Chapter 2 - The Weight of a Shadow
She extended the blade of the utility cutter and reached for the thick plastic binding his left wrist.
"He's going to bite," the man grunted, gesturing feebly toward the dog with his head.
"He likes me better than he likes you," Maeve snapped, slicing through the first plastic tie with a hard, desperate tug. The heavy strap snapped open.
The man's left arm flopped limply to his side, his fingers twitching.
Maeve didn't pause. She reached up, hooking the blade beneath the second plastic band securing his right arm. "Hold still."
"If they come back..." he rasped, his pale gray eye tracking the opening of the alley, "...they won't just kill me. They'll kill you."
"Then you'd better hurry up and help me," she growled, slicing through the second tie.
The moment the plastic severed, the man's strength completely evaporated. He folded forward like a felled oak, his heavy shoulder slamming violently into Maeve's chest. The impact knocked the wind out of her, sending both of them tumbling onto the freezing, wet concrete.
He was brutally heavy—broad-shouldered, dense with solid muscle, and radiating an unnatural, burning heat that told her his body was already fighting a massive infection.
"Hey!" Maeve gasped, struggling to push his massive frame up. "Hey! Stay awake! Do not die on me in the trash!"
The man let out a low groan, his teeth gritted tightly as he forced his uninjured eye open. He looked down at the tiny, faded plastic name tag pinned to her wet apron.
"Maeve..." he breathed, his voice barely a whisper.
She froze, her hands pressed against his bloody shirt. "How do you—"
He nodded weakly toward her chest. "Name tag."
"Right," she muttered, grabbing his arm and pulling it over her shoulder. "Come on. Get up. We have to move."
"Go home, Maeve," he grunted, trying to push her away with a hand that trembled uncontrollably. "Leave the animal... leave me."
"Shut up," she said, leveraging all her weight to haul him upright against the brick wall. "I didn't just ruin a forty-dollar pair of shoes to leave you here to freeze."
She grabbed the dog's chain, unhooking the heavy carabiner from the pipe. The Corso immediately stood up, leaning its broad body against the man's hip, whining softly as it helped support its master's weight.
Together, the three of them stumbled toward the mouth of the alley, where Maeve's twenty-six-year-old Honda Civic sat parked under a flickering streetlight. The car was a rusting metallic blue, its muffler held together by coat hangers and prayer.
Suddenly, a bright pair of headlights turned slowly into the street, casting long, menacing shadows down the alley.
A heavy black SUV, its windows tinted completely opaque, was rolling slowly past the diner, its engine letting out a low, guttural purr.
The man beside her went completely rigid. Even half-dead, his grip on Maeve's wrist turned to iron, his icy gray eye fixing on the passing vehicle with a terrifying, predator-like focus.
"Down," he commanded, his voice dropping into an imperative whisper.
Maeve didn't argue. She shoved him low between two parked cars, crouching beside him, her hand tightly gripping the dog's wet leather collar. The Corso remained miraculously silent, its ears flattened against its head, sensing the lethal danger floating past them in the rain.
The SUV paused outside the alley entrance for three agonizing seconds. A spotlight mounted on its side flickered on, sweeping across the green dumpster and the wet brick wall before clicking off.
The vehicle accelerated slowly, turning the corner and disappearing into the rainy night.
Maeve let out a breath she hadn't realized she was holding. Her heart was beating so hard she could hear it in her ears. "Okay," she whispered, her voice shaking. "Okay, we're going now."
She unlocked the passenger side of her Honda, wrestling the heavy stranger into the front seat. He collapsed against the worn fabric headrest, his head rolling back, his face deathly pale under the dim interior light. The massive Corso squeezed into the cramped back seat, curling its wet body across the torn vinyl.
Maeve ran around to the driver's side, jumped in, and turned the key.
The engine coughed. It sputtered. It whined.
"Please," Maeve prayed aloud, slamming her palm against the steering wheel. "Please, you piece of junk, not tonight!"
On the fourth try, the engine roared to life with a sputtering rattle. Maeve threw the car into gear, stomped on the gas, and pulled out onto the wet, empty street, leaving Carmichael’s Diner and the dark alley behind.
As she drove through the blinding rain, her eyes darted constantly to the rearview mirror, checking for the black SUV.
"Hospital," she said, her hands gripping the wheel so hard her knuckles turned white. "I'm taking you to County General."
The man's hand shot out, his fingers wrapping around her wrist with sudden, terrifying force.
"No... hospital," he grunted, his breathing shallow and wet.
"You're bleeding through my seat!" Maeve yelled. "You have at least two knife wounds, your eye is shut, and you look like you've been hit by a truck!"
"They... control the admissions at County," he rasped, his pale eye locking onto hers with absolute, deadly seriousness. "You step into an ER with me... we both get a bullet in the back of the head before the nurse signs the intake form."
Maeve stared at him, the cold reality of his words slamming into her like a physical blow.
"Then where?" she demanded, her voice cracking. "I'm a waitress, not a doctor!"
The man reached into his jacket pocket with agonizing slowness, pulling out a small, blood-stained slip of paper. He pressed it into her hand.
May you like
"Oak Street..." he whispered, his strength finally giving out as his eyes rolled back into his head. "Dr. Vance... knock... four times..."
His hand fell limply into his lap, and he went completely unconscious.
