Fixed Parts Read online

  The silence between us was charged, like I was a dangerous animal and he was aware that having me out of a cage was not a good idea.

  “Why the fuck did you take me there?” I hissed at him through clenched teeth.

  “I thought you’d want to say goodbye.” He looked at me from the corner of his eye, and I could almost see a tinge of sadness.

  My emotions felt raw; my senses frayed.

  “Do you know who did this?”

  His silence was answer enough.

  “Did you know? Did you have anything to do with this?” My nails dug into my skin, my clenched fist tightening.

  “No.”

  I wanted so badly to believe him. A flood of anger swept over me, “Why? Why did they do this? Retribution?”

  “We covered our tracks. If they suspect, they have no proof—not yet anyway.”

  “So, why?” I dragged a hand over my face masking the prick of tears.

  “You know why Gabriel. They want what you have.”

  My breath was charged as I expelled it from my body, “So why not just come and take it? Why the games?”

  “Because, they thought she meant something to you. Because, they needed to send you a message, to make sure you understood what’s at stake here.”

  “She’s dating someone…was dating someone.” I bit my lower lip thinking how everything about Rita would now be in past tense.

  “That doesn’t mean anything when she leaves your place in the early hours of the morning.” He shot me a knowing look and his voice trailed, leaving a gaping hole of all that was unsaid between us.

  “She was my friend.”

  Salvatore remained silent.

  “Nothing more,” I sagged into my seat, anger gushing through my veins.

  “She’s just an unfortunate casualty.”

  “A casualty?” I erupted, the nonchalance in his tone making me want to punch his face off.

  “War has casualties.’

  “This isn’t a war.”

  “Wake the fuck up kid,” for the first time his voice rose and his face took on a rosy colour. “By letting Tony die, you started a fucking war. By taking that money, by paying Crabb a little visit a few days ago, you pulled the trigger. Now, maybe you can end it all—one way or another.”

  I swallowed his words like stale bread, clenching my jaw, “All I need to break his code are the original files.” It was a frustrated hiss.

  Salvatore nodded, “You don’t have much time left.”

  “I know,” I raked a hand through my hair. “But, it’s the only weapon we have.”

  “What you have, Gabriel, is a fucking nuclear bomb.” He shot me a quick look that I didn’t understand.

  My body felt heavy. Too heavy. My mind clouded with a thick fog of agony.

  “They were the ones that declared war, not me. They said I had a week—” My voice choked as I felt tears pooling in my eyes.

  Salvatore cocked an eyebrow but chose to remain silent, instead looking into the horizon where dawn was breaking. The black sky forced away by the fringes of morning.

  “If they want a war, I’ll give them a fucking war.” They were brave words from a scared kid; but, if you take me back to that moment, if I had to relive that night a thousand times, I would still make the same choice.

  Salvatore’s jaw clenched and his head tipped just slightly, as if he knew. “Well then, you need to prepare yourself for more pain Gabriel. Because more pain is going to come.”

  I swallowed hard and looked at the dawn of a new day, trying to calm my battering heart.

  Three days had passed since Rita’s death, and I had no time to grieve her loss—not in the way she deserved. There was too much else to do other than to feel. There was a weapon to build and discover, worlds to destroy and safety to seek.

  My world kept getting battered by the force of the onslaught coming for me. I could lie and tell you I wasn’t afraid, but I was scared shitless. I was twenty going on a hundred, and the last eighty years collapsed on me in a heap—now that I knew everything.

  I’d been day dreaming again, playing with my own emotions, forcing myself to think about Rita, to glaze over her death as if it made me feel nothing. I had to dip my heart into concrete and allow it to harden, so that I could face all that came next.

  Spots scratched at the door. It was past midnight, and I was so absorbed in my thoughts and trepidation that I’d completely forgotten to let him out for his walk.

  “Sorry boy,” I stroked his head and let him out of my room. Spots bolted downstairs and leapt against the back door.

  I searched the empty street through the little window and unlocked the deadbolt. I opened the door a crack, and Spots dashed out into the night.

  “Off you go buddy, I’m right behind you.” I watched him sniff and piss along walls and knew the familiar path he took most nights.

  I scanned the street again ensuring no one was lurking. I contemplated taking my bat, staring at it for a long time before deciding it would draw too much attention. I stepped outside and searched for Spots; he’d been swallowed by the dark.

  I walked down the dimly lit road, paranoia holding my hand while discomfort followed at the rear. The hair on my neck pricked up. Something was wrong, I could feel it right through me. The certainty flooded my body and shoved me forward. All of a sudden, I regretted leaving the bat at home.

  I ran.

  “Spots! Buddy, where are you?” I called for him, straining to hear anything over my ragged breath. I dragged air into my lungs and kept running.

  Searching.

  Calling.

  The silent night was pierced by a bone-chilling yelp. The sound carried so much pain, it felt like a stab in my heart. It jolted me forward, adrenalin surging through me.

  In the darkness, I could only hear his pain.

  I got closer, his whining tormented.

  As I approached, I thought I could make out two shapes. Running. I had no time to chase, as I saw the lump in the middle of the street. My heart pumped in my chest, hot blood crashed through my veins.

  His face swung to me. In the streetlight I could see anguish in his glazed eyes as he tried to pull himself up, only to collapse with a whimper to the ground.

  When I finally reached him, my heart crashed and guilt filled my body—drowning me, suffocating me.

  “Hi buddy,” I pushed through the debilitating guilt and reached for my friend. There would be time for feelings later. First, I had to fix this.

  I stroked his head, and Spots let out a crushing howl then a wrenching whimper.

  “It’s ok, I’m here now.” I looked around, the hair on the back of my neck standing. We weren’t safe, we had to move.

  I tucked my arms under his limp body and tugged. He growled and whimpered. His back leg, twisted into a mangled thing, hung limply as I pulled us both up, “I’m sorry buddy, we have to get out of here. Let’s get you some help.”

  I resisted every urge to sprint, to run, to flee. Each of my movements shooting pain through Spots. The more he howled, the more helpless I felt, and the more the guilt tried to wedge itself back inside.

  I pushed through the front door and placed Spots as gently as I could onto his bed. I ran to the door, slid the deadlock back into place, and grabbed my phone. I dialled the number, and he answered on the second ring.

  “Boss.”

  “Someone hurt Spots. I need you to find a place I can take him.”

  “I'll call you back in five,” The line went dead.

  The phone rang, the shrill scream like the howls of a wounded animal, “I'm on my way, get him ready.”

  When Salvatore arrived, he helped me carry Spots into his idling car. Spots whimpered, his tongue lolling from his mouth, and his eyes rolling around in his head. I sat by him and stroked his face. I just needed him to know that he wasn’t alone.

  Salvatore navigated the car down narrow streets and around sharp corners, tyres squealing in the black night. My heart hung on the verge, a b
rittle thing about to snap. With each glide of the tyres, I had to fight the despair. I could feel my eyes brimming with tears, and my hands shook as I wiped them away. I felt raw, raw pain—raw guilt, raw everything. I couldn’t stand the thought of losing him. My lips trembled as I whispered empty promises.

  The sign was a large, yellow square that spilled its colour along the street like a beacon. A number of black paw prints ran across the sign and below the words “Paw Prints Rescue.” Somehow, the name felt serendipitous.

  Salvatore parked the car and tore a path to the front door, where he banged and pounded. My head throbbed and my jaw clenched; fear gripped my stomach and squeezed, everything was taking too long.

  The door swung open and a woman popped out. She was dressed in what could have been her pyjamas, and her hair was pulled into a tight, white bun. As Salvatore spoke, she kept flicking glances towards the car.

  He must have managed to convince her to follow him, because they both ran over with Salvatore leading the way, and the woman seeming uncertain. I can’t say I blame her. If a man like Salvatore came knocking at my door in the early hours of the morning, I’d be reluctant to follow him into the street too.

  The woman poked her head into the car, for a brief second her eyes fell on mine and then she noticed Spots. Her wariness evaporated and was replaced by deep empathy.

  “Help me get him inside. Quickly!” Her rich, grave voice resonated in the darkness. Relief and gratefulness washed over me. Someone was going to help, somebody would fix this—him. This woman, with the empathetic green eyes, would look after my friend and fix all the mistakes I've made.

  I scrambled out of the car and carried Spots inside, his agony weighing me down.

  The woman walked ahead of us, turning on lights; they burst to life, waking other dogs with them. They were housed in large, open pens, two per pen in compartments along the wall. They howled and barked in a frenzy, as we stormed through the room and followed the woman down a dim corridor.

  We walked into a white, sterile room with a steel table directly in the middle. “Put him down there,” she pointed at the table and started switching on machines that bleeped and sparked to life. I took in the white walls and shiny tools; everything smelled clean, like it'd been bleached and washed down. It reminded me of Tony's back room, the place where terrible things used to happen.

  My heart rate accelerated and thundered as she approached Spots. She looked at him so tenderly my heart nearly split in two.

  “And who do we have here?” She rubbed his head ever so gently, and her eyes examined him, scanning his body and coming to a rest on the mangled leg.

  “Spots.” My voice shook.

  “Hi Spots, my name is Simone. I’m just going to have a look at you, ok?”

  Spots whimpered and lay limp on her table, his energy dwindling.

  “What happened to him?”

  “I’m not sure,” my voice quaked, the lump in my throat making it almost impossible to speak. “I found him in the street like that. I think I saw someone running away—”

  At that, Salvatore’s face shot up to mine but I ignored the look.

  Simone reached for the leg and Spots snapped at her, his face curling with pain and anger.

  “It’s ok buddy,” I whispered to him. “She’s just here to help.”

  Simone gave a long, considered look. Maybe she realised just then how much I loved him, needed him, failed him.

  “Ok boy, I won’t touch it.” She smiled at the dog and looked at the disformed leg as best she could.

  “Can you help him?”

  “I’ll do my best, but I need some help. I need to call for an assistant.”

  “I can help.”

  “Can you administer drugs to a canine and operate an X ray machine?” She was calm but I could hear the irritation underneath.

  “No.” I looked down to my friend and kept patting his long body.

  “Ok then, I’m going to call Alex.”

  “Does he need me to pick him up?” Salvatore volunteered.

  “She and, no, I don’t think so.”

  She reached for the phone and dialled. The conversation was hushed. Words like sorry and emergency drifted over to me as I held Spots, reassuring him.

  She stepped away from the phone and rummaged in a drawer, the soft clinking of bottles echoed in the too-white room. When she approached again, her hand was behind her back. Salvatore’s features hardened—his jaw locking, his shoulders squaring.

  Simone’s free hand came to rest on my shoulder, “I’m going to give him something for the pain now. I’m going to need your help to hold him down.”

  She stepped away from me and rounded the table, looking Spots in the eye, “Hey buddy, we’re going to make you more comfortable now, ok?”

  Her eyes flickered to mine and I pushed my weight against Spots’ body, pinning him down as best I could while Simone administered the content of the syringe. Spots struggled a little, but his fight diminished even before it began. The pain had taken hold of him.

  Simone walked away and I released him, rubbing his back, reassuring him.

  Not for the last time that night, I was in a state of limbo. Salvatore leaned against the wall, watching Simone move about the room preparing utensils, pushing trays, and piling medication while I waited. I waited, listening to Spots’ shallow breaths and scared whines. I felt helpless, useless, pathetic.

  Footfalls echoed in the corridor, and Salvatore’s hands shot to his belt. He held them there, at the ready, waiting for whatever to appeared at the door.

  At the sight of the newcomer, his hands dropped to his sides. His eyes widened and nostrils flared as he watched her. Under any other circumstances, I might have had a similar reaction—but not that night.

  “Hi, Alex.”

  “Hi, Simone.” Her raven black hair was pulled tightly in a messy bun, and she was dressed in blue scrubs. Alex looked like she had just fallen out of bed, a sleepy, dazed look on her freshly washed face. Delicate, soft features attested to her youth, “Who do we have here?” She looked at Spots and froze as she saw his mangled leg.

  “Meet Spots,” Simone replied, the women ignoring us completely.

  Alex cooed and crooned over Spots, then helped Simone with her final preparations for whatever procedure they were about to deliver.

  “Ok, you need to wait outside now.” Simone looked at Salvatore and then at me.

  “I’m not going anywhere.” I shot her a look that would flatten houses, and she glared at me, unfazed, as if she’s seen it all before.

  “Sir—”

  “Gabriel.”

  “Gabriel,” her voice softened and her green eyes pleaded with me, “I can’t help him if you’re here, and neither can you. We need a sterile, clean environment; every second you are here, you’re increasing his chances of infection and of him going into shock. Please,” she tipped her head slightly, “Let me help him.”

  A heavy hand landed on my shoulder, and I found Salvatore by my side. He waited. The room felt as if it was shrinking, the air oppressive. But I didn’t want to leave.

  “Please.” Simone tried again.

  Tears pooled in my eyes as I wrenched myself away from Spots. “I’ll be right outside buddy.”

  My legs felt like lead as Salvatore led me to the door—which clicked shut behind us.

  We stood in awkward silence as we waited. Alex’s entry had stirred up the dogs, and the cacophony of sound drowned us. I was grateful for the noise. It meant I could stay in the silence of my thoughts. I knew Salvatore would have questions.

  I only had one.

  Would Spots survive?

  I sucked in a deep breath, my chest heaving with the weight of the memory, pushing it away. I watched Mia, her wide eyes wet with unshed tears, the crease of her mouth, the furrow of her brow.

  “Gabriel,” her voice shook and vibrated through me, “You’ve endured so much.”

  “None of these things happened to me. Don’t you see,” I dr
agged my hands along my face, “They happened because of me.”

  “Gabriel…”

  “Don’t! Everything I touch turns to shit, and I can’t—I won’t—do that to you!”

  “Spots is still here—”

  “Barely.”

  “It’s just a limp; Look at the rest of him, how you love him. I’d say he’d had much worse, and you saved him.”

  “I ruined him.”

  “You love him.”

  “I’ll ruin you.”

  “I don’t believe you.”

  “Mia, you have no idea what you’re asking for. I carry too many secrets.”

  “You can share your burden with me.”

  “I won’t put you in that kind of danger.”

  “Let me be your release.”

  “I don’t want to hurt you.”

  “Let me set you free,” at that she rose from her perch on my desk and, in two swift steps, she was by the chair, her soft hands cupping my chin, “Gabriel, you are in so much pain. Let me make it better.”

  Her lips brushed mine, eliciting a low moan from my depths.

  “Mia—”

  Her lips sealed mine, my words dissolving, unspoken, as I tasted her; my hands finding the soft flesh of her neck. I could feel her pulse beneath my palm, her heart beat accelerated with each swipe of my tongue and squeeze of my fingers around her throat. Her skin flushed with fear and desire, with need and deprivation. It was beautiful and perverse, and I wanted it all—I wanted her. I sank my fingers into her skin, dragging them across her neck and into her hair. I wanted to punish her for not listening to me, for not leaving when she had the chance, for pushing and willing herself into my life. I had to be strong—for both of us.

  I pulled her in ever closer, the feathery stroke of her tongue suddenly urgent, desperate. She purred at my touch, and my resolve almost melted.

  Almost.

  My fist curled around her hair, and I ripped my mouth away from hers. I held her there, just out of reach.

  “Mia,” my voice gravel, “Take your things and go.” It was a ragged plea, wrenched from my throat.

  I released her but she remained in place. Her clouded eyes clearing, as if seeing me for the first time. My heart twitched and twisted at the look of disbelief that crossed her face.