You are My Doom

Chapter 2: Doom

Chapter 2: Doom

I do not want to leave the Animal Hospital, but I know I have more than overstayed my welcome, not that I care. I follow the pale threads of emotional imprints trailing the woman all the way to the reception area and fill out the proper paperwork. I leave the majority of the personal information blank, only leaving a phone number for the emergency contact.

I look down at the woman who I am sure I have completely terrified tonight. Her dark brown waves are still pulled into a tangled bun secured with a dusky gray scrunchy. Her pale skin is accented with faint freckles across the bridge of her nose. Her deep brown eyes look up at me behind long dark lashes. She is about 5'8", tall for a woman, but she is not lanky. Her subtle curves are barely visible through the loose fabric of her stained scrub top. The once cheerful displace of cats and dogs is now dampened by Ceribe's crusted blood.

The sight makes me want to swallow back any anger. Years at the side of a monster allows me to portray a mask of cool interference. I hand her back the form, and try and to think of something to say. Years of court appearances fail me in that moment as I continue to blank.

What do you say to a woman who just saved your best friends life? Usually, I would threaten her into silence or use other means to ensure my secrete is kept, but none of my normal methods seem appropriate. This woman selflessly put aside all rational thoughts of self-preservation to save my dog's life. I have never met someone who was so altruistic. She will eventually ask for something in return, I am sure, but she has no idea who I am.

The thought fills me with a perverse sense of satisfaction. When she offers me a business card for the clinic with a hand written name and number added to the back, I do not reciprocate with my own name.

"Eden," I try her name out on my lips.

"That's me. If you call the clinic to check on... Ceribe... tell them I vouched for you," she has to check the form I handed her for my dog's name.

"Vouch for me?" I repeat her statement as a question, pondering the significance.

"You wouldn't give any personal information, and I'm guessing you're not going to leave a credit card number. So yeah, you need someone to vouch for you. Dr. Romero won't give this special treatment to any normal client, and if you skip out on the bill someone will have to be responsible." She shrugs and adds her name to the second emergency contact slot.

I have no intention of skipping out on the bill, but she could not possibly know that. She has no way of knowing how wealthy I am. She is willing to bet a few thousand dollars on a stranger's integrity to ensure Ceribe gets the care she needs.

She files the form and then proceeds back to the area where all of the dogs are. She stops at the counter and scribbles something on an index card. She then moves to surgery kennel six and places the white card in the 3x5" slot. There in black sharpie clearly says "Ceribe Winters."

She then snatches her keys and purse out of the drawer to the left of the sink and turns off the light. I follow her through the hospital and out to the back-parking lot. When she locks the door behind me, I look down at her. I am just about a foot taller than her, but she only hesitates for a second.

"Good night Tall, Dark and Handsome. I'll call you tomorrow with an update," then she gets in her old Toyota Camry and pulls out of the lot.

Looking at my face you would never know, but I silently laugh at her name for me. When I see her tail lights turn the corner, I fade into the shadows, becoming one with the darkness in my soul. Navigating the minimal distance in the realm of the Dark Angels, I reappear in the kennel hall. The unwelcoming smell of wet concrete and antiseptic battle my instincts to provide the best care for my loyal companion. I take an extra blanket from the rack of miscellaneous donated bedding and enter Ceribe's kennel. I then curl up next to her and watch the gentle rise and fall of her onyx fur.