Private Property

by La Jill Hunt

  “So it looks like somebody’s sleepy and doesn’t want to wake up? We gotta fix that now, Mr. Burke,” Xandria told him. She spoke to him as she would any other patient, knowing that even comatose patients still had the capability of hearing things around them. “Okay, let’s see how you’re doing today.”

  He lay motionless, several IVs running into his arm and hands, connected to a heart monitor and an automated blood pressure cuff. She took his temperature, and then placed in her ears the stethoscope hanging from her neck, rubbing it to warm it a bit before slightly opening his hospital gown and placing it on his chest. Satisfied with the rhythm of his strong heartbeat, she then reached into her pocket and took out a small flashlight. Gently, she opened his eyelids slightly and shined the light into his eyes. She noticed a slight dilation of his pupils and said, “Well, that’s a good sign. Let’s try something else.”

  Xandria placed his hand into hers and couldn’t help but notice how long his fingers were. He had nice hands, and she wondered if he played the piano. She stared into his face as she pinched the nail bed of his thumb as hard as she could. Then she saw it: a slight wince.

  “Oh, so you don’t like that, huh? Good, good.”

  “Well, well, well, look who finally decided to come back to work.” Xandria looked up to see her coworker Gina walking into the room. “Welcome back, Carter!”

  “Don’t even try it. I was only gone for a few days. Y’all probably didn’t even notice I wasn’t here.”

  “You were definitely missed. This place does not run right without you, and with all the attention Mr. Burke here has brought, it’s been ridiculous around here,” Gina said, pointing to him. “I swear, Mr. Burke, if you weren’t so handsome, I would talk about you.”

  “Don’t listen to her, Mr. Burke. Even if you weren’t handsome, she would talk about you.” Xandria shook her head. She and Gina had worked together in the ICU of the hospital for the past three years and had become the best of friends.

  “No change, huh?” Gina asked.

  “Nope, but I think he may be playing a little possum. He’s reactive, and I get the feeling that he’s listening.”

  “Mr. Burke, you need to stop. Got your parents and your brother all stressed out and causing all this commotion on the floor. Because of you, all the bosses and hospital bigwigs stay up here, and we can’t chill like we want to. Don’t nobody come to work to work every day.” Gina laughed, and so did Xandria, and suddenly, there was a loud beeping in the room. Xandria rushed to the head of the bed to the heart monitor connected to his chest.

  “See? I told you he was listening,” she said.

  “At least we know he has a sense of humor. This is the most we’ve gotten out of him since he’s been here. Maybe he likes you,” Gina suggested. “As fine as he is, that wouldn’t be a bad thing.”

  “You’re crazy.” Xandria shook her head. She picked up the iPad and began noting this in the chart.

  “Meet you later in the cafe?” Gina asked.

  “Sure thing,” Xandria told her. She went back to focusing on the notes in her patient’s chart. When she was finished, she looked back at him and said, “Okay, Malachi. Can I call you Malachi? Good. So I convinced your parents that you were in very capable hands for the night, and I told them to leave. So I don’t want no problems, okay?” she said. “But I think what we need to do is clean you up a bit. You could use a bit of a shave. And how about we turn on a little bit of music for you? Maybe that will make you feel better.”

  Xandria picked up the remote and turned to the music stations on the TV. The first one was a punk rock one, and she quickly hit the button. The next song that she heard was a mellow soft rock. She shook her head and said, “Nah, you don’t seem like the soft rock type. You’re a preacher’s kid, so you probably enjoy gospel.” She found the gospel station and turned it up and continued watching him. His eyes remained closed and his face emotionless. She paused and then said, “Hmmm, let’s try this.”

  Another click of the remote and a hip-hop beat came from the television. Then she saw it: a subtle move in his face. She turned up the volume a little and waited, but there was nothing. She turned back to the gospel and stared at him. He didn’t move. She clicked back to the hip-hop station, and sure enough, his eyebrow moved.

  “Oh, you’re a rap fan, huh? Okay, I see you, Mr. Malachi. Personally, I prefer R&B, but this ain’t about me. It’s about you.” She laughed as she grabbed the plastic hygiene container from the bathroom area of the room and turned on the water. When it was warm, she wet a washcloth, which she used to clean his face. Then, with the care and precision of a surgeon, she shaved his face, rapping along to the music as she did so. When she finished, she stood back and admired him again. “Damn, you are a cutie.”

  Suddenly, his eyes opened. They stared at one another for a moment, and then he finally whispered, “So are you.”

  Xandria gaped, and then she smiled. “Well, well, well. Welcome back, Mr. Burke. I knew you were playing possum. I’ll get the doctor, and I guess I need to call your folks and let them know you’re awake.”

  Malachi’s hand slowly reached and touched her arm. Shaking his head, he said, “Not yet. Please, not yet.”

  Epilogue

  Jonah Harrington

  Jonah was in the middle of preparing lunch when he heard the doorbell ring. He turned the stove on low and covered the pot of homemade chicken soup, grabbing a dish towel to wipe his hands as he headed to answer it. His favorite canine companion, Dash, was right on his heels.

  “Can I help you?” Jonah asked the man who was standing on his doorstep.

  “How ya doing? I’m Detective Adam Frazier,” the man greeted him.

  Jonah didn’t smile back. He just stared. Dash sensed Jonah’s composure and began growling. The detective glanced down and backed up. Jonah looked past him to see the squad car parked in the driveway.

  “Dash, stop,” Jonah said gently, and the dog quietly sat down beside him. Jonah reached and gave him a gentle pat on the head.

  “I’m investigating the fire that happened last week. I understand you were one of the first people to call it in, and your house appears to be the closest one. Did you happen to see anything or anyone?” the detective asked.

  “Nope, I didn’t,” Jonah told him. “Why are you investigating the fire? I thought it was started by something in the garage.”

  “Well, no, it appears that it may have been a deliberate act.”

  “Really?” Jonah blinked.

  “Yes, sir. Mrs. Douglas has reported that there was an unknown female who assaulted her right before the fire occurred who may have had something to do with this. Did you notice any female in the neighborhood that night?”

  “No, I didn’t,” Jonah said.

  “Well, I can’t imagine anyone getting out here without a car. Did you see any strange vehicles that night?” Detective Frazier asked.

  “Nope, not at all.” Jonah shrugged.

  “I’m told you were the first one to arrive at the house and you helped Mrs. Douglas and Mr. Burke escape. Did either one of them say anything to you?”

  “Well, he was the one who pulled her out the house. I just helped him lay her down, and then I called 911. Neither one of them said anything,” Jonah told him.

  Detective Frazier reached into his pocket and handed Jonah a business card. “If you remember anything, please give me a call.”

  “Sure thing.” Jonah took the card and watched as the detective got into his vehicle and drove away.

  He hated the police and had since Lydia’s death. For weeks after she died, he was interrogated over and over again. They seemed determined to prove that he had something to do with it. His life was miserable until the final autopsy report came in and cleared him of any wrongdoing, and even afterward he still felt like he was a wanted man. His life had come crashing down, and all he could do was vanish. He left everything and everyone and found solace in what he had one day hoped would be the surprise of a lifetim
e for Lydia: the house he now lived in.

  Jonah and Dash went back inside. He walked into the kitchen, thinking about the fire and the questions Detective Frazier asked. He also thought about the things he didn’t tell the detective. He didn’t tell him about the black Honda Civic, which was now parked in his garage covered with a tarp. He didn’t tell him about the torn shirt Dash found near the backyard, and he didn’t tell him about the woman who had been hiding out in his upstairs bedroom for the last two days. He made a bowl of soup, put some crackers on a small plate, grabbed a bottle of water, and made his way up the steps with a tray carrying it all.

  “Lunch is served,” he told her when he walked inside the bedroom.

  She was standing by the window, peeking out, dressed in one of his T-shirts. “Oh, my God!” she hissed. “Was that the police?”

  “Yeah, it was,” he said. “Come on, get back in bed so you can eat.”

  “What did they want?”

  “They’re still investigating the fire.” He placed the tray on the nightstand beside her.

  “Shit. What did you tell them?” she asked, limping back over to the bed. Her ankle was bandaged, and her face was slightly bruised.

  “I didn’t tell them anything. Mainly because I don’t know anything,” Jonah said.

  “I can’t believe this! I never meant for any of this to happen, I swear! Shit just got crazy and . . .” She broke down and began crying uncontrollably.

  “Hey, it’s okay. Come on, eat something,” Jonah told her. This was something Jonah had gotten used to over the past few days. As a matter of fact, when she wasn’t asleep, she was crying. Those were pretty much the only two things she did: sleep and cry.

  She was a pretty girl, young, petite. Had she not been wearing the blond weave in her hair, she would be the spitting image of one of his all-time favorite celebrity crushes: Tatyana Ali. He had tried time and time again to find out information about her, but the only thing he was able to get from her was that her name seemed to be Squirt and that the fire was a mistake.

  As he watched her slowly eat the soup he prepared, Jonah hoped that his helping her wouldn’t turn out to be a mistake of his own.

  To Be Continued