Knock on the Door

By Ed Carlson

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This story is purely fictitious. The names used herein are for character

identification and should not be construed as real people, alive or dead.

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I was sitting alone watching TV. That is my usual thing to do during the evenings. The generator had automatically shut itself down, and the place was now running off the battery banks. I need to have a setup like that because I live so far out. I like the solitude and the quiet that goes with it. It does get lonely though. Sometimes I think I should figure out some way of finding a companion. Usually, only the sound of the wind breaks the silence—that is, unless we are having one of our typical thunderstorms. Then it really gets loud. Tonight was one of those nights when the thunder bangs and the lightning flashes. Sometimes the flashes last so long that you can scan the whole horizon. Tonight we were also having heavy rain as well.

The ten o’clock news finished, and I turned off the TV. I turned off all of the lights and started up the stairs. The rhythm of the rain on the roof was broken by a loud banging on the door. I turned and went back down the stairs. I turned on the front porch light and peeked out through the window in the door. A tall figure was standing there, dripping wet. By the long hair and bulges in the right places, I knew it was a woman. I opened the door.

“Yes. What can I do for you?” I asked.

“Please mister, can you help me?” she pleaded. “I’ve been shot.”

I guessed her to be in her late twenties. She was quite tall and had long dark hair. She was wearing blue jeans and a jeans jacket over her shoulders, and she was thoroughly soaked. She was wearing only light sandals. I focused my attention on the bright crimson spot on her wet blue jeans as I opened the screen door for her to come in. She was limping badly as she brushed by me. I removed her jacket as she walked by. She was just inside the door when she collapsed. She kind of fell in a heap. It was then that I noticed that she didn’t try to reach out and stop herself as she fell. The reason she didn’t became instantly apparent. She had no arms. Both of the sleeves of the tee shirt that had been under her denim jacket were empty.

I straightened her out on the entryway rug. She started to come around. I focused again on the bloody spot on her right leg just above the knee.

“Just lie still,” I told her. “I’ll get something to stop the bleeding.”

I got up and walked briskly to the kitchen. I opened the drawer and took out a clean dishtowel. I went back to her and tied it tightly around her leg.

“We need to get you to a hospital,” I said.

“Oh no!” she replied. “I can’t go there.”

“Why not?” I asked.

“I can’t tell you,” she pleaded. “Please don’t take me to the hospital. I saw your sign. I know you’re a veterinarian. Can’t you patch me up?”

“I’m only licensed to practice on animals, not humans,” I replied.

“Please,” she pleaded. “I know you can do it.”

Her eyes rolled back in her head, and she passed out again. I picked her up and took her out to the treatment room in the barn. I laid her down on the large stainless steel table that I usually reserve for cows and horses. It was large enough to lay her on one side while I sanitized the other. I spread a sheet out on the clean half. That’s when the reality hit me. The poor woman didn’t have any arms. There were just barely signs of stubs of arms. Her scars looked like the surgery had been performed in a butcher shop.

I unfastened her belt and unzipped her jeans. I lifted her butt and pulled her jeans out from under her. I took off her muddy sandals and pulled her jeans the rest of the way off after I removed the towel that was controlling the bleeding. When I got the jeans off, I tied the towel back in place. She was not wearing panties and was now naked below the waist. I picked her up and carried her to the other side of the operating table and laid her on the clean sheet. I went back around and sanitized the rest of the table and covered it with the rest of the sheet. She began to stir again. Her eyes fluttered open.

“Where am I?” she asked.

“You’re in the treatment room in my barn,” I said.

“Oh thank you for not making me go to the hospital,” she said.

“I’ve taken your wet jeans off,” I said. “Are you warm enough?”

“I’m fine,” she replied. “Have you fixed my leg yet?”

“I only tied a towel on it to stop the bleeding,” I said. “I’m going to start on it now.”

“Can you give me anything for the pain?” she asked. “It hurts quite a bit.”

“I’ll use some Novocain around the wound; that should numb it,” I said.

“Are you going to have to knock me out?” she asked.

“I don’t think so,” I said. “The Novocain should be enough. I’ll give you some anesthesia only if you need it.”

I gave her several shots on both sides of her leg. It was a clean wound, and I had both sides cleaned and stitched up in just a few minutes. Luckily, the bullet only had gone through some fatty tissue but had struck a blood vessel, which was causing all the bleeding. Once I tied the blood vessel off, the bleeding stopped, and she still had a good strong pedal pulse. The bullet had not hit a bone or destroyed much muscle. I wrapped my handiwork with a clean dressing.

“There, we’re done,” I said. “You’ll have to have that dressing changed in a couple of days.”

“Thank you Doctor,” she said. “I’m sorry. I don’t even know your name.”

“Samuel Jackson,” I replied. “Just call me Sam.”

“All right Sam,” she said. “I’m Mary. Mary Rodriguez.”

“Nice to meet you,” I said.

“I’d shake your hand, but I can’t do that anymore,” she said.

“I noticed. Someone left you with some nasty looking scars,” I said. “How did you get here? I didn’t hear you drive up.”

“I walked part way,” she said.

“Let me go get you something to cover up with,” I said.

“I’m OK,” she said. “I have to be going.”

“You’re in no shape to go anywhere, unless you have someone to drive you,” I said sternly. “It’s still raining.”

“I don’t have anyone now,” she said as she began to cry. “My husband Carlos is dead.”

“I’m sorry,” I said. “I didn’t know.”

“He’s dead because I killed him,” she sobbed. “We got in a big fight back on the high bridge over the river. He threatened to shoot me. I’ve been practicing karate for protection, and I kicked him. He lost his balance and fell over the rail. The gun went off and hit me in the leg as he started to fall. I managed to get to the rail just in time to see his head hit the rocks and then his lifeless body bounce into the river. The swift current carried him away. It was awful.”

She began crying harder. I took her in my arms and held her close to me.

“It’s going to be all right now,” I said softly.

Her sobs began to subside. I picked her up and carried her back to the house. I sat her on the couch. I got one of my long robes. I took her wet tee shirt off, then put the robe on her. I got a towel and thoroughly dried her wet hair. When I was finished drying her hair, I combed it for her.

“How does your leg feel?” I asked as I sat on the couch beside her.

“It’s still pretty numb,” she replied. “I sure do want to thank you for not making me go to the hospital. I know that they’d call the cops right away for a gunshot wound.”

“Well I’m supposed to call too,” I said.

“Please don’t call them,” she begged. “I don’t want to go to jail. Do you know what they would do to me in jail without arms? I’m defenseless.”

“You won’t go to jail,” I said. “What you did was self defense.”

“I know that, and I can deal with losing Carlos,” she said, “but there are outstanding warrants for both me and Carlos.”

“What did you do?” I asked.

“Smuggling drugs. It’s a long story,” she said.

“In that case, can I get you anything?” I asked. “I’m going to have some hot chocolate.”

“That sounds good,” she said.

I went into the kitchen and made the hot chocolate. I carried both mugs back into the living room. I set them down on the coffee table in front of us.

“What do you need to drink it?” I asked.

“It is fine just like that. I can handle it when it cools,” she said.

“Now how about that long story?” I said.

“Well, we were in southern Mexico five years ago when it all started,” she began. “Carlos and I were there on our honeymoon. We were having a wonderful time. A man came up to us and offered us a lot of money to smuggle some drugs into the United States—a lot of money—more than Carlos and I could ever dream of earning. We decided to try it. It was only supposed to be a one-time deal. We were given the drugs, and we smuggled them into the U.S. without any trouble. They asked us if we wanted to do it again, and we got greedy. We went back for another load. That’s when all of the trouble started. We were in a drug lord’s compound when a gunfight broke out between the fellow we were dealing with and the neighboring drug lord. Carlos and I were both scared to death. We managed to get our load of drugs over the high concrete wall that surrounded the compound. Carlos went over the wall first. He hung by the top and dropped about ten feet to the ground. I was next. I made it to the top of the wall fine. When I started to let myself down, the left sleeve of my shirt got caught on one of the spikes sticking out of the top of the wall. I was hanging from the top of the wall trying to get my arm free when machine gun fire opened up at me. Several rounds caught me in the right upper arm and completely mangled it. My right arm was completely useless and I was left hanging there by only my left arm. I can remember it as though it was yesterday as I hung there and looked at parts of my arm laying there on the ground and my blood dripping in a pool.”

I took a drink of my hot chocolate. She reached out with her right foot and put her toes in the handle, then steadying it with her left foot, brought the cup up to her lips and took a drink. I sat there with my mouth open as she put the cup back on the coffee table.

“There was a second burst of machine gun fire as I hung there,” she continued. “That burst caught me in the upper left arm, and I fell to the ground. Carlos broke my fall. My left arm was still hanging on the wall by my shirt sleeve. It didn’t hurt then, but I thought I was going to throw up at the sight of all the blood—my blood and my severed arms. Carlos took off his shirt and tied it tightly around my shoulders to try and stop the bleeding. We got up and started to run. Carlos was carrying the drugs. We had gone about a two hundred yards through the jungle when the pain hit me. I screamed once, and I passed out.

“I woke up three days later in a Mexican hospital. Carlos had found an old pickup and paid the driver to take me to the hospital. The Mexican authorities arrested Carlos at the hospital, and I was put under heavy guard. In the Mexican hospital, both of my arms were completely removed and I was thrown in jail once I healed up a little. Luckily, I was thrown in with a kind old peasant woman who helped me.

“We were extradited for drug smuggling. On the way to the airport, some of the local bandits, paid by the drug lord who we were working with, held up the car and killed the two U.S. federal marshals. They burned the car with them in it. Carlos and I escaped, and with the bandit’s help, we worked our way back to the U.S. border. Under the cover of darkness, we snuck back into the United States. We made our way up north and have kept a low profile up here.

“We’ve stayed to ourselves and lived off the interest of our investments from the first shipment. Lately, Carlos had started using drugs and drinking heavily. We began fighting a lot. I had a hell of a time trying to defend myself, and Carlos usually ended up beating the crap out of me. That’s what was happening tonight, and why I had taken the karate lessons. We stopped on the bridge, and he was going to beat the crap out of me again and threatened to shoot me with the pistol. He was really drunk and high on drugs at the same time. He swung at me and I kicked him and that’s when he fell over the rail. Just before he fell, the gun went off.”

“Well Mrs. Rodriguez, that’s really quite a story,” I said.

“Please call me Mary,” she said.

“All right Mary, that’s quite a story,” I said. “I see why you didn’t want to go to the hospital and get the police involved.”

“As far as the police know, all four of us were killed in Mexico. Carlos looked it up on the Internet one night,” she said.

“How do you manage to get by without proper ID?” I questioned.

“That was part of the deal with the drug lord,” she said. “He had us fixed up with fake IDs that work. We actually pay income tax on those phony names. My last name is really Gondolas.”

She picked up the mug again with her feet and took a final drink.

“You have an interesting way of handling that mug,” I remarked.

“A lady came to visit me while I was in the hospital in Mexico. She was born without arms and did everything with her feet and toes. She showed me some of the basics before they carted me off to jail. I can do just about anything that I did before. I can cook, clean, and keep house pretty well. I only need help with a few things.”

“I find it quite amazing,” I said. “Have you ever thought about prosthetic arms?”

“I went to a prosthetist once,” she said. “He made me up a set of arms and hooks. But, because I don’t have much in the way of stumps, they were pretty useless. I find it easier to use my toes.”

“Interesting,” I said. “How’s the leg feeling?”

“It’s starting to hurt,” she said.

“The strongest pain killer I have is some aspirin with codeine,” I offered.

“Let me take a couple tonight, and then that’s all,” she said. “I sure as hell don’t want to get hooked on drugs.”

“You can take these for a couple of days without fear of addiction,” I said.

I got up and went into the kitchen, and Mary followed. I got out a packet of the drugs. I held them out to her, and she took them out of my fingers with her mouth. I poured a glass of water and held it while she drank.

“Where is your car parked?” I asked. “It’s not in the middle of the road, is it?”

“I drove it part way here from the bridge,” she said. “I parked it down an access road to a field. It’s back in the trees and won’t be seen easily.”

“Why did you start walking?” I asked.

“I was just about out of gas,” she said. “I wanted to park it while I could still get it off of the road. Besides, my leg hurt awfully bad when I steered the car with my foot.”

“OK. I just wanted to be sure it wasn’t blocking the road,” I said. “We can deal with the car tomorrow. Why don’t you go back to the living room and sit down to get the weight off of that leg?”

I went out to the barn and retrieved her blue jeans and sandals while she went back into the living room. I turned off all of the lights and returned to the house. I put her jeans in the utility room and started soaking them in the laundry tub. I walked into the living room. She was almost asleep.

“We’ll wash your jeans in the morning. I have them soaking. We should be able to get most of the blood out,” I said.

“I was almost asleep,” she said. “Don’t worry about the jeans. I have plenty at home.”

“Let’s get you ready for bed,” I said. “Is there anything you need help with?”

She stood up and walked over toward me.

“I just need help with my bra,” she said.

We walked into the spare bedroom. I pulled back the covers for her. I took off the robe, and she turned her back to me. I undid the clasp on her bra. She turned and faced me. I removed her bra, and suddenly I was staring at her magnificent breasts. I wanted to reach out and touch them in the worst way, but I restrained myself.

“You can feel them if you like,” she said seductively.

“I really don’t think that’s such a good idea right now,” I said. “One little touch would probably lead to something else, and before too long, we might be doing something else beside that.”

“Darn. I suppose you’re right,” she pouted.

“Is there anything else you need?” I asked.

“Yes, but you just said we weren’t going to do it,” she said. “I’ll just use the bathroom and go to bed.”

She was standing there in all her glory, showing off all of her God given attributes. It was all that I could do to keep from jumping her right there. She gave me a kiss on the cheek and paraded into the bathroom. I went into my bedroom and undressed. I used my bathroom and had just finished when I heard her say “goodnight.”

“Goodnight,” I called.

I got into bed. I tossed and turned, unable to sleep. I couldn’t get the events of the evening out of my mind. That armless beauty really had me turned on. I finally drifted off to sleep. . . .

I awoke to the sound of the generator running. I also heard water running as well as the washing machine. I got up and slipped on a robe. When I opened my bedroom door, I smelled breakfast cooking. I walked into the kitchen.

“Good morning Sam,” she said. “How do you like your eggs?”

She was wearing the robe and sitting on one of the barstools in front of the stove. She picked up an egg with her toes and cracked it into the pan, then did another.

“Good morning Mary. Over easy please,” I replied. “This is a pleasant surprise. How’s your leg feeling?”

“It still hurts a lot, but I can stand a lot of pain. I put my jeans in with some of yours that I found in the hamper,” she replied nonchalantly. “The coffee is ready if you’d like to pour us some.”

I poured two mugs of coffee. I carried them over to the kitchen table, which she had set for us.

“Please pass me the plates,” she instructed.

I did as I was told. She picked up a spatula with her toes and took my eggs out of the pan, along with several strips of bacon. I held her plate while she dished up hers. I carried the plates over to the table. She followed me and sat down. I took a bite of eggs.

“These are really good,” I said. “You could spoil me in a hurry.”

“That’s the general idea,” she said with a big smile on her face. “Could you cut up my eggs please?”

I cut her eggs into bite size pieces. She put her foot on the table and picked up a fork. I was amazed at the dexterity of the woman’s toes as she ate.

“What did you mean by that?” I questioned.

“Well, you appear to be unattached, and now so am I,” she said. “You know I really don’t want to live back at our place without Carlos. I was hoping that you might want a live-in housekeeper.”

“I think that can be arranged,” I replied as I looked at her with a big smile on my face.

“Thank you Sam,” she said with a smile that lit up the room. “I know you won’t be disappointed.”

E N D