An Angel, then? pt2

Timothy was oddly joyous for a bit as he stood a few centimeters away from where the mysterious woman had been some moments ago. Still shaken, he scanned the area hoping to find any clues that may help in the identification of this strange lady, but found none.

After a moment or so, the young physician composed himself and crouched beside the boy the mystery woman had held so lovingly, searching with his bloodstained fingers for a pulse.

There was none, just as he had expected, though, he could not help but feel the familiar mixture of rage and grief all the same.

The dead soldier before him, looked to be in his early youth as his features were more of a child than a man. He had obviously been trying to grow a beard, and had produced a peach fuzz instead.

Damn this war, Timothy thought, bittered and almost weeping, and damn the politicians on both sides for sending mere children into the fray.

He was about to straighten the young man's head, and cover him up so that the clinic orderlies would know to carry him away in the morning, when he noticed the two odd marks on his neck.

At the base of the lad's throat, stood two neat puncture wounds, just over two inches apart. And If he hadn't witnessed what he did earlier, he surely would have mistaken them for snake bite marks.

"What the hell?" Timothy whispered as he further inspected the puncture wounds.

Soon, Reed appeared and squatted at Timothy's side. "That'll be one less to cry and snuffle for his mama," the young man said as he stared at the corpse before them.

Timothy reminded himself that he was here strictly on the business to attend to the sick and injured, not to kill, then glared at Reed. The other man's eyes met his, and immediately, he moved a few decimeters back. Creating a considerate amount of space between the two of them, enough to spare himself from Timothy's fiery glare.

Reed Thompson was an earnest but largely incompetent fellow who had been dragged out of some second rate medical college and pressed into government service. Sometimes, he was a bit too out-of-line, and it was Timothy who had to put him back in place during those times.

Timothy had questions and as much as it galled him to ask for opinions from the oaf beside him, he knew that sometimes, even idiots possessed insights that escaped other minds.

"Look at these marks," Timothy said, pointing to the boy's throat. "Have you seen anything like this before?"

Reed shrugged, then reached into the torn, bloodstained pockets of the dead boy's tunic. "Not as I recollect." He ruffled through the boy's pockets for some seconds and then stopped. Reed was delighted for he had found a pendent, and attached to it was a photograph and a note probably intended for the soldier's mother or young bride.

Reed ran his dirty thumbs over the dirty, yet shiny metal while he pondered the already fading throat wounds. "Looks like something a snake would do." He said pretending to be concerned.

"You're the only snake in this immediate vicinity," Timothy pointed out impatiently, snatching the dead lad's belongings from Reeds grubby grasp. "Get some orderlies to come take his body away, and don't touch this boy's personal belongings again."

Reed's expression was wry and defiant. "Most of these lads carry a paper with the name of their folks and such. I was just making sure his kin got any valuables he might have."

Timothy felt a crushing weariness, deeper than physical exhaustion. He has continuously been pushing his body above it's limit for the past days and needed rest more than anything at the moment.

"That's the Chaplain's duty, not yours." He said, but noticed Reed was about to press on further. "Make no mistake, Doctor," he started, making sure to maintain eye contact with the other man. "If I catch you stealing, be it from the quick or from the dead, I'll cut you open like a bloated goat, and fill your guts with kerosene. Is that clear enough, or were there too many syllables for you to comprehend?"

Hatred replaced the amusement on Reed's narrow face. He knew Timothy was not one to joke around and that he meant every word he had spoken. He however, didn't respond. Instead he got to his feet and ambled offf to get the requested orderlies.

Timothy watched as he left, before silently bidding the fallen soldier Godspeed. He rose a moment later, then stumbled back to the soft pile of grass, hoping to sleep again, though he knew with despairing certainty that he would not.

Tori reached her lair, a long abandoned wine cellar in an old villa in nineteenth century Italy, just moments before the light of the morning sun came flooding over the low hills blaze in the olive groves and vineyards and dance, sparkling, on the sea.

The inevitable sleep overtook her, and she helplessly sank into utter unconsciousness. Usually, all levels of her mind become blank in this state, void of the random and inconsistent images and fragmental dreams a few vampires experienced.

However, this time, a man had taken up residence in her thoughts– a mortal man, no less. He was a very handsome fellow, in a patrician sort of way, with dark hair, good teeth and broad shoulders, but still, Tori resented the intrusion.

Why? She wondered pettishly, should she find herself pondering the likes of a beleaguered army surgeon like Timothy Wayne?