'...poor thing's so scared of humans. Try to keep him still while I sedate him, every time he moves those darts lacerate his back even more. They're stuck so deep. It could take hours,' a woman's voice urged in a slight London accent. The spectators' screams and shouts of abuse faded as crime scene officers and medics invaded the arena.
No longer trying to keep himself awake, Pepelito opened his eyes and glanced briefly at the people helping his friend. The two bulls lay side by side in the sand, with his head just touching Chicero's bloody side, one front leg sprawled over his foot.
The woman replied to Chicero's bellows of pain with soothing, comforting words. 'Aw, darling. I know. You're so brave. It'll be over soon.'
'Isn't Peps loyal? He's done for, bless him. Look how tired he is,' Heather said. She seemed kind but Pepelito wished they would all go, feeling ill and utterly finished. After another few gulps of water, he shut his eyes tightly, his legs too stiff and tired to move.
When Heather spoke next she was on the edge of tears. 'I was one of the first on the scene when we found Aidan. To think people paid money to watch him hurt a bull like that. It's...it's...'
'Evil,' Rita said.
'Yeah. Make sure you save Chicero. Please,' Heather begged the vets, her voice choked up with emotion.
'Peps needs some help too, his nose is very dry, his breathing's quite laboured. Shit, he's very hot.' A young guy pressed Pepelito's nose a bit too hard with a sandy finger. Confused, he opened his eyes, then shut them again. While uncomfortable, he didn't have the energy to protest. His throat felt tight; his sides ached.
'Yeah. He's not well, he needs to be treated,' the guy said. 'And Rita? Let's get you to A and E.'
*
After what Pepelito thought was a few minutes, voices woke him up again. The woman who'd helped them said, 'Well, Chicero survived the night. He even stood up and had a little walk around. We'll see, but I think he has a good chance.'
Why were these people dressed in weird uniforms? Surely he wouldn't have to fight again? Was he back with Maribel in his field? Or was he there? Where was he? Confused, ill, sleepy and boiling hot, he half realised someone was stroking his back; a lot of humans were talking about him.
'How's our legend doing today?' one of the nurses said brightly in a Scottish accent.
'Better than last night. We were worried, weren't we, Peps?' said the young man who had touched his nose before.
A drip led from his leg to the ceiling. Standing up, his legs wobbled, and something was restricting his movement. Looking over, he saw Chicero lying in a pen adjacent to his, a thick blue coat around his neck and back. Were they hurting him? Would he have to save him again?
Maybe not.
A bed of thick straw covered the floor. They both had plenty of food and water. He took a gulp, lay back down and buried his face in the straw. His muscles had given up after yesterday, or today or whenever it was.
'...well, his temperature was 42.5 last night. It's still over 40. He needs lots of fluids and medication. This action hero stuff is all a bit too much. He's got a bacterial infection, probably from his original injuries. Isn't that right, Alfonso?' Pepelito dimly heard the vet from London say.
'...yeah, he had a few days left to go. He just needs another course. And yeah, he's meant to spend his days grazing in a field, not fighting serial killers. Aren't you?' Looking up, he saw Alfonso standing in front of him, holding hands with Rita. Both OK. He licked Alfonso's hand and tried to settle back to sleep, knowing these humans were here to help.
He could drop his guard.
'When do you think these two can go home?' Rita's voice sounded exhausted, shellshocked, but relaxed.
'Well, his temperature's come down loads, his breathing's better. With Chicero, difficult to say, but with him? A few weeks, probably,' the English vet said.
'I'm sure Maribel is missing him,' Rita said. Pepelito's ears swivelled around at his friend's name.
He'd see her again soon.
Some time later, he pushed himself up on his unsteady feet, helped himself to a carrot and wandered over to the barrier separating his and Chicero's pen, feeling hot, nauseous and dizzy as he chewed. Shivering, Pepelito rubbed noses with his friend through the bars, tormented with guilt for warning him away from Lord Owenstoft's horse. He could still hear Chicero's scream as he leapt into the air, the heartbreaking thud as the bull skidded and fell in the rough sand.
But Chicero had once lived in a field for a few months with some horses. These horses, he told Pepelito, had never tried to sting or hurt him, and this horse was no different; another victim forced into their depravity. It was terrified, like the bulls. Chicero told Pepelito he wouldn't have charged anyway. They had punished him for his gentle nature.
Not Pepelito's fault.
He was still sceptical about horses, though. Maybe one day his friend could convince him of their merits.
He popped his nose back, snuggled into the straw with his head between his hooves and fell back to sleep, thinking of fresh grass and his favourite cow.
****
'How are you doing, Rita?' Alfonso said as they sat in the plane, waiting to take off back to Spain. She squeezed his hand. He'd come to the UK as soon as they told him where she was. At such short notice, that couldn't have been cheap.
She'd spent a night in hospital and then the following 2 nights with him in a cheap hotel. She'd needed the wound on her stomach dressed with one or two stitches, but the main injuries were psychological. Alfonso had sat by her bed and picked her up when she was discharged - after which, of course, they visited Pepelito and Chicero.
Hopefully, she wouldn't be hit with a medical bill, not being a UK citizen. Once they'd got to the hotel, Rita had cried at the thought of the hospital, flight and hotel bills - and the builders' quotes to redo her ruined flat. She'd had a panic attack, worried her department wouldn't let her claim the flight and hotel money. She'd almost blocked out the kidnapping; the kind of displaced reaction she often had.
'This is kind of my worst nightmare. To tell the truth, I've always been scared of flying,' she finally said, reaching for his hand. Someone was eating a packet of crisps loudly; a baby was crying somewhere.
'I feel a lot more able to deal with it now, though. Plus, this time is safer, and I know that in the hold, it's just suitcases,' she laughed. He leaned towards her and kissed her hard. She relaxed, gripping his hand tightly. Being with him, she realised she hadn't given her fear of flying a second's thought until he asked about it.
'I didn't want to tell you, Rita, but I probably ought to. I had some messages from Henry Dixon the night you got kidnapped,' Alfonso said. Rita tensed up at the mention of his name. Knowing this was a poor way of dealing with it, she was trying to dissociate, imagining it happened to someone else. Although he was dead, the thought of the perpetrator - as she was trying to think of him - contacting those she loved made her want to vomit. Her skin crawled. She felt exposed to something repulsive.
'I don't want to ask what it said,' she said.
'But you have to know?'
'Yeah. I think if I don't, I'll just torture myself wondering what it was.'
Alfonso found the text and passed her his phone. Rita winced at the sight of Chicero's green and black divisa with its sharp double spike. The caption said, 'Your girlfriend loves bulls. She'll look good wearing one of these.'
'Bastard! I'm sorry he sent that to you,' she managed, imagining his horror.
'You don't have to be sorry. It's on him.' Alfonso took a breath, stroking her hair.
'He tried to call me, as well.'
'Call you?' Her fists clenched. It was a shame the scumbag was dead...
'Yeah. I got a call around 5pm from a British number. He didn't say anything, he just kind of breathed heavily. There was a bull in the background, mooing really loudly. Henry hung up after about 6 seconds. Thank God.' Alfonso looked tormented as he remembered the call; despite herself, it filled Rita with guilt. She'd wanted to hear his voice, didn't know if she had the right number, but only succeeded in sickening him.
She couldn't blame him, but a tiny part of her was devastated. 'That wasn't the killer. That was me.'
'What?'
Her voice cracked. 'Yeah. I unlocked Edwin's phone by pressing on the sensor with - with his dead finger. I called 112, I called Jesus, I called Flavia - I know their numbers by heart. And then - I called you - I knew you likely wouldn't hear me but I wanted to tell you ... I just wanted you to know I was hanging in there. I couldn't hear anything you said. I just wanted to hear your voice...'
Alfonso squeezed her hand in both of his. He was so comfortable to lean on. She shut her eyes, wishing she hadn't taken this so personally.
'I'm sorry, Rita, it wasn't your fault I got scared,' he whispered, holding her gently.
As Rita spoke, the plane began to move and the seatbelt light came on. 'It wasn't yours either. I told you I loved you. But it didn't connect long. The signal wasn't strong enough.'
'It's OK, I know. I love you too,' Alfonso said, kissing her hair.
As the plane's wheels rolled faster against the ground, she glanced at her latest WhatsApp message. She didn't recognise the number, but that only confirmed who'd sent it.
'Hi Rita. I know you don't want to speak to me, but I saw on the news you were kidnapped - and Javier's bull saved you!!!? Wtf? I hope you're OK now! Javier and I actually saw a lot of Henry, it feels so weird, thinking I knew someone who murdered so many people. Once you're feeling better, there's a lot of things I need to get off my chest about what Javier was like as a husband. Mum says you might be the best person? He brainwashed me. He cut me off from everyone. I don't have any friends any more or anyone else who might understand. Maria.'
As expected, no apology - this was probably the best she'd get. Maria had been a very enthusiastic aficionado. Probably still was. But Castella was an abuser. He would have isolated her from anyone who could have cared. The text was full of loneliness, emptiness and misery. Rita wrote, 'Thanks for the message, Maria. Yes, I'm OK. Let me think about it.'
Resting her head on Alfonso's shoulder, Rita watched him take out his iPad for the flight. This plane wasn't fancy enough to have WiFi. Just before putting her phone into airplane mode, she texted Maria as an afterthought. 'The bull's name is Pepelito.'
'Right, Rita, we've got a choice queued up for the flight. A Scandinavian murder series on Netflix or a documentary about lions,' Alfonso said, doing up his seat belt, and then hers. They both knew what they were going to pick.
'These detective series never get anything right. Let's go with the lions,' Rita grinned.
AN: 1 more to go