Southern Heart

by Madison, Natasha

  The darkness comes now and sucks me into the hell that I lived.

  All I saw was the dark sky, always the dark sky. It could be because the trees were so dense that no sunlight could come through. My favorite time of year was when hardly no one came up here. But I knew these woods like the back of my hand. I studied them, I guess, for this moment. "I’ll fucking kill you," he spat in my face, stabbing me one more time in the leg. I swallowed down the pain and refused to let him see it. If I was going to die, it was going to be without giving him any fucking satisfaction.

  "Then do it already." I looked at him. His white shirt had rust-colored stains, and I knew it was my blood that had dried. "Pussy." I egged him on. Except for this time, he snarled at me and dropped the knife right next to my feet.

  I took my eyes off him for one second, and it was in that second that he put his hand behind his back and brought out the gun. "Pussy this," he said right before he shot me, and I blacked out again.

  "Fuck." I hear Chelsea's voice, and I want to say I’m awake, but I can’t because the darkness comes again. "His blood pressure is dropping.”

  "You're nothing." I heard him right beside me. "Fucking nothing but a worthless piece of shit." He kicked me and walked away. I waited until I knew he was gone before opening my eye and looking at the spot where he dropped the knife. It took everything in me to move my legs to drag the knife to me. I worked with cutting my hands free. The pain in my side had me seeing stars. I waited until the darkness had filled the trees, knowing full well he would probably not come out. I waited to gather my strength until I could make my escape.

  I didn’t know how long I had. I didn’t know what day it was. I didn’t know what time it was. The only thing I knew was that I wasn’t going to fucking die here. Not today.

  Chapter 5

  Chelsea

  "Showtime," I tell them and turn around, grabbing a pair of gloves and my scissors. I get close to him, and only then do I see how dirty he is. His jeans have dried mud on them. I start cutting up the pants on one leg and then the other, then peel the pants from his legs, but the dried blood pulls his skin. He moans out in pain when it pulls and a couple of the wounds open. "Fuck," I say and look down at his legs. "Five open wounds," I say and then cut his shirt up the middle.

  His white shirt is now a dusty brown, and the part where he was shot is a rusty color. "Okay, let's see what happened here." I pull the shirt, and the stickiness of the blood sticks to the white shirt. "I need to see if it really came out the back." I look at Ethan, who just nods at me. He lifts him by the side, and I see the exit wound. "Well, it went right through." I walk over to the bag Casey brought in that is now laid out on top of the desk in the room. My hands start to shake a bit as I doubt myself.

  "Chelsea." Quinn calls my name, and I look at him. He is one of my best friends in the world and my cousin. He also knows me better than most people. "You graduated at the top of your class for a reason." I just nod at him as he turns and walks out of the room. Casey comes to stand in front of the bed.

  "What can I do to help?" he asks, stepping forward to watch what I’m doing.

  "I need you to be my right-hand person when I need something," I say, looking down at the gunshot wound. I’ve only ever seen one gunshot wound in my whole career. The last time, I was an intern, so all I had to do was watch. I look up at Mayson, seeing his one eye sealed shut and already purple. Even though I washed his face at Ethan’s, it’s still streaked with mud. I look over to see that Ethan is dragging the desk to me now, and Casey has turned and walked out of the room. I lean down and whisper in his ear, "Don’t you fucking die on me, Mayson." I stand now and close my eyes. Looking up, I see my father standing in the doorway. "I’m good."

  "Oh, I know you are," he says. "You got that from your mother," he says with tears in his eyes. My uncle Jacob stands beside him with his arms folded over his chest, smirking at me. He usually does that when he knows I’m about to show everyone when I’m boss. It started when I was a kid, and Quinn bet me that I couldn’t ride the mechanical bull as long as him. Well, he was wrong. I rode it longer. Forget that I broke my arm to prove him wrong.

  "I got the water," Casey says to me, and I look over to see him carrying a white bin with warm water.

  "Let’s get the party started." I say that every single time I get a trauma. I put an IV in him with a bag of saline to keep him hydrated. "I need something to hold up the IV fluid." I look at Quinn, and he nods at me, turning and walking out of the room as Jacob walks in, carrying an ECG machine. My mouth hangs open as I look at both of them.

  "So I’m supposed to believe that you having an ECG machine just lying around the barn?" They both share a look. "Like that’s normal." I walk over and hook Mayson up. Placing the gray peg on his finger. The machine starts to monitor his heartbeat. "It’s slow,” I tell them. "But steady."

  "At least it’s beating," Ethan says. "Here." He hands me the blue surgical cover, and I look down at my shirt, seeing that his blood is all over me. I slip my hands in and slip on another pair of clean gloves. I turn, and everything else fades away. I block out everyone in the room and the only thing I focus on is Mayson. Quinn comes back in with a stick and a hanger. Tying it to the side of the bed, he hangs up the saline bag.

  I clean off the wound as gently as I can and look up to see if he wakes up. When I don’t see his eyes flutter, I continue seeing to the bullet hole. The whole time, questions are going through my head. Who would do this to him? Why would they do this to him? Where did he crawl out from? How long was he kept? From the look at the welts on his wrists, he was held captive for days. When was the last time someone spoke to him? How long would he have been missing before someone asked questions? My head swirls as I make sure the wound is clean before I grab the hook and some thread.

  My stomach burns as I think of him alone out there with no one knowing he was missing. My parents text me twice a day, and if I don’t answer them, they have a phone chain they put into effect. How does he not have this? Why doesn’t he have this? Who is this man who has slowly crept into my family?

  "How is his pressure?" I ask Ethan, who had this training when he was in the black ops team.

  "Normal," he says. "How's the wound?"

  "Normal." I smirk at him and bend my head to start stitching him up.

  * * *

  I hang my head down and let the water cascade around me. The tightness in my neck doesn’t go away. I’ve been up for thirty-eight hours straight, give or take. Watching the water swirl down the drain, I’m fixated on that image and trying to forget everything I just saw.

  Closing my eyes, all I can see is blood. So much fucking blood I didn’t think he would make it, and all I could do was ignore the way my heart was beating. I had to ignore the fear that was creeping in and focus on keeping him alive. Everyone helped in their own way, but no one could have stitched him up like me. So I refused to even take a break. I refused to drink. I refused everything until the last stitch was sewn, and were there ever fucking stitches.

  Seventy stitches just on his legs and twenty for the bullet wound. I close my hands, looking down at them, and then the cramping starts.

  I turn off the water and step out of the shower, grabbing the white towel. Wrapping it around myself, I slip on a pair of yoga pants and a T-shirt. I tie my hair on top of my head, ignoring the tension in the back of my neck that is not going away.

  Opening the bathroom door, I’m shocked when I see my mother sitting on the bed. "Mom," I say her name, and she turns to look at me. "What are you doing here?" I ask. I’m suddenly scared he coded, and no one came to get me. She sees my eyes moving from her to the door and back to her.

  "Dad called me." She smiles at me. "I brought over something for you to eat." She points at the tray of food she placed on the bedside table. I let out a huge sigh of relief.

  "Where is everyone?" I look toward the hallway, knowing that Ethan is probably sitting by his bed.

  "Only Ethan is left," she says
, and I go and sit next to her. "You need to sleep."

  "I need to eat and sleep but," I say, looking toward the door, "he needs to be watched for the next twenty-four hours."

  "And Ethan is with him," she reinterates. "So eat and then get at least four hours of sleep."

  Grabbing the tray, I bring it on the bed with us. "Is this Grandma’s special soup?"

  "Obviously," she says. "We had to talk her and Grandpa down, or they would have charged in here." I laugh, grabbing the spoon, taking a sip of the butternut squash soup that is my favorite.

  "It was scary, Mom," I tell her without looking up as I blink away my tears.

  She puts her arms around me as I sniffle. "Dad said you were a rock star."

  I take a bite of the chicken salad sandwich with fresh cranberries. "He has to say that. He’s my dad." I look over at her. "He also paid a shit ton for my education, so he has to say that. I’m exhausted," I say to her, and I hear footsteps from the hallway and look up to see Ethan. "Is he okay?" I’m already getting out of bed to go to him.

  "He’s fine," he says, looking at me. "I was checking on you."

  "I’m fine," I say. "I’m not the one fighting to live."

  "You kicked ass, Care Bear," he says, smirking.

  "It’s not like I had a choice in the matter." I look at them both, and my mother gets off the bed. “You threw me in the deep end and said swim.”

  "Okay, it’s time for me to go and for you to get some rest," my mother says, picking up the tray and turning to me. "Call me if you want to talk."

  "Um,” I say something and stop. "Is there any chance that the guy who did that…?" I point at the room where Mayson lies.

  "Uncle Casey got the guys to come in and wire this place like Fort Knox," Ethan says. "Besides, I’m in the next room."

  I slip into bed as he closes the bedroom door, and I sink into the mattress. Pulling up the thick white cover to my neck, I let sleep take over me.

  The darkness sucked me in, and I couldn’t move. I looked around, and I was in the forest behind my grandparents' house. Looking around as if I was lost, I saw something from the side, and fear crept into me. I felt myself running through the forest, the sounds of branches snapping under my feet.

  The echoes of my breathing filled the silence of the darkness. Low tree leaves slapped against legs as I heard someone chant my name. "Chelsea." I looked over my shoulder, the shadow coming closer and closer like a wolf in the night.

  I tripped over a log, falling on my face, and the pain hit my stomach right away. I got up and looked down at myself and saw the blood seeping out of my stomach. I put my hand to the side as I felt the burning right through me, then holding it up and seeing the blood all over my hand. "Chelsea." I heard my name yelled frantically, and I turned to see Mayson crawling through the mud. "Run!" he shouted at me, and I turned to run only to be staring into the barrel of a gun.

  "You can’t run anywhere," he said, holding up his gun. I stared down the barrel of the gun and saw the bullet come right toward me.

  Right before the bullet hits me, my eyes fly open, and my hand flies to my chest, rising and falling as if I really did run. I sit up in bed and look down at my side. "It was just a dream," I say to myself. "Just a dream."

  Chapter 6

  Mayson

  "Beep, beep, beep," I hear softly, and I try to pry my eyes open. I’m expecting the darkness to come and take me again, but it doesn’t

  The light comes in, and I close my eyes again, trying to swallow, and my mouth feels like I swallowed a handful of cotton balls. I move my fingers and then my toes before I look around the room. A cast-iron bed sits in the middle of the room with me in it.

  The white covers are up to my waist as I look to the side and see the ECG machine monitoring me. I try to get up, and the pain slices through me, and I hiss out. "You are going to tear your stitches." I hear a voice, and it all comes rushing back to me.

  Showing up at Ethan's and collapsing on Chelsea. Them carrying me. "Where am I?" I say in a hoarse voice. My throat burning. "Water."

  I see Chelsea get up from the chair in the corner and walk over to me. Her eyes look tired. Her hair is piled on her head. "Hey there, how are you feeling?" She grabs the glass of water beside the bed and offers me the straw.

  I take a sip and look down and see that my arms are clean. "Like I got hit by a Mack truck." My throat hurts. "Front and back."

  "Well, I hate to say it, but that guy would be better off than you were," she says to me, and she takes her stethoscope off her neck and puts it in her ears. "I’m just going to get your vitals." She grabs the chest piece of her stethoscope and places it in the middle of my chest. I look down at her small hand as she moves it around. She puts them around her neck, and I know it’s out of habit.

  I don’t say anything to her because all the words get stuck in my throat. She grabs a pad from the side table and writes down numbers. "What’s the damage?" I try to stretch my legs, but the tightness in them makes me wince.

  "Blood pressure is high, but given the fact that you were shot, that is normal," she says, and I see the IV line inside my hand now. "What do you want to know?" She puts down the pad, and I look at her.

  She’s always been beautiful. The first time I came by to deliver Ethan’s things he left behind, I was struck by her beauty. I was also struck by the innocence in her eyes. I also knew she was off-limits in so many ways. "You’re a doctor?" I say, and she shakes her head.

  "I’m a nurse," she says. "Ethan wants me to call him when you're up." She grabs her phone, texting him now.

  "Where am I?" I ask her, and she looks at me.

  "My spare bedroom," she says. "They brought you here. You were in and out of it."

  "How long have I been out?" I ask, seeing the sun straining to come into the shades. I imagine it’s been a couple of hours. I got here during the night, so I must have been out at least six hours.

  "Since the last time, sixteen hours," she says, and I’m shocked. "Since you showed up, two weeks.”

  “Two weeks,” I say, shocked, my mind going around and around as I think about it.

  “You kept coming in and out of it," she tells me, and I wonder if I said anything. "Twitched a couple of times, but other than that, you were good." She sits down on the stool beside my bed, and I look over at the desk with all the tools you would have in a hospital. "I have to say, I didn’t know if you were going to make it."

  I nod my head. "I didn’t see the white light, so I’m assuming it was all peachy."

  "If you died in my house." She puts her phone back in her pocket. "There would be hell to pay." She tries to joke, but I can see the seriousness in her eyes as she looks down and then tucks her hair behind her ear. From the first time I met Chelsea, I was pulled to her, but the fact that I was too old and that she was off-limits made me watch her from afar.

  "I’ll remember that if I see the light." I close my eyes now. "Why am I so tired?"

  "Your body suffered major injuries," she says. "To be honest, I’m surprised you're even up now."

  "I need to talk to Ethan," I say, trying to keep my eyes open.

  "He’s on his way," she says softly. "He should be here soon."

  "Don’t give me anything else to sleep." I fight to keep my eyes open. "I need to be alert."

  "Mayson." She puts her hand into mine, and the heat seeps into my bones. "We got you."

  "I still need to be alert," I tell her, not adding that as soon as I’m able to walk, I’m leaving. There is no way I’m going to have this come to their front doors.

  Ethan and his family have accepted me and welcomed me with open arms, none of them asking me a single fucking question. Ethan knows what it’s like to keep secrets. When he was serving with me, he was hiding and fighting his own secrets. If I’m honest, half the men out there are fighting their own secrets. I lift the cover and see the bandage on my side and see the little bit of pink from the blood. "You got twenty stitches there," she says, and I look at he
r. My eyes going to the white medical tape on both sides of my ribs. "I can’t say for sure without an X-ray, but you have at least three broken ribs."

  "I’ll survive," I say, my hand holding one side and then the other. "What about my legs?"

  "Seventy stitches. So far, they look good. But I’m not a plastic surgeon, so they might leave a scar," she says, and I look down at my hands. They are swollen and red with white bandages around both wrists. "How long were you tied up for?"

  I take a deep breath, the pain making me close my eyes. "If you don’t mind…"

  "If I don’t mind," she says, her voice tight. "I do mind." She looks at me, and I see her eyes get a deep blue now. "I mind that for the last fourteen days, I’ve prayed more than I have in my whole life. If you had died," she says, and I can see that her lower lip quivers just a bit, but she fights it back. "That would have been on my hands. In my house."

  "Trust me, if I died, it would not have been at your hands." I put my head back on the pillows propping me up. The feeling of my throbbing head makes me wince.

  "What hurts?" she asks, and I know that even though she is pissed, she is still doing her job.

  "Head aches," I say, and she walks over to the other side of the room where she had medication set up. She grabs two pills and brings them over to me.

  "I don’t want to take anything." I shake my head.

  "It’s just ibuprofen." She hands them to me, and my hand turns around as she drops them down in the center of my palm. Most of my palms are filled with little cuts from dragging my sorry ass through the forest. "You need to take little sips of water," she says, holding up the cup with the white straw. "If you gulp and drink too much, you’ll make yourself sick."