Page 28 of Dirty
I looked around the entrance to my living quarters, frowning, not breathing, not understanding.
Where had her other shoe gone?
“Oh my god!”
I didn’t turn around. I wanted, no, Ineededto process what had taken place in here, and I needed for it to make sense. Yvonne obviously hadn’t listened to me, and had followed me in here. She was behind me, whimpering under her breath, low and quiet. She sounded winded and numb. Shortly, the shock she was experiencing would wear off and she’d become hysterical, no doubt. I had to get my shit together before that happened.
“That…is that Sister Rayburn?” Yvonne sobbed.
“Rayburn?” My voice was flat. Emotionless. I didn’t know the name.
“She just moved here from Canada. She came as part of the Young Missionary program. She’s…god, she’s only twenty-two.”
Oh. Fuck. All the churches in our archdiocese had been enrolled in the program—I’d been told to expect someone this week, but I hadn’t realized she was already here. I had no fucking idea she’d been carrying duties right under my nose.
“We need…we need to call the police,” Yvonne stammered.
I should have replied. I should have done as she suggested and called the cops. I should have donesomething. Anything. But I was still rooted to the spot, staring at the bloodied, mangled body that had been left in such an undignified, degrading way, like so much trash, discarded by the side of the road.
I did nothing.
I did nothing, until…
A twitch.
Yvonne screamed, grabbing hold of my arm, digging her finger nails into my skin through my cossack. “Oh my god! Oh my god, her foot moved. Did you see that?” Yvonne wailed. “God, she’s still alive!”
Then I was running, charging toward the broken body on the floor, slipping and sliding in the blood as I tried to stop myself next to her. I lost my balance, toppling on my ass, but it didn’t matter. I didn’t feel the pain shooting up my spine, or recoil in horror as I put my hand down in a puddle of cooling blood. My only concern was the girl. She was alive, and I was determined to make sure she stayed that way until help arrived.
“Call an ambulance,” I hollered. Gingerly, I slid my hand underneath the woman’s body, applying as little pressure as I could, turning her. Aside from the worrying amount of blood that had marked her buttocks, there hadn’t been any visible sign of injury when she’d been lying face down. It was another story now, though: five deep, vicious looking stab wounds, all to the stomach, had rented the material of the woman’s shirt open, and blood was flowing freely from the yawning mouths in her skin where the knife had obviously gone in.
“Fuck.” I held the back of my hand to my mouth, swallowing, trying to think. Pressure. I need to apply pressure, to stem the bleeding.
“Please…help me. I don’t…”
Shock seized me once more. I’d purposefully avoided looking at the woman’s face, hadn’t thought I’d be able to handle it yet, but when she spoke to me, I had no choice but to look her in the eye. She was very young—barely more than a child. If she actuallywastwenty-two, I’d have been surprised. Her tawny brown eyes were locked onto me, burning with a fever so intense that it brought tears to my own eyes.
“I don’t…want…to die. Not yet,” she wheezed. Her breathing sounded wet, rattling, like there was fluid in her lungs.
I grabbed her skirts and yanked them down, covering her body, then I scooped her up in my arms, drawing her to me. Moving her was probably a bad idea—I’d seen enough movies to know you were never supposed to move the injured person—but honestly? She looked like she was running out of time. And no one, absolutely no one, deserved to die alone and scared. Despite how futile it seemed, I pressed my hands over the woman’s stomach, maintaining pressure. She blinked up at me, splotches of blood all over her face, covering her skin like red freckles.
“The EMTs are on their way,” Yvonne said. She was clutching her cell phone in her hands so hard that her knuckles had gone white. “I—I think I’m going to throw up.” She groaned, folding at the waist, then bracing herself against the windowsill.
“Go outside,” I commanded, “Wait for the ambulance. When the paramedics arrive, bring them straight here.”
Relief flashed over Yvonne’s face; she didn’t really want to stick around and witness this. I got that, understood how rattled she probably was, but it also made me hate her a little bit. Where was her fucking compassion?
In my arms, the woman stirred, her head angled back, lips a deathly shade of purple. From the look of my living quarters, she’d lost a lot of blood. She moaned, her brow furrowing as she clearly tried to focus her eyes. “I was meant to make…a good impression,” she whispered. “How’s this for a first day?”
I forged a dead smile; it was all I could manage. “I certainly won’t be forgetting it any time soon. Who did this to you?”
Her eyelids fluttered. “A man. A man with a scarred…face,” she panted. “He had paint all over his hands. He was…he was so…angry.”
“Did he want money?”
“N—No.”
“Then what?”
