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Officer and Gentleman: Part 17
Every breath burns
now.
Billy’s aware
that Dominic has saved his
life, has killed the thief with his bare hands, and has suffered—is
suffering—for it. He’s aware of the thief’s body draped across his
torso and legs, of Dominic, on his back only feet away.
Of his own
bleeding, angry wounds.
And
of course Billy’s aware that if he does not move, if he allows his
breaths to shorten, to fail, that it will be over, for him if not for
Dominic.
But mostly—and
suddenly—Billy is aware that his is the only breath he can hear.
-----------------------------------
It took a
courage Dominic never imagined he had.
No,
he could not pick up that knife, not knowing how its blade had already
tasted his own blood, and Billy’s too. Instead, Dominic chose the only
weapon he’s ever used in his short life—the hands of a pickpocket.
The
sounds—the surprised gasp of the thief, Dominic’s own feral growl, and
then the snap, the horrifying brittle noise like a piece of kindling
breaking in fire—will stay with Dominic forever.
His hands—now
the hands of a murderer—shake, even as the rest of Dominic’s body is
still.
-----------------------------------
Billy
moves slowly, crawling out from underneath the thief’s body. Sweat
pours down his face, and he grits his teeth against the pain. It has
never been this bad, but then, no one’s aim has ever been this true.
He is careful
not to look down at his wounds. He knows he’s lost most of the time he
might have to indulge in self–pity.
When
he’s finally freed himself, Billy sits up gingerly, letting his fingers
drift again to his stomach to feel the still strangely warm blood there.
And it is then
that Billy notices Dominic’s trembling hands.
-----------------------------------
Billy knows that
Dominic will never fully understand what he’s done here. He should not
have to understand.
He should never
have to know.
Billy’s
veins already run with a killer’s blood, his mind with a thief’s
instinct. And now that Dominic’s eyes are closed—unseeing, unable to
argue—it is too easy for Billy to use his remaining strength to turn
the thief on his back.
To reach for the
knife and plunge it into the dead man’s chest.
Up and in, down and
out, Billy
thinks desperately—
And he takes the
pain the thief can no longer feel.
-----------------------------------
Billy
shifts to his hands and knees, making slow progress to where Dominic
lies. He touches Dominic’s pale cheek gently, and releases a breath
when Dominic stirs and kicks away from him, terrified.
“Don’t touch me.
Don’t you fucking touch me—”
“Dominic—”
“No!” Dominic
shouts. “I don’t believe you anymore. I fucking hate you—”
“Please,” Billy gasps. The
effort costs him, and he clutches his stomach, hissing with pain and
fear.
Dominic takes
everything in now—the blood, the body, Billy’s guttering breaths—and
Billy knows what is coming next.
“Billy ...”
Dominic’s voice is ragged. “Billy, what have we done?”
-----------------------------------
Billy speaks the
lie, willing Dominic to believe.
“You’ve done
nothing ... nothing. This was not your fight.”
Dominic is
nearly panting now. “I don’t—”
“No,
Dominic, you don’t. And you didn’t.” Billy begins to crawl, praying
that Dominic will not recoil again from his bloodstained hands. “He is
dead ... but you’re not to blame.”
Dominic’s breath
slows enough that he can face Billy, and he inhales sharply. “Jesus,
Billy—the blood—what can I do—”
“The papers,”
Billy whispers. “Please ...”
“You’re fucking
mad, Billy, you’re hurt, there’s no time—”
Dominic’s words
fade into nothingness as Billy falls into his arms.
-----------------------------------
Dominic can do
this.
He’s seen Billy
bandage wounds before, tenderly and well. He knows the medicines he
will have to find—to steal.
Dominic erases
images of the young detective from his mind. He cannot think about him,
not while Billy himself might be dying.
Dominic
leans Billy gently against the wall, then turns to the thief’s body.
Shaking, he removes the man’s shirt—ignoring the visual echo of the
thief undressing Billy—and tears the material into thick strips that
will serve as bandages until Dominic can get Billy safe.
Safety is the
only thing Dominic wants now.
-----------------------------------
Dominic
opens Billy’s shirt carefully before he wraps the cotton strips around
Billy’s stomach and back. His hands are gentle, nervous.
“He
wouldn’t let me touch you,” Dominic whispers. “I saw you take the
pills. I saw your eyes close, and then you were crying, and he said if
you were willing to kill your friend, what would you do to me?” Dominic
shivers, but presses on.
“You’re not
going to kill me, Billy. You need me. You need me.”
Billy makes a
small sound, and Dominic knows immediately that Billy is crying again,
this time with eyes wide open.
-----------------------------------
Dominic
desperately wants to hold Billy, to let him rest, but he cannot.
“Can
you stand?” Dominic asks softly, and Billy nods, tears streaking his
face. “You must help me, Billy. You have to stand and walk with me.”
Billy
watches Dominic button the blood–soaked shirt back up across his chest
and drape Billy’s coat around his body. “To keep you warm,” Dominic
murmurs. “So cold in here.”
Dominic raises
them slowly, and they are almost to the door when Billy sags, his
fingers clenching around Dominic’s arm.
“Billy, no,
don’t fall—”
“The papers,”
Billy whispers again. “Dominic, please ...”
-----------------------------------
“I won’t leave
you,” Dominic gasps.
“Aye
... and I won’t hurt you, and you won’t steal from me, and I won’t be
tempted again ... all lies, Dominic.” Billy clutches at Dominic’s
shirt. “Please ...”
Dominic’s
stomach turns in horror that Billy will risk his future to take back
the evidence of his past.
“If I get them,”
Dominic whispers, “will you let me end this? Will you let me destroy
them?”
“Yes ...
anything ...” Billy shivers, and Dominic pulls him tighter into his
arms before resting him gently near the door.
A full minute
passes before Billy even realizes Dominic is gone.
-----------------------------------
Dominic
remembers vividly how the thief had taken back the papers Dominic meant
to return to Billy, and stashed them away while Dominic shook in the
aftermath of their cleanup job.
He runs into a
familiar room,
stopping at the thief’s desk to yank at the drawers, remembering how
the man did this same thing to Billy’s desk a lifetime ago.
Dominic’s
hand falls on them, then: the faded clippings and pages of the case
file, and he folds them into an envelope. It takes forever, but Dominic
perseveres. He wants nothing left to chance once they escape this place.
-----------------------------------
Billy
leans against the wall, trying to find his strength. He has diverted
Dominic’s attention, sent him away, but not for long enough unless
Billy moves, and moves now.
The knife is
less than thirty feet away, to Billy’s measurement. And he can still
crawl.
And
so Billy does, slowly, every shift of his body sending waves of pain
through his stomach, his heart. It does not matter. The knife is
something more than evidence, something less than talisman, and unless
Billy takes it again—destroys it himself as Dominic will do the
papers—then Billy will find no peace.
-----------------------------------
It
never occurs to Billy that taking the knife again could rob him of
peace completely. The work of murderous art had its chance, after all,
and Billy survived—for whatever reason.
Billy’s hands
shake, but
he maneuvers the knife into his inner coat pocket, where he can feel it
even through the lining. He breathes easier, and the crawl back to the
doorway is not nearly as painful.
And in less than
another minute, Dominic is back at his side.
“Billy,” Dominic
whispers, lifting him to stand. “Billy, please, we should leave. Now.”
And Billy nods
in perfect assent.
-----------------------------------
The stairs are
the hardest part.
Dominic’s
strength is returning—more adrenaline than anything else, and he’s
aware enough of this to fear its draining from him, leaving them in
this building, leaving Billy to die—and he half–carries, half–walks
Billy down the steps, pausing every so often to assure himself that
Billy is still conscious.
When Billy
staggers, Dominic catches
him and feels the warmth seeping through Billy’s shirt, through the
cotton strips Dominic so carefully wrapped around Billy’s body.
“I think—” Billy
whispers, ducking his head into Dominic’s shoulder again. “I think we
should hurry, Dominic ...”
-----------------------------------
Dominic
moves quickly now, forcing back tears. There is a dumpster behind the
building, only feet from the doorway, and while Dominic lives in horror
of what might be found there, it is as good a place as any to get rid
of the damned papers.
Billy cries out
softly at the cold air
outside, and the sound chills Dominic. He hurls the envelope into the
air, watching it fall into the tall dumpster, and turns back to Billy,
white–faced and shaking.
“Where is your
car?” Dominic asks gently, holding Billy’s face in his hands.
And Billy cries
again.
-----------------------------------
“It’s
alright,” Dominic nods. “We’ll call for an—” he stops when he sees
Billy’s panicked gaze. “Billy, we must get you to a hospital ... I
can’t take care of you, I don’t know how—”
“No hospital,”
Billy whispers. “I’ll show you—I have everything—”
“Billy, please,” Dominic begs.
“You’re going to die.”
“Aye,” Billy
nods, his eyes closing. “But not now. Look for a taxi, Dominic.
Anything. Just—take me home ...”
Dominic
stares, angry and shocked. “You selfish bastard,” he gasps. “You want
to die, don’t you? Even more than you want to kill.”
Billy does
not—cannot—argue this.
-----------------------------------
There is no
choice.
No matter what
has happened, Dominic will not abandon Billy, not now.
Dominic
will take Billy home. He will learn to bandage his wounds properly so
they stay clean, to stitch them so they heal. Once they are safe, once
Billy is healthy again, Dominic will make him understand how easily
they could have lost everything.
Now though,
Dominic marches
Billy around a corner and leans him against the wall. He can see the
faded lights of a taxi three blocks away, and he waves frantically,
hoping for the driver’s attention.
And then he
hears them.
-----------------------------------
The
footsteps are loud, the voices familiar to Dominic as those of
detectives. And they are less than a hundred feet away, around the
corner he and Billy have just turned.
“Billy,” Dominic
whispers,
running to where Billy is sinking to the pavement, the blood beginning
to show on the lapels of his coat. “Billy, look at me,” Dominic hisses.
Billy eyes
flutter open, but they are unseeing, dead.
No, Dominic thinks. You will not die here. “Billy, you have to
stand, please, they’re coming—”
“Inspector
Boyd,” comes a deep, vaguely amused voice behind Dominic. “We’ve been
looking for you.”
Part 18
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