With the ice buffered by the cloth, he stopped thrashing against me and let me leave it. ,” I said, my voice gentler as I wrapped the cubes in the washcloth and pressed them against his neck. I’m fine.” His “I’m fine,” however, was less than convincing, and I was stronger than he was in his fevered state. “What the hell!” He shoved at me lethargically. When I came back, he was in the exact same state as when I’d left him: burning up and delirious. I grabbed the key and the ice bucket, not bothering with pants, and hurried out of the room. I wouldn’t have been surprised if steam had risen from the compress. I brought it back and laid it across his forehead.

When he didn’t respond, I went to the bathroom and ran a washcloth under cold water. “Wake up,” I demanded, getting right in his face now. He mumbled something less coherent than his dream babbling had been, something I couldn’t make out, and I shook him again. Panic overrode logic, and I tried shaking him awake. If I’d thought he’d been burning up before, he was downright sizzling now. I forgot all about my name on his lips and slipped back into Florence Nightingale mode, jumping up from where I’d been lying next to him, and pressed my hand against the side of his cheek. The same way I had shivered after we’d climbed out of the river. I probably would’ve waited all night, except that was about the time he started to shiver. I stayed where I was, wanting desperately-so damned desperately-for him to say my name again. Just a single word, but it sent shivers racing up my spine. I bit back my laughter, not wanting to wake him, until he said the one thing that made me freeze. He just said, “You can’t bring that dog in here.” He must’ve been serious about it, because he repeated it more than once, each time more forcefully than before.

He talked about washing his car, something about “wrong soap” and “scratching the paint.” And later there was muttering about a dog. Of course everything he said was out of context and made no sense, but it was more amusing than any late-night talk show or infomercial on TV. I didn’t know how to tell him I thought he was wrong. “What did I tell you? Nothing to worry about. He peeled back the tissues and checked it. I grinned reluctantly, shifting my gaze to his, and he tightened his grip on me.

The Taking by Kimberly Derting