Rule #49: Damsels don't Distress
Rebels don't need rescuing.
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RECAP: Sometime in early November, a man named Susan Smith adopted a female Pitbull called Harper and took her home. Later, Peyton's manager, Peter, found out that some of the documents Susan Smith had weren't right. In this chapter, they're going to go figure out who exactly Susan Smith is.
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The effects of my medicine double on the ride to work. My eyes are no longer red. My throat no longer itches. My head no longer aches. My nose is no longer stuffed and when I inhale, I can smell everything - the wet pavement, the rose bushes, Archer's cologne. It's all so exciting so I jump out of the car before Archer even parks it.
"You're going to hit your head again!" He yells.
I ignore him and sniff the roses. Archer catches just when I'm about to pluck one and grabs my hand before I can touch the flower. Oh well. Who needs flowers anyways? I swing open the door and listen to the familiar ring of the bell. Then, I walk instead, with Archer trailing behind.
"Hey," I protest meekly. "Stop following me."
"Then stop holding my hand."
I ignore him.
"Peyton," Peter, my manager, shouts. "Come to my office, please!"
I can't see Peter. For a second, I think he's turned invisible, but then realize he must be calling from his office. I respond by yelling, "Okay. Is it okay if I bring Archer with me?"
"Is he that cutie from the tattoo parlor?"
I glance at his face, then at his tattoo. "I think so."
"Then okay!"
Archer's grinning. "Is that how you guys refer to me? As the 'cutie from the tattoo parlor'?"
"Peter does. I refer to you as 'the idiot from the tattoo parlor'."
"Am I a cute idiot?"
"Depends. Do you still like Bettie?"
When we reach the office, Leonardo, my coworker, is waiting there along with us. I see the piglet that Peter brought in a couple of weeks ago resting in the corner, sleeping against a stuffed animal.
"Leo, this is Archer. Archer, that's the cutie I'm always talking about." Peter introduces.
Leo nods solemnly. "Hey cutie."
"Hey Leo."
Peter focuses his attention on me. "You arrived just in time. Leo and I were just about to leave to speak to Susan Smith, but since you're here, we can go and Leo can take care of the shop."
"Why me?"
"Because you're the one who gave him Harper. I think he'll be friendlier if we show him a familiar face. He hasn't returned any of our calls."
None of his words make sense but I nod anyways.
"Are you okay?" Peter eyes me suspiciously. "You seem a little strange today."
"Drugs." I say, shrugging.
"She took some pills because she's sick," Archer clarifies. "Can I come along and make sure Peyton doesn't kill herself by accident?"
Peter doesn't even blink. Â "Sure. Let me get the car and you guys wait in the front."
While Peter leaves, Leonardo and I introduce Archer to all the animals in the shop. Well, I do. Leonardo leaves halfway through the tour because a customer enters the shop (but it's really his ex-girlfriend, trying to get back together with him).
"This is Clyde." I say, pointing to the small Box Turtle, and then point to the big one. "And this is Nino. They're best friends even though Clyde is really nice and Nino is really mean."
"Like us."
"Don't say that, Archer. You're not mean."
Peter honks the horn, signaling that it's time to stop the tour. I turn to wave goodbye to Leonardo and his girlfriend but they're too busy making out to notice me. I guess they've made up. With a shrug, I follow Archer into the back seat of Peter's car.
As the drugs start to wear off, a faint memory of Susan Smith comes back His sly grin and scarred hands stick in my head as an uneasy feeling ripples through me. I lean my head against the car window and hope that Harper's alright.
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The neighborhood is nice. The clean gutters and little gnomes on the patios give me hope for Harper's future. Of course, the outside of the house doesn't usually portray what's going on inside. I should know.
The effects of the medicine are starting to become weaker. I slide away from Archer, who, by the sign of his amused smile, notices.
I exhale when we park outside of Susan Smith's house. It's messier than the others - there are weeds growing through the driveway and I see no dog toys or garden gnomes - but still in good shape. My heart is racing before we park, out of excitement to see Harper, out of nervousness to see Susan Smith.
Peter steps outside the car. As Archer and I unbuckle our seat-belts, he turns around and points a finger at me. "Stay here."
"Why? You brought me here so Susan Smith could see me!"
"I know. Stay in the car."
He slams the door shut. Should I follow him? No, it would ruin my credibility as an employee. He'd never let me do anything alone again. So, slouching in my seat, I tell Archer, "Keep the windows down. I want to be able to hear their conversation."
"You can't hear from that far away," He rolls them down anyways. A breeze washes over us, ruffling the bottom of our clothes.
"Yes, I can. Just wait."
Peter rings the doorbell and waits. Minutes tick by and nobody answers. He rings the doorbell again. Dead leaves flutter in the wind. Cars honk from a distant street.
"There's nothing -"
"Wait," I place a finger on his lips. "Do you hear that?"
Barking is coming from some place behind the house.
Archer kisses my finger.
I jerk it away and try to ignore the shock that it sends up my arm. "What the hell?"
"Just curious."
"Of what?" A dog's whining starts up again so I shake my head and push past him to open the car door. "Never mind, I think there's a dog back there."
Peter and Archer both call my name as I jog up to the fence that outlines Mr. Smith's backyard. I pay no attention to either of them, instead choosing to focus on not slipping on the mud underneath my boots.
"You're trespassing," Archer yells.
"It's not trespassing if I have probable cause!"
"Those rules apply for police officers, not drugged-up teenage girls!"
The dog continues to bark as we approach the fence. I march forward - until another sound grabs my attention. There are more animals whimpering and chains clank against each other as I approach the padlocked gate.
Archer catches up to me just as I lean forward to glance through the cracks of the door. A black animal paces back and forth, yanking on something that's attached to the wall.
"You're going to get splinters," Archer whispers, right besides my ear. I jump and push his head away.
"You can't get splinters on your eye," I mutter. My voice makes the dog's head look up. He lunges forward, but the chain stops him from getting any further. "God, I think there's a dog chained to the wall - ah!"
The chain breaks.
With another lunge, the dog slams the padlocked door down, slamming it against my body. I take most of the weight on my arms which I've thrown in front of my face to protect me. But my legs slip and I stumble into Archer, who grabs my waist and tugs me out to the front lawn.
The dog circles behind us and lunges for me again.
I scream, but Archer pulls me aside. The dog leaps for him instead and before I can do anything, he digs his teeth into his right leg. Archer gasps and buckles under the pain. I catch him just before he hits the ground.
"Stop!" Still dizzy from the drugs, I try to kick the dog away. A part of doesn't want to hurt the pit bull, the other part of me tries to shove it away before it can attack Archer again. "Bad dog! Bad dog! Get away from him! PETER!"
Peter runs into the scene, yelling "Stop!" And with strength I didn't think he had in him, Peter grabs the pitbull by his legs and turns him over. His voice does something to the animal and it turns from a furious beast to a sniveling dog, cowering at our feet.
I help Archer, who's clutching his leg, to the steps on the front porch and roll up his pants. Blood clots around a giant mark around an area above Archer's ankle.
"Are you okay?" We both say at the same time.
"Why are you asking me that?" I demand and run my eyes over the wound. "We need to get you over to a hospital. You might be infected. Shit. Peter!"
"What?"
"Archer's bleeding!"
"Call the police and cover his wound!"
I strip off my leather jacket and, ignoring the cold wind that wraps around my bare arms, press it against his wound. All the facts about injuries I learned in my zoology class are escaping me. With my other hand, I take out my phone and call for an ambulance.
Archer takes my hand and flips it over. "You have splinters."
"Shut up!" I snap, but my voice cracks at the end. "How can you be smiling at a time like this? You're injured!"
"It's not that bad." He gives my hand a reassuring squeeze, then winces.
"Your mom's going to kill me," I mumble and blink away the tears. "I'm going to kill me. God, I should have stayed in the freaking car. I'm so sorry, Archer."
His only response is to close his eyes and inhale deeply. I press the leather jacket down, but not too hard, because I don't want to hurt him. While the ambulance arrives, Peter manages to coerce the black pitbull to calm down. He discovers that there are a couple more dogs in the backyard, yet none of them are Harper.
By the time the ambulance arrives, I'm about to burst into tears.
It seems like the drugs finally wore off.
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Fun fact: I had to rewrite this chapter three different times. In the first two revisions, Archer didn't get bitten. Updates should be coming fast
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