Pressure and pain flooded his chest as the air seemed to suck out of his lungs. Felipe’s muscles throbbed and tore as his ribs pulled inward. Blood spirted from his lips, but he couldn’t cough or swallow the taste of iron. Inside his chest, his heart sputtered. The beats turned frantic, erratic. His view of the carpet narrowed to a pinpoint.
This couldn’t be the end. His body would recover. It had to recover. He just needed time.
His arms trembled and slid out from under him. Blood smeared across his cheek and the rug as footsteps approached from behind him. His heart stumbled out of rhythm once more as the garrote tightened.
Felipe Galvan ran out of time.
Chapter Seven
Unfinished Business
Oliver stood in thestairwell one level down from the floor of apartments, taking long slow breaths until he could think straight. Gwen said he could do this, and he would. He would ask Felipe Galvan to have dinner with him, they would have a good time, and if more came of it, he would be happy. If it didn’t and they were nothing more than friends, he would be fine with that, too. He rehearsed what he would say one last time, shook out his hands with a calming exhalation, and trotted up the steps before he could lose his nerve. Passing the nameplates on each door, Oliver was surprised by how quiet it was on the men’s floor. That was probably because the majority were out at their clubs or whatever local bar they haunted, though a few lingered downstairs in the society’s lounge playing billiards and nursing a drink. He wasn’t a strict temperance advocate, but he certainly understood why others were. People could be especially unpleasant drunk, and most were bad enough while sober.
Standing outside Galvan’s door, Oliver knocked lightly and waited. He had been accused of being heavy-handed in the past, but he worried perhaps Galvan didn’t hear him. He gave the door a more solid rap, and it creaked open beneath his hand. Oliver held his breath. Maybe Galvan had stepped out to use the lavatory down the hall and left it unlocked. He shouldn’t intrude, but something didn’t feel right.
“Galvan, it’s Oliver Barlow. May I come in?” he called from the door.
When there was no answer, Oliver pushed it open, figuring he might lock it for him if he was indeed out. As he stepped past the threshold, his heart leapt in his throat at the sight of Felipe Galvan sprawled facedown before the hearth. Throwing the door shut, Oliver scrambled across the rug and rolled Felipe onto his back. Blood covered the lower half of his face and had trickled onto the collar of his shirt and the rug beneath.
“Galvan. Galvan! Wake up. Please, Felipe,” Oliver said as he frantically rubbed Galvan’s sternum. “Please.”
Oliver put his ear to his chest but heard neither air nor a heartbeat. Covering Galvan’s lips with his, Oliver puffed in a forceful breath and sat back to push on his chest. Galvan was still warm. It might work. He begged whatever power would listen to bring Felipe back. Even if the other doctors had scoffed at his research, he knew this worked. It had just been so long since he had to revive someone the proper way. Switching between his lips and his chest, Oliver tried to force the life back into Felipe Galvan, but no matter what he did, the breath and beats never came. Oliver’s arms and shoulders ached, yet he didn’t stop. He did compressions despite the burning and shaking in his limbs until true night devoured the apartment, and all he could hear were his own low sobs. Oliver sat back on his heels with his hand over Felipe’s still heart.
Felipe Galvan was gone.
Sobbing silently into his elbow, Oliver tried to make sense of it all. If only he hadn’t spent the extra time to calm down, he may have been able to save him. Now, Felipe was gone. There would be no second chances, no dinners at the chophouse, no talks, no more flashes of that magnetic grin. And nothing he did could fix things. Oliver’s ribcage burned with each heaving, stifled cry. He was gone.
A wave of grief split Oliver anew. Biting back a groan of pain, Oliver clutched his chest as his own heart slipped out of rhythm and the burning in his ribs turned from straining to agony. Time slowed to a standstill as a wet, whistling breath escaped his lips followed by another and a gasp. Sitting very, very still in the gloom, Oliver listened to the thick wheezes echoing behind him until they fell into a more normal cadence. He stared at the carpet and didn’t dare move. Didn’t dare hope.
At the sound of a shaky groan, Oliver swallowed hard and turned to find Felipe Galvan blinking dazedly at the ceiling. The whites of his eyes were stained with blood and beneath the bloody smears on his cheeks were burst blood vessels. Just like Sister Mary Agnes.
Climbing to his knees, Oliver felt the familiar pull in his chest. No. No. No. No. No.
He couldn’t do it to someone he knew. He couldn’t, he—
Before Oliver could snap the tether, Felipe shook his head, sprung to his feet, and grabbed the fireplace poker off the rug. Whirling in a drunken circle, he turned to Oliver and raised the poker only to let it drop with a quirked brow.
