was Doc Miller for you, always straight to the point.

“I found a puppy on Pops doorstep this morning. He’s got a pretty bad gash on his right leg. I wrapped it as best I could, but,” I paused, looking down at the gauze to see he had bled through it a little, “it looks like it needs stitches. And I’m sure he needs a full workup.”

“No problem,” she said, and I heard pen scratching on paper. “You bring him over right away, and I’ll have a look-see.”

“Thanks, Doc. I’ll be there in twenty minutes or so.”

“See you then,” she happily replied. “Bye, Pat.”

“Bye, Doc.”

Then I remembered there was a problem. “I’m not allowed to drive.”

There was only one thing I could do, ask Cindy for a ride to the vet because if I woke Tina, I would never hear the end of it. She was not a morning person, and when it was her time off—forget it. You woke her up at your own peril.

Getting out of bed, I told the puppy to stay while I got dressed in a hurry. Then I walked across the landing and down the hall to my father’s room. I knocked as gently as I could, as to not wake anyone else, and when Cindy said, “Come in.” I was thankful that she was already up.

Opening the door, I saw that the once creamy white room was now as bright an orange as anyone could get without calling it neon, but I had to take into account that it was Cindy’s room now, and she could do with it what she liked. I just couldn’t believe she got Pops to go along with that color.

Once I blinked the brightness away, I smiled at her. She was sitting on the edge of the bed, putting on her slippers. It looked like she was going to the North Pole with her oversized sweater and black sweat pants. “What’s wrong?” she asked, bringing me back to reality.

“I need a ride to Doc Miller’s,” I explained.

Her brow furrowed. “Are you all right?”

I laughed a little. I forgot that not everyone knew everybody else, and Cindy was still fairly new to Danville. “Yeah, I’m fine,” I eased her troubled mind. “Doctor Miller is a vet. I found a puppy last night on the doorstep, and he looks like he may need a couple of stitches. Plus, he’s in desperate need of a check up.”

Her eyes widened. “A puppy?” she asked, and I nodded. “We have to go right away.”

I shook my head. “No rush. Please, get dressed and—”

“Nonsense,” she interrupted, sliding off her slippers and getting up to get her boots by the closet door. “We have to go now. You get your boots and the puppy. I’ll meet you downstairs.”

“Sounds good,” I replied and did what I was told. As I placed my boots on, the little one was being playful, even with his bad leg. He was pulling on the laces and every time I would tie one, I’d have to tie the other. At last, I was done, and when I went downstairs, puppy in arms, Cindy was waiting for me. She helped me on with my coat and out we went to Doc Miller’s.

I showed Cindy how to get there, but there was something off about it. Every time I would tell her to go left or right, she was already turning that way. She had acted as if she didn’t know there was a vet in town, and yet she knew where to go almost by instinct.

When we pulled up outside of the office, all of those thoughts were replaced by getting the little one well. As I hopped out of the car, carrying him, Cindy said that she was going to get some doughnuts for breakfast, explaining that she’d be back to me in five minutes. I knew that it would take at least twenty to get the puppy all settled and the stitches done, so I wasn’t worried.

Walking into Doc Miller’s office, I had a small memory of taking Annabelle, my cat, here to get checkups and then finally putting her to sleep my senior year of high school. I remembered that I had insisted on doing it myself. She was about eighteen, and one morning she just wasn’t eating and the next she was barely breathing. I remembered the heartbreak of losing her, but I remembered Doc Miller being as kind as humanly possible. And her husband giving me a hug and telling me that I had done the right thing. But this time it was different. This time she would be helping a life instead of ending it.

Making my way to the counter, it wasn’t quite seven-thirty yet, so Mr. Miller took us back right away. After all, there was no one in the waiting room. I had almost forgotten that Mr. Miller was his wife’s receptionist and had been for the twenty some-odd years she’d been in practice as a veterinarian in Danville. He was a short, balding man with a smile that would make anyone’s day, and he always wore variations of the same thing. A plaid shirt, jeans, and work boots.

Doctor Miller, on the other hand, was tall with short dark hair and always wore a dress with heels. She was almost sixty, and the woman never looked a day over thirty-five in her life. Except for a little gray at the temples, she still had a youthfulness about her. She took the puppy from my arms and weighed him.

As she had suspected, he was severely underweight. Then she scanned him for a chip, and there was nothing. Finally, she looked at his bandaged leg and said, “He’s definitely going to need some stitches. Not many. But a few. Could you hold him while I give him something to numb it and sew it up?”

“Sure, no problem.”

He looked up at me as I gently placed my good hand over him. But he was so good that holding him down was unnecessary. He actually welcomed the help. The only part he was even remotely jumpy on was when she shaved his leg and took some blood to test for infections and such. But as the doc finally bandaged the wound and gave him an antibiotic shot, he licked her in the face as if to say “thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” she replied, patting him on the head. Then she turned to me. “He might be a little bit drowsy for the rest of the day, but that’s normal. And I’ll give you some antibiotics. He has to take them once a day with food. I’m also going to set you up with some wet and dry puppy food, just to see what he likes. So,” she paused from writing in her chart to smile up at me, “what’re you going to name him?”

I looked down at him and smiled. “Fang,” I told her, and he yipped in approval.

“Fang?” Doc Miller asked.

“Like the book
White Fang
. It seems appropriate.”

“Fang,” she called him, and he barked at her. “Well, he likes it.”

“He seems to,” I replied, then after a minute more of her writing in her notes, I asked, “How much do I owe you, Doc?”

She waved me off. “This one’s on the house. You just bring me some wedding cake and we’ll call it even, okay?”

I smiled at her. “You got it.” When we left, Mr. Miller helped get everything we needed into the car, and all of us waved goodbye, including Fang.