No Heart to Kill: A Gale McLanahan Novel by C.W. Wells

Author:C.W. Wells [Wells, C.W.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Creative Texts Publishers, LLC
Published: 2024-02-06T00:00:00+00:00

Fifteen

Ephraim Hernandez woke up to find Ana Torres peering over him. She frowned, checked his pulse, and placed a digital thermometer against his forehead. Mateo Santos stood by the bedroom door watching Torres examine him. The house was quiet.

When Torres checked the thermometer, Ephraim noticed her frowning. He had chills during the night and had broken into sweats. He’d felt dizzy and sick to his stomach when he’d gotten up to go to the bathroom. He’d been feeling stronger, so it worried him that these symptoms had returned.

Torres turned to Santos and said, “Let’s see how the wound’s healing.”

She peeled off Ephraim’s dressing and studied the row of stitches running under his collarbone. She carefully probed around the wound with her fingers. She turned and said to Santos in English, “It’s infected.” Santos came over to see. She ran her forefinger parallel to Ephraim’s stitches. “See the red streaks?”

Ephraim could tell by the tone of her voice and look on her face that something was wrong. He felt his heart begin to beat harder. Torres brushed away a few wisps of Ephraim’s hair, and for a moment, rested the back of her hand on his forehead. “He’s got a fever,” she said to Santos again in English. “Let’s hope not sepsis.”

Ephraim tried to understand their conversation. He recognized the words “antibiotic” and “hospital” and began to feel a chill move down his spine. He started to shake his head after the word “hospital” and lift himself out of the bed.

Santos placed a hand on Ephraim’s good shoulder and said, “no.”

Torres broke into Spanish. “You’ve got a high temperature and an infection. I’m going to give you a stronger antibiotic.”

“If it doesn’t work?” Ephraim asked.

Torres quickly glanced at Santos and then focused her eyes on Ephraim. “It should work. And if it doesn’t, we’ll figure something out.”

“No hospital.”

Torres didn’t respond.

“Please . . .”

“Mateo,” Torres said, switching back to English. “I’m going to call in a prescription. Can you pick it up?”

Santos nodded. Ephraim tried to follow the conversation.

“Make sure the boy doesn’t move around. Keep him still.”

“Okay.”

“I thought we were good,” Torres said to herself, shaking her head, and then to Santos, “I hope he won’t need an antibiotic drip. If he does, we’ll have to take him to Midland Memorial.”

“I never should have brought him here,” Santos said between pressed lips.

“What do you mean?” Torres asked.

“I don’t like it, Ana. This is a bad omen.”

“It’s an infection, Mateo.”

“It’s more than that.”

“Why?”

Ephraim tried to follow. He watched Santos’ eyes darken. He felt lonely and hollow and wished he were with Maria. He didn’t like the doctor and the ranch hand speaking English. It was as if they were building another wall to lock him out.

Santos said, “The boy did something bad. I know it now.”

“How so?” Torres asked.

Santos clasped the small, silver-plated cross attached to the pendant around his neck. “God’s angry.”

“It’s an infection, Mateo,” she repeated. “It has nothing to do with God.”

Ephraim watched Santos shake his head and turn away.

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