“Hey, asshole,” one said. “I liked that where it was.”
“I didn’t,” I said. “Buzz off.”
I looked over. He looked like he really wanted to be an anime character: dyed, jet-black, spiked hair, eyeliner, chiseled cheeks, sunglasses. He wasn’t smiling.
A voice boomed over the intercom. “Fellas? Cut the shit or I’m calling the cops. Fill up and get out of here.” It was the attendant. He looked at me, I looked back, we both looked at the guys.
Anime took a step back, put his palms out and moved toward the black Cadillac. The ones with him were all cut from the same cloth. There was something wrong about them. At first, all I could think of was that they were clichés who’d watched too many eighties gothic teen flicks, but there was more to them than how they looked on the outside. There was something about them coming from the inside, too.
My tank topped off, I capped it, put the hose back and made for my front seat. Once I got in, I made sure to hit the door lock button and drove off. I made it onto Main Street and for a bit felt safe. The Caddy wasn’t behind me. They’d gone looking for trouble elsewhere. I went for the radio. Turned it on.
The Caddy came from out of nowhere, right in front of me, in the same lane, charging right at me without a care in the world. Its headlights were so damn bright, I had to turn my head to the side. I squinted, trying to maintain some kind of vision. Didn’t work. All I saw was blinding light.
They weren’t diverting course. It was on purpose. They were going to ram me.
I screamed out.
How the hell did they get that far ahead of me? How the…?
I jerked the wheel to the right, trying to avoid them.
They nailed the side of my car, scraping alongside it at top speed. I spun around, tail before head, several times. They’d hit me hard. I tried to steer into the spin, but I was just making it worse. At least I was still conscious, I knew. Just remembered a lot of times people felt bad from being hit hours later. Adrenaline could hide it.
Shit.
I’d lost sight of them.
My head was spinning a bit.
Damn it all.
What was I supposed to do?
I wondered if my car was still roadworthy.
Don’t get out of the car. Call the cops. These fuckers will run you down. In a blink.
Something’s wrong.
Ghost Heart.
They’ve got the Ghost Heart, too. That’s it. Advanced. That’s why they don’t care. They’re in with Damian. Cahoots. I’m dead if I get out of the car. Try to drive away.
The car stopped spinning, and I finally came to rest against a curb on Main Street, only a few blocks from the Universe.
Damn it.
I pictured Minarette. Damn it all. I wanted to see her. What the hell was with all this? Why were they bothering me?
There was something wet on my face. Was I drooling? I put my hand up to my face and realized my nose and lip were bleeding. Hadn’t even noticed I’d taken a hit. I searched for a napkin, found one and blotted my face. Then I grabbed my phone. Dialed 911. Got dispatch. “I’ve been in an accident. On Main Street. Someone’s threatened me.”
“Sir?”
Two taps on my window.
It smashed.
Something grabbed me.
I was through the window, the cold air engulfing me. Fire throughout my body, especially the top of my head. I was on the ground then. Bouts of pressure all over. Was I throwing up? Stars above. Clear sky. No. Not throwing up. Getting hit. Pressure. Kicked. Laughing. Pain for only a moment, then numbness spreading.
You know you’re alive when you can still feel pain.
My uncle’s voice in my head, echoing that thing he learned in the corps. If you could still feel something, that meant you were alive. It was when you couldn’t feel anything that you had to be nervous. That meant something really bad was going on. Something. Really. Bad.
“How about we break his jaw?” someone said.
“Go for it.”
There was a clicking sound, then everything white, then everything black, and that was that.
Chapter Sixteen
Everything was broken—or at least it felt that way. I woke to the sound of a respirator working nearby. The television in front of me had a pretty, perfectly groomed woman with chestnut hair talking about the stock market. I’d found myself in the hospital. I recognized the light blue stripe painted around the middle of the walls—a unique feature of Whistleville Hospital.
More and more details came into focus. My left arm stung and was numb from the IV. I had to pee really badly, and felt there was something blocking me. Sure hoped that didn’t mean a catheter. My head hurt something worse, though. My brain felt dry, and my throat was closed and raw. It seemed, as I came to, that all my muscles were torn or pulled at once, and every bone had been fractured. Flashes of the accident (not accidental…an attack) played in my head. The headlights zooming up so fast. The Caddy hitting my side of the car. The way my fingers looked on the wheel as I turned it. Then, last, the way my window broke and they pulled me through, and the way the stars looked, and the shock of the cold air, and then waking up in the hospital.
Someone coughed next to me. Of course I was sharing a room. Not since I’d been a kid had people really gotten their own rooms. It had something to do with having company, they claimed, but everyone knew it was because of budgets. Whatever. Squinting to see the television, I knew it was morning because of the way the light was just about to come up outside. That reddish orange was pretty distinct.
Then I thought, well, shouldn’t I be in ICU? From what I’d been through, wasn’t that normal? Why was I in a standard room, away from the emergency staff? What if there was a complication? What if something vital began to fail? How would they reach me in time to fix me, if need be? I looked for the buzzer to call someone. I found it, the plastic cable tied to the side of my bed. I pressed the red button. Someone said hello, but when I tried to say something, my mouth couldn’t form the words. All I got out was a wispy little rasp, and my throat felt shredded all around.
After a few moments, a young fellow arrived at my bedside. “Good morning,” he said. “How are you feeling?” He was dressed in telltale blue scrubs. “My name’s Brian, and I’m taking care of you this morning. Rita will be here this afternoon.”
Of course, I couldn’t speak.
“You’re in the recovery room in the emergency section,” he said. “You had a rough night. Do you remember any of it?”
It was a struggle, but I got out a pathetic, “Yes,” and nodded.
“That’s good,” he said. “Our job is to patch you up and make you feel better, okay?”
Again, I nodded. Doing so caused me blinding pain and a searing headache.
He saw my face, which must have looked dreadful. “Okay,” he said. “Don’t push yourself too hard, all right? Your body’s still in shock. We need to keep a good eye on you.”
I didn’t nod, just shut my eyes.
Again, I was out within moments. I drifted back inside sleep, and barely even registered doing so. I found myself floating over a snowed-in river. The Whistleville River. There were trees dressed in white along the banks. Water flowed through snowcapped rocks. To my right I saw the playground I’d played on when I was very small, with my parents. There were swings, and there was also a large wooden fort. We used to call it the Alamo when we were kids, even though it didn’t look anything like its namesake. Eventually we used to call it the Death Star when us kids became obsessed with all things Star Wars. Most vividly, I remember sliding down the metal slide, my dad at the bottom, laughing, ready to catch me. I remember seeing the river then, and my point of view spun around until I was back floating over the river, and I could see my dad’s silhouette against the blowing snow, and another, smaller silhouette sliding down. Me. Righ
t after, we’d all sat on the grassy banks, and he’d asked me what I wanted to be when I grew up. When I told him Luke Skywalker, he laughed and told me he believed I would be. I was so proud. I told him I couldn’t wait to fly an X-wing in outer space and train with Yoda. “Well, there’s that,” he’d said, and he and my mom cracked up. The park was closed a few years later, paved into a parking lot, but whenever I passed it, I thought of that moment. That was my safe place—the place I went to in my mind whenever I needed to retreat.
Hot pain flooded my left arm. It pulled me from my memory, and I woke to see Bryan and another person standing over me, he injecting something into my IV. “Don’t worry,” he said. “This should make you feel a lot more comfortable. You’re doing great.”
Behind them, in a chair, I swear I saw one of the detectives from the station, although it was dark and fuzzy, and my mind seemed to be going in and out of reality. This, I knew, would not be an easy recovery. The bastards who’d attacked me had really worked me over. At least, though, for the time being, I was safe. As safe as I could be. That being said, I was worried about Anna and my other friends, and wondered if Minarette would ever show up again. I’d have my answers soon enough.
It took a few days, but I managed to sit up, start taking solid food, and gather my wits about me. I was even able to stay up and awake for more than an hour at a time, which felt like a small miracle in and of itself. I learned that I had several broken bones: my right leg and my left arm each had a couple of fractures. They’d managed to crack a few ribs, too, which was horrible, because every breath hurt, and there was little the doctors could do for ribs other than let them heal. They’d hit my face, but Damian hadn’t broken my jaw like he’d threatened. I was bummed to find my nose had been broken, and worried it might not heal right. “Am I going to look like Owen Wilson now?” I’d asked, making the doctors laugh. “You wish,” they’d said.
They moved me into the recovery wing. The room was larger, it was less noisy and the help came a lot less often, but I felt a lot better, broken bones notwithstanding.
* * * * *
“We’re discharging you tomorrow,” Nurse Dave said. “Do you have someone who can pick you up?” He had a clipboard with him.
“I’m just barely feeling better. How can I recover? What if something happens?” I said. “I’ve only been here a week.”
He nodded. “Yup. True. But we don’t really keep people longer than necessary anymore. The insurance won’t let us, and we need the beds.” He handed me the clipboard. “Let’s go over the outpatient care plan, okay?”
To say I was shocked would be an understatement. There were many things I was worried about—so many that I found it difficult to even say one of them to Nurse Dave. My legs and ribs still hurt. My face hurt. Even my hair seemed to hurt. How could I deal with it on my own?
He read from the paper, but it was all lost on me. I was too busy worrying about how I was going to get in and out of my bed to feed myself and go to the bathroom. How would I go grocery shopping? My right leg, the one I used for the gas pedal, was in a cast past my knee. I’d go broke paying for cabs. I thought some of the grocery stores offered home delivery, and there was always pizza that’d deliver, but that’d all add up fast.
Absently, I signed the outpatient form.
“Great,” he said. “Let me check, but I think you can probably go home as soon as tomorrow.”
“Just like that?”
“Yup..”
“What if I don’t feel good once I’m home?”
He shrugged. “Call your doctor, or if it gets bad, come back to the ER.”
* * * * *
“I’m home.”
Anna had called to check up on me. “What?” she said. “That’s crazy.”
“I know. It’s the new way in hospitals, I guess. They don’t even have women who give birth stay more than three days on average anymore. It’s so weird.”
“Unreal,” she said. “How’d you get home? You should’ve called me.”
“Just used Uber,” I said. “The guy who came was awesome. Helped me into the house, too.”
“Oh, no,” she said. “Are you able to get around?”
“Sort of,” I said. “It’s a challenge.”
“I’m coming over.”
“You don’t have to.” I didn’t really want her to, even though I needed someone. I was scared she’d get the wrong idea. I looked at the corner of my bed, saw the crutches and cringed at the thought of having to balance on them to go to the bathroom. “I’ll be fine,” I said.
“That makes no sense,” she said. “You need help. Do you want me to pick up some food on the way?”
“No,” I said, but wanted to tell her she should. I just didn’t want her to stick around. “I’ve got plenty of food in the fridge.” Another lie. I had barely anything, but had planned on ordering a bunch from Ferrante’s down the road. A treat for myself. “Although I sure as hell wouldn’t mind a big old Dunkin’ Donuts.”
“Light and sweet?”
“You know me.”
“Doughnuts?”
“Up to you. I won’t turn one down.”
“Any favorites?”
“Boston cream.”
“Done.”
“Thank you, but just so you know, I get tired real fast. I’m probably going to fall asleep on you.”
“That’s okay,” she said. “I’ll bring my Kindle.”
Damn it.
“All right,” I said.
“I’m leaving now,” she said, and added, “Okay?”
“Sure.”
We hung up, and then I panicked. I was all the way in my room. I’d have to get up out of the bed again, make it to the front door, and then wait for her in the living room. As I rose, I felt a cold gust of air. The front window still hadn’t been replaced. I’d covered it in cardboard and plastic sheeting, but the ever-dropping fall thermometer was kicking in. Fast. I’d have to call someone and get that taken care of pronto.
Getting out of the bed wasn’t as bad as I thought, but balancing and walking took some effort. My plan was to make it to the bathroom before she came so I could pee in peace, and without her listening. As I made my way through my house, I thought of all the responsibilities beyond myself that I’d have to take care of in short order. My uncle’s service. The paperwork from the shop. The money my parents had left me. The day to day running of the shop, in general. There was still the Dodge Charger there, waiting for service and pickup. My bills. My life. It was completely overwhelming.
Once I made it to the bathroom, I found I could lean against the wall to the right to hold myself up. I lifted the seat with my left hand, which wasn’t so bad. Unzipping and getting the old fella out and aimed wasn’t nearly as tough as I thought; good thing I’d be able to stand and pee. Sitting down wouldn’t be the end of the world, but it’d sure be a pain lowering myself down and getting back up again. There’d be times I’d have to, but I was glad it wouldn’t need to happen every time. When I finished, I thought about ordering one of those pee cups old people had for my bedside. Kind of gross, but it’d solve a lot of problems, so long as no one came over and saw it. I finished, flushed and then got to the sink to give the hands a quick rinse. Just as I was drying them, my doorbell rang.
“What the hell?” I said, a little bit angry. “How the hell did she get here so fast? That’s not even fair.” Making my way from the bathroom to the living room and toward the front door, I heard the doorbell again. “I’m coming,” I said. “Hold on.” It took a bit of work to find balance to unlock and open the door.
As soon as it swung open, a familiar voice said, “Hi.”
Minarette had come to see me.
“Hey?”
“I heard you weren’t feeling well,” she said. In her hands? A pair of Dunkin’ Donuts coffees and a matching bag of doughnuts. She
looked, as always, stunning. The morning sun created a halo around her long, blonde hair. Her eyes glistened.
“I’m doing better,” I said.
“Are you going to invite me in?” she said. “Or am I just going to stand here?”
“Come in,” I said, hobbling back. “Come on in.”
She did, and I could smell her flowery perfume. She was all smiles and happiness. That was the Minarette I’d known.
“There’s something I need to tell you, though,” I said. “Anna’s coming over with coffee, too.”
Minarette stopped in her tracks. “Oh,” she said. “Competition.”
I turned beet red. “Not really,” I said. “She was just being a friend. Maybe I should call her and tell her to forget it.”
“Okay,” Minarette said. “Where should we sit?” She looked for a long moment at the window, then back to me. “I hope you’re hungry, mister.”
“Starving.” Again, she was not someone I ever wanted to lie to.
I made my way to the couch, where Minarette followed. Before I sat down, I slipped my phone from my pocket. Once I was settled, I quickly texted Anna. Not feeling up to company right now, honestly. Hope you haven’t left yet.
I turned my attention to Minarette, who held out one of the coffees. “Light and sweet. Just like you like it,” she said.
How did she know? Had we gotten coffee during our trip to the city? Had I mentioned it? I thanked her. “It’s nice and warm,” I said. “Perfect.”
“Shouldn’t be too hot, either,” she said, opening the doughnut bag. “What’s your poison? Boston cream. I know you like Boston stuff.”
Again, how did she know these things?
“Sounds amazing,” I said, checking my phone.
There was no reply.
Damn it.
I took a sip of the coffee. “That’s divine,” I said, looking at her.
“Talking to me?” she said.
“Naturally,” I said, without missing a beat. She sure was divine. I was so happy she’d come. I wanted to ask what had happened the night she was supposed to come over originally—the night I’d gone out to the Universe and found myself attacked. She hadn’t gone to the hospital.
Ghost Heart Page 13
