Vow In Blood

Character Three

The Caregiver

"…eight, nine, ten, breathe!" Zoey continued with the CPR, blowing into the stranger's mouth after every ten presses of his chest.

Her heart was hammering wildly, and she didn't know why she felt that way for a stranger she didn't know. If he died, what would she lose? How would that make her feel? At the hospital, she dealt with deaths regularly.

However, the stranger's desperation in asking for her help made her want to see it through. She wanted him to live.

She kept on working on the CPR till he gasped, coughed, and his breathing bobbed up again.

"Whoo!" Zoey exhaled, feeling like she'd been a stretched cord under the maximum tension, ready to snap. She slumped to the floor beside the worn couch, gasping. She wiped her sweaty forehead with the back of her hand.

She watched him breathe steadily for a few minutes before she concluded that he was relatively safe. She had no means of measuring his vitals. All she could guess was that the bullets hadn't damaged internal organs or left any internal bleeding because that would've killed him already.

When she was confident that he was almost out of the woods, she got up, cleaned her bloodied hands, and sanitized. Outside, the storm was still raging, and there was no signal when she checked her phone. That was unfortunate. She hoped Stephanie and the rest weren't too disappointed.

"I have one big apology to make…" he sighed, glancing around the room. The floor and part of the couch were bloodied, the bullets lay there in a patch of blood, and there was that shirt, too.

"Gosh!" it occurred to Zoey that she had to clean up the mess. After a while of pacing, she decided that she'd still end up doing it anyway.

She rolled the bullets onto the shirt, avoiding touching them. Then she put it away and went to find something with which to clean the floor.

The inn had several other rooms besides the hall, but most were in terrible condition. The floorboards were broken, or the ceiling was hanging loosely like a death trap. One room had a broken roof, allowing rainwater to seep in freely.

Aside from the scent of blood, the inn was haunted by a moldy, sawdust smell. There was no other furniture besides the worn couch and one other couch she stumbled upon in one of the rooms, which was in better condition.

Other than that, the inn was empty—save for some lopsided stool tables hanging on.

"Odd…" she thought. "Either they're renovating the place, or it's abandoned."

Either way, someone was bound to come here after the storm. She had to clean up, make sure the man was okay, and, if desirable, leave before she was further dragged into whatever s**t had gone down that got him three bullets and a knife s***h.

Zoey could not think of anything to clean the floor, so she used the torn shirt as a makeshift mop. She gently spilled the bullets on the floor and nudged them together, then opened the door and stuck half her torso outside to soak the shirt in the rain. The blood washed off, so she used the fresh shirt to mop it and then washed it in the rain.

It took her five attempts, but she finally cleaned the floor and the stranger's body.

"I can't believe I'm now a caregiver to someone I barely know," she whispered, staring at him. "Blame it on curiosity."

Throughout the night, the storm waged on, increasing intensity whenever it seemed like it would stop. Zoey waited anxiously to get a signal back, but there was nothing.

Later, she fell asleep with her head resting against the couch. When she woke up in the morning, her neck was aching, and she had to pop a Tylenol and then spend a few minutes massaging it.

The storm had stopped, though the sky was still gray. The first thing she did was check on the stranger. He was alive—that was good—but his face was twisted in pain. Touching him revealed that he was running a fever.

With her limited supplies, there wasn't much she could do, so she was determined to wait for him to wake up.

Next, she checked her phone and was happy to have a signal. A lot of notifications popped up on her screen—almost thirty missed calls from her father—the number only outmatched by the thirty-five that Stephanie left.

She quickly dialed Stephanie. "Steph? I'm so sorry about yesterday…" she said when her friend answered.

"Where were you, Zo? We joined the cruiser, and you're missing a lot!"

She sighed. "I know. I got a flat tire, and then this crazy storm came out of nowhere."

She wanted to tell Stephanie about the stranger but couldn't form the words, so she let it slide.

"That's sad," she said. "Will you be able to join us for the bowling event?"

"Probably," she said. "I hope I get some help soon enough."

"Alright, sweetie. I have to go! It's my turn to dive. Woohoo!" she hung up, leaving Zoey feeling a little regret. She'd wanted to go on their fun adventure and have some time to relax. Now, she was stuck in an inn with a stranger.

Later, she retrieved her bag from the car and took her snacks. She ate some while waiting for him to wake up. He didn't seem comfortable tucked into the couch like a sausage roll.

Later in the evening, he opened his eyes, seeming dazed and confused. Zoey rushed to help him when he tried to sit up.

"Hey, take it easy!" she said, pressing his shoulders to get him to lie down again. "You're injured."

He snapped, and Zoey flinched, jumping back in fear of the man with a murderous glint in his eyes.