The Temptation of Demetrio Vigil Read Free

to my marrow. He looked dangerous. My knees
wobbled, and nearly gave out.
    “I am hurt.” I began to cry, in fear
and pain, like an insane person. “But I don’t want to die. Please
don’t kill me.”
    “Pssh.” He bucked his head slightly with a concerned
look in his eyes. “I ain’t gon’ let you die. I’m here to help you,
I said. I’ll stand right here ‘til you ain’t scared no more.
Deal?”
    His deep voice crested and fell with a rural New
Mexican rhythm. He was tall and well built, with smooth brown skin
and large, dark eyes that turned down a little at the outer edge.
His cheeks and nose were red with cold.
    “Trust me,” he said. “If you can.”
    One hand was in his pocket; I worried he had a gun.
In other, which bore no glove, he carried a metal toolbox. I did a
double take. What was that for? Dismembering girls?
    “Please don’t hurt me.” I was so cold, so very, very
tired. Energy drained out of me. A stiff numbness began to set
in.
    “Shh. I seen the accident. Don’t be talking so much.
Conserve your energy.”
    He came to my side.
    “There was a coyote.” I pointed to the road
nervously. “It made me crash, and now I think it wants to bring its
friends to eat me for dinner.”
    A look of worry came over him. He scanned the road
past his shoulder suspiciously, pushed his lips tightly together,
then turned back to me. “You’re wasting time and energy talking.
Let me help you. There’s not much time. The cold will get you if
you don’t let me help you.” He moved closer, and reached to open my
jacket. I stumbled back, pain and nausea undulating through me. I
began to fall, and threw up a little.
    “Listen to me.” He held me up, kept me from falling.
His eyes connected intensely with mine. “This is important. You
gotta trust me. We don’t have time for fear right now.”
    “What are you trying to do?” I wobbled on feet I
could no longer feel. Again, he caught me by the arm. His grip was
hard, nonnegotiable.
    “The dog . That’s all. Your dog needs
help.”
    He opened my coat gently, and took Buddy from me.
The dog was limp, unconscious, tongue lolling out. My jacket was
soaked with blood. I was freezing, the dog’s small heat gone from
me now.
    I whined. “Please be careful. He’s really hurt.”
    “He’s okay. No worries.”
    He folded his legs beneath him, and sat on the
ground, in the snow with Buddy in his lap. He opened the tool kit
and, horrifyingly, pulled out a syringe.
    “What are you doing ?”
    “Helping him, mamita, what’s it look like?”
    “You can’t just give him a, a, a shot!” I began to
hyperventilate, and a sputtering cough gripped me. “You’re not a
doctor! Give him back. What are you doing with a syringe?”
    “Relax, dang,” he said. “I take care of animals all
the time. It’s a painkiller. Back up off me, girl. Everything gon’
be fine. I promise.”
    I watched, helplessly, as he injected Buddy between
the shoulder blades.
    “Omigod omigod omigod omigod.” I chattered.
    He ignored me, ran his hands over Buddy’s legs and
body, with his eyes closed and his forehead creased deeply. He’d
stop in a spot, hold his hands there for a moment, and then move to
the next; wherever he’d been, the wounds seemed to spontaneously
stop bleeding. I realized then that I might have hit my head. I was
probably hallucinating this whole thing.
    I fell silent for a moment, then
whispered, “How did you do that?”
    “Do what , mamita?” He looked
bored.
    Buddy opened his eyes then, saw me, and moved his
tail weakly.
    “That !
How did you do that ?”
    “It’s what country boys do. I got skills.”
    He took his coat off, laid it on the ground at his
side, and placed Buddy on it - bundling him cozily.
    “He was practically dead.” My body
trembled violently. “What you did, that’s not normal .”
    “Nah, man. Your dog was just stunned is all. He was
feeding off your fear, too. He just needed reassurance.” He stood
and moved toward