Every Tomorrow

by Nia Arthurs

  Diandra bobs her head so hard that her weave unfurls from where it was pinned into a bun. Straight, black hair spills over her shoulders. “Okay.”

  I grasp one handle while she clasps another. We slowly raise the wheelbarrow and watch as John Doe slides out. The sight of his rigid body slithering to the floor would have been funny under any other circumstance, but neither of us dares to laugh.

  Not when our lives—and his—are on the line.

  Diandra glances at the clock on the wall and mumbles, “Hurry up, Zora.”

  “When did Zora say she was getting here?”

  “Ten minutes.”

  “What did you tell her?”

  “That you’d gotten hurt and she needed to bring all her supplies.”

  I rub my temple. “Why didn’t you tell her to keep it quiet? What if she tells Thomas?”

  Diandra’s face pales a shade. “I didn’t think of that.”

  I wave my hand because we have bigger things to worry about. “I took a Red Cross First Aid course. I’ll see what I can do until she gets here. Can you bring me the First Aid kit and boil some warm water?”

  “Sure.” Diandra flits out of sight.

  I scoot nearer to John Doe. His hair isn’t as dark as it looked in the alley. If anything, I’d say it’s somewhere between wheat-colored and brown. The lines around his eyes reveal he’s in his late twenties or early thirties. His jaw is square and covered with a short beard.

  My fingers inch toward the hem of his shirt. Despite the fact that he’s unconscious and in desperate need of medical care, it feels like an invasion of his privacy.

  I move slowly, rolling his shirt up until the planes of his torso are exposed. He’s got a pale stomach with a smattering of dark hair disappearing into his pants. He’s not ripped and packed with abs, but his middle is toned and lean.

  My gaze slides and freezes on the red-stained gauze wrapped below his ribs.

  Diandra steps into the room then. “I got everything you asked for.”

  “Dee, are you seeing what I’m seeing?”

  She kneels beside me and the First Aid kit clatters to her feet. Dark hands cover her face as she gasps. “He was injured before the crew jumped him.”

  “Tyron said they weren’t beating him up for long. Maybe one of their kicks opened up an old injury.”

  “Or a new one from the looks of that gauze.” Diandra winces. “This just got more complicated.”

  The mystery zips through my mind, begging to be unraveled. I think out loud. “What if he’s a gang boss? Or a Russian spy involved in the drug trade?”

  “Then we’re in way over our heads and we should dump him at the hospital before he wakes up and identifies us.”

  I ponder her suggestion when a knock sounds at the door. Zora’s voice drifts through. “Amaya? It’s me.”

  Diandra and I exchange frantic glances. It’s too late to hide him now.

  I pounce on the door and let Zora in. She’s a pretty girl with dark skin and straight hair flowing just above her shoulders. Her face is heavily made up and she’s wearing long, fake lashes.

  “What’s the emergency?” Zora’s eyes skirt over my body. Her eyelashes struggle to move up and down. “You look completely fine.”

  I step back and allow her into the house. “I’m not the patient.”

  “He is,” Diandra says.

  Zora freezes when she sees the patient, his bloody shirt rolled up and his eyes closed. “What the heck is going on here?”

  “I can explain everything later, but for now, I need you to save him.”

  “Why isn’t he in a hospital if you’re so interested in saving him?”

  “Just help me!”

  Zora shakes her head and backs away. “This is ridiculous. Whatever’s going on here, I don’t want to be a part of it.”

  I fold my arms over my chest and ask calmly, “How’s Keanu doing? Did Thomas ever find out about you two?”

  Zora stiffens.

  “Who’s Keanu?” Diandra tilts her head.

  “He’s Zora’s first love and also the guy that got her—”

  Zora drops like a rock and grabs a stethoscope from around her shoulders. “When did the bleeding start?”

  “Uh, about fifteen minutes ago. He was robbed by…” My words falter and I swallow. “By some neighborhood kids. I think the fighting reopened his wound, but I’m no doctor.”

  “Neither am I. I’m just a nurse,” Zora snaps.

  “Can you help him or not?”

  She grabs for her kit and thrusts it open. “I’ll try.”

  Diandra and I give Zora her space to work. Twenty minutes later, she joins us in the kitchen. I slide over a glass of water and she accepts it without thanks. Zora pulls the cup to her lips and drinks thirstily. When she’s done, there’s a lipstick stain on the rim.

  “Is he… going to be okay?” Diandra asks.

  “We’ll see. I have to monitor the wound. Make sure it doesn’t get an infection. But he has no broken bones as far as I can see. His ribs might be bruised. It’s sensitive to the touch. Although he’d really need to take a scan to be sure.”

  I avert my eyes. “Thank you, Zora.”

  “Don’t thank me. Especially if you’re doing something shady. I don’t want my name popping anywhere near this mess.”

  Diandra lifts a hand. “We’re only trying to help. We swear.”

  “Forgive me if I don’t take your words at face-value when there’s an unconscious man lying on the living room floor!”

  I lick my lips and let out a troubled breath. “We have a good reason for all this.”

  “I don’t want to hear it.” She leans back. “But I will ask this. Were you the ones who stabbed him?”

  “S-stabbed?” Diandra stutters.

  “Of course not.” I glare at Zora. “How could you even think that?”

  “If it wasn’t you, then where did he get it? The cut was deep, but it was already starting to scar which means it was there before those mysterious ‘neighborhood guys’ robbed him.”

  “It wasn’t us!” Diandra shrieks.

  I hold out a hand to calm her. “We met this guy tonight.” I lower my gaze to the cup before me. “Tyron got mixed up in bad company again.”

  “Your brother did this?”

  “No. Not really. Sort of.” I cringe. “He can’t get in trouble again, Zora, or he’ll go to jail this time. Please don’t say anything.”

  “Whatever. I might not say anything, but what if he does?” She points to John Doe. “Then what?”

  “I’ll handle it.”

  “You’d throw yourself on a grenade for your punk brother?”

  I stiffen. “He’s not a punk. He’s… misguided.”

  “And your dedication to your family makes you delusional. That’s why I couldn’t let Thomas go any farther with you. It was obvious he would never be your priority.”

  Her words burn me worse than acid. I step forward. “I loved your brother.”

  “Not enough,” Zora says. “Or you wouldn’t have broken his heart.”

  “If you hate me so much, why did you come tonight?”

  “I’m starting to wonder the same thing,” Zora says darkly.

  “Guys, let’s not turn on each other.” Diandra, ever the voice of reason, slips between us. “Amaya may be a little hot-tempered, but she’s not a killer. We met John Doe tonight and have no idea where, how or why he got stabbed.”

  Zora sighs. “Shouldn’t we—I don’t know—call his family and at least let them know he’s not dead? Someone could be worried about him.”

  “We thought about that, but figured it was too risky,” I explain.

  Zora leads the way to the living room. “We should at least know his name.” Diandra and I watch as she feels around his pockets. “Where’s his wallet? His cellphone?”

  “He got robbed, remember?”

  Diandra turns to me. “Tyron was taking money out of his wallet. He probably still has it.”

&nb
sp; “You’re right.” I run to the phone and call my brother.

  He picks up on the second ring. “How is he? Is he dead?”

  “No.” I lock eyes with Zora and clear my throat. “Do you still have the guy’s wallet?”

  “I left it on the street. Should I go back and get it?”

  “Stay where you are. It’s too dangerous. What about his cell phone?”

  “Julius took it. He’s probably sold it already, but I can check.”

  “Don’t you dare.” I seethe. “Just stay inside and take care of Mom. Alright?”

  “Alright.” Tyron’s voice breaks. “I’m… so sorry, Amaya.”

  My heart quivers at the helplessness in his tone. Tyron’s just a kid. Life’s been cruel, but he’s my little brother. “I know, Ty. Don’t leave the house. I mean it. We’ll keep you updated.” I hang up.

  Zora tilts her head. “Well?”

  “No deal. Tyron left the wallet on the street and Julius has the cell phone.”

  Diandra groans.

  “So we know nothing about this guy,” Zora says.

  We all turn and stare at John Doe. I hope he wakes up, but how much worse will it get when he does?

  Chapter Three

  Kent

  My eyes burst open, but I’m looking into a yawning, pulsing darkness. Light crackles on the edge of my vision, breaking the black like thick glass beneath an unbearable weight. A moment later, my gaze clears.

  I’m staring straight up at a ceiling with a wooden fan. Sunlight creeps past large French windows shaded by wispy cream curtains. The walls are baby blue and there’s a television standing on a mahogany desk.

  I try to move, but I’m locked down by a pain so great my teeth clenches. My face, my arms, my side, my legs—they all throb.

  Did someone run me over with a truck?

  I don’t remember.

  A familiar panic claws its way up my throat. My memories are a gaping hole waiting to be filled, but no matter how hard I try I get… nothing.

  No recollections of where I am or why.

  No memories of what I did last night. Or the night before. Or the night before that.

  I’m trapped, not just in this strange place, but in my own mind. A mind that no longer functions the way it should.

  Knots twist in my stomach. Again, the helpless feeling is familiar but nothing else strikes a memory. Why am I so acquainted with this despondency? This free-falling patheticness?

  Something rustles to my right.

  I glance over and find a woman’s hand dangling from the edge of the couch. I know it’s a lady’s because the fingers are long and slender, the nails cut cleanly. There’s a ring on her pinkie and middle finger. Her skin is the shade of warm chocolate. A bracelet with blue beads encases her wrist.

  Should I take that hand? Or should I run from it?

  I don’t know.

  She shifts again. Her hand stretches, moving away from my face and arching toward the ceiling. I see her back bend and her chest sticking toward the sky as she yawns. Then she rolls over and her gaze slams into mine.

  She freezes.

  So do I.

  I don’t know her, but again… that’s not a sentiment I’m unaccustomed with.

  She doesn’t look dangerous. At least not by the normal definition of the word.

  Her hair is full of loose, black curls. Her facial features are slim, delicate—except for her eyes, which are compellingly large.

  She’s… lovely.

  Still, outward appearance has never been an indicator of character. I may have lost my mind, but even I know that.

  “He’s up,” the stranger mumbles. “Guys, he’s up!”

  Her call draws two other women into the room. They form a huddle over me, staring at my face like children fascinated by a zoo exhibit.

  Is it possible I’ve somehow transported to a universe of women who live isolated from men?

  My eyes journey over the newcomers. The one to my left has straight black hair cut bluntly just above her shoulders. Her skin is a shade darker than the woman with the beautiful hands. One set of eyelashes is starting to sag.

  The woman to my left has caramel skin and long, black hair. Her eyes are wide and filled with an undeniable guilt that makes me question their intentions.

  “What’s your name?” Eyelash asks.

  I search my mind and brighten when the answer comes to me instinctively. “Kent. Kent Barton.”

  “Good.” Eyelash presses a hand to her chest. She speaks firmly and slowly like I’m deaf. “My name is Zora. This—” she points to Caramel and her friend in turn—“are Diandra and Amaya.”

  Amaya. Lovely name. It fits her.

  I fasten my gaze on Amaya as my brain stores that information. She stares back at me, frankly, pointedly. There’s fearlessness beneath the veneer of calm. A hint of mystery in her eyes.

  Amaya lifts her chin. “What do you… remember from last night?”

  The hesitation in her words says that something important happened, but her expression gives nothing away. I sit up and clutch the blanket between my pale fingers.

  “Amaya,” Diandra hisses, “don’t ask that. He’s obviously overwhelmed.”

  Zora rushes to my side and supports her hands on my back as I struggle to sit up. “You shouldn’t be moving around. I’ve only given you some over-the-counter pain pills, but if the pain is intolerable, you need to go to the hospital for a prescription.”

  Amaya and Diandra exchange looks.

  I wish I knew what that was about.

  “I’m fine.” I grunt, one that points to the fact that I’m lying. Questions pop into my mind and I shoot them at the girls. “Where am I? Who are you? What happened yesterday?”

  Amaya clears her throat. “You’re in my house.”

  “We’re the people who helped you.” Diandra wrings her hands together.

  “You got robbed,” Zora remarks bluntly.

  I glance at my shirt that’s stained with blood and stiffen. I got robbed? That could explain why I feel like someone ran me over repeatedly. “When?”

  “Last night. It was a group of young guys.” Amaya kneels before me, her brown eyes shining with curiosity. “You don’t remember any of it?”

  “Maybe he has a concussion,” Zora whispers loudly. “How many fingers am I holding up?” She thrusts a peace sign before me.

  “Uh… two.”

  “What day is it?”

  I rub the back of my neck. “I-I don’t know.”

  “Did you come to Belize on vacation?” Zora presses.

  “I don’t know.”

  “Did you come alone or with family?” That question is from Amaya.

  Bewildered, I admit the truth. “I don’t know.”

  Diandra frowns. “You can trust us, Kent.”

  “Weeeell…” Zora says in a high-pitched tone.

  Amaya glares at Zora and then looks at me. “Do you know that you were stabbed?”

  Stabbed?

  The panic I’ve been trying my best to push away clamors over my body. My mind is like a devastated town with no survivors. Nothing makes sense.

  My throat tightens and every breath becomes a struggle.

  Why can’t I remember anything? Why am I in Belize of all places? My family is from Indiana.

  “Kent?” Concern rings from Zora’s voice. She pounces on me. “He’s going into shock!”

  Amaya’s brown eyes sharpen. She grabs my shoulders and forces me to look at her. “Kent, breathe. Just look at me and breathe.”

  “He needs medical attention,” Zora snaps somewhere in the chaos going on in my head.

  Amaya ignores them and breathes in with me. “See? You’re okay. Just calm down.”

  Her voice is soothing and pretty soon, my shoulders relax and my throat reopens. I suck in a deep gulp of air and try to quiet my raging thoughts.

  First, I need to gather my wits and find someone who actually knows me and why I’m here in Belize. From the questions the gi
rls are asking, I can tell they’re not the people who hold the answers I need.

  “Do you have a bathroom?” I ask slowly.

  “It’s down the hall.” Amaya points. “Do you need our help to stand?”

  “I’ve got it.”

  With the eyes of the girls fixed on me, I stumble to my feet and lean on the wall as I limp to the bathroom. Each step produces a striking pain from my side and the minute I close the door, I stare into the mirror.

  The face in front of me is unfamiliar. I mean, I know it’s my face. But it’s not the face I remember. There are lines around my eyes that weren’t there before. And my hair is longer than I’m used to.

  Last I knew… my hair was short.

  So how far back does my memory loss reach?

  I lean against the sink, but slightly bending over reminds me of why Zora warned I shouldn’t move. My head swims and it takes a moment for the room to right itself.

  There’s a knock on the door. “Kent? It’s Amaya.”

  “What do you want?” I ask faintly.

  “I figured the sight of all that blood might be wigging you out so I brought one of my brother’s shirts. It might be a little small for you but it’s better than nothing.”

  I open the door and Amaya sucks in a breath like I surprised her. Our gazes lock and, again, the sight of her brings me comfort. Even without the deep breathing exercises.

  “Here.” She thrusts the shirt at me and drags her eyes away. “Call one of us if you need any help changing.”

  “I’ll figure it out,” I say quickly. As beautiful as the women are, I don’t remember knowing them so I’d rather not rely on them so much now that I’m awake.

  “Sure.”

  “Thanks.”

  She nods and hurries off. I close the door behind her and unfold the shirt she gave me. Amaya’s right. Her brother is smaller than me, but I’ll survive.

  With careful movements, I yank my old shirt over my head, gasping in pure agony. Tears flush my eyes, and I blink them away. When my vision clears, I notice the gauze wrapped around my middle.

  My fingers brush over the rough texture. Is this where I got stabbed?

  Who would stab me? And why?

  Above the gauze, I spot a messy scrawl on the left side of my chest. My neck can’t bend far enough to read it, but a glance in the mirror show the words in perfect symmetry.