by Daisy Allen
HER
“No! Let me go!” I scream, bracing against the wall in the dead-end alleyway.
“Give us the money!” He pants in my face, catching up with me and grabbing me by the shoulders, shaking me hard.
“I don’t have any, please, let me go!” I beg.
“Shut her up!” A deep voice orders from behind him.
“Open wide,” the one holding me taunts and grabs my chin, shoving a handful of sawdust into my mouth.
I try to spit it out, choking as it catches in my throat, spluttering trying to breathe.
“Is she okay?” I hear a far-off voice say. It’s a male voice that’s only vaguely familiar.
“Yes, she’s okay, just dreaming.”
“Okay, I’ll be back tomorrow.”
It’s dark again and I sleep.
A while later, I don’t know how long, I feel a soft cool hand press against my forehead. My eyes open and then slam shut again, getting used to the light.
I can just make out a figure by the bed, stocky and dressed in white.
“Where...” I try to speak, but my mouth feels like... huh, feels like sawdust.
“Aw, sugar, hang on, let me get you some water, you must be absolutely parched, the poor dumpling,” the cheery voice says. “Here you go, just go slow, don’t you go choking on my watch now.”
She holds the plastic cup to my lips and I drink fast and long; I’ve never tasted water so delicious before.
When I finally have my fill, I close my eyes and lie back on the pillow. “Thank you,” I say, hoarsely, the water slowly seeping into my lips and tongue. My head is pounding and I just want to sleep.
“You know where you are, sugar?” she asks as she fusses around me, lifting my arm and checking my blood pressure.
“Hospital?” I reply, unsure.
“Haha, well, it sure ain’t heaven, cos I would not be wearin’ vomit splattered shoes if it were!” She belly laughs, appreciating her own joke.
“I’m Ruby, by the way. You call me if you need any damn thing. You’re at Lenox Hill hospital, have been for two days now.” She writes something on a chart and then tucks the blankets tight around me.
“Two days!” I’ve never slept that long in my life. “What happened to me?”
“You got a guardian angel, that’s what happened to you, sugar,” she nods seriously, and then grins, showing her row of bright white teeth. “A gorgeous guardian angel if you get me.”
I can’t help but smile even through the throbbing headache, her joviality is infectious. “I don’t remember anything. My guardian angel is gorgeous, you mean?”
“Well, if his body is anything to go by. My my, if my old man was still alive I’da left him for a piece of your angel, but,” she stops and looks ponderous, “can’t really say I’ve seen much of his face. It was covered most of the time by his hoodie.” She turns back and winks at me, “but sometimes, you don’t really need to look at his face at all, do ya, sugar?” She makes a show of elbowing me and throws back her head and laughs again as she grabs my chart and goes to leave.
“Don’t be going nowhere, doctor’ll be in to see you in a minute, dumplin’.”
“Where am I gonna go?” I call after her, sad to see her go. “Gorgeous guardian angel, huh? Whodathunkit?” I muse to myself as I fall back asleep, dreaming of a man in a grey hoodie rocking me against his chest.
***
“Jade! Oh my god, look at you. JADE! ARE YOU OKAY?”
Harriet’s voice jerks me from my sleep.
“Wha?” I try to sit up, but fall back down when the room starts spinning.
“Whoa. Dude. What the hell happened to you? You poor, poor thing.” She grabs my hand and leans over the bed her face inches from mine.
“Harriet,” I say softly, happy to hear my voice is coming back.
“Yes, hon?” She asks, worried, leaning in even closer, so our noses are almost touching.
“Did you enjoy your ham and pickle sandwich?”
“Um, yes. How did you know...”
“Because I can smell it on your breath,” I tease her.
“You can not! Witch! Ugh!” She squeezes my hand and sits down on the chair by the bed. “Guess you’re feeling just fine!”
I smile at her, it is so good to see a familiar face. Truth is, in the five years I’ve lived in Manhattan, Harriet is the one who has made life bearable when the homesickness gets to be too overwhelming. “Just kidding, you’ve had a ham and pickle sandwich every Thursday lunch for as long as I’ve known you.”
She pokes her tongue out at me and squeezes my hand tight again. I can tell she was worried.
“How did you know I was here?” I ask. I haven’t gotten much information from anyone yet, just that I’ll be okay and in the hospital for a few more days. The “gorgeous, guardian angel,” as Ruby and I call him, has yet to make an appearance since I woke up that morning.
“Oh my God, you’ve missed all the drama! And it’s all about you, how ironic! All this gossip and you’re the subject and you don’t even get to enjoy it! Everyone’s been hanging around! There’ve been police and reporters and some weird library customers who think they know you just because you checked out a book for them!” Harriet gushes a mile a minute.
“Harriet.”
“Yes?”
“I have a head injury. I need slow, short, not-too-loud words.” I draw out my last sentence dramatically.
“Oh, sorry!” she says in a loud whisper, not all that quieter than her normal voice, “Well, Harold got a call from the documents translator on Tuesday morning telling him that you didn’t deliver the manuscripts on Monday and he was SO mad. But then a few minutes later, he got a call from the police asking if a woman - late 20’s, brunette, about 150 lbs, green eyes with a tattoo of a book on her ankle - works there.”
“Ugh, lucky guess with the weight,” I pout.
Harriet grins at me, “He DID say ‘pretty’ as well.”
“Did not. Anyway, they all say that. Have you read those Readers Digest articles about murderers and rapists? They always start by describing the victim as ‘caring, happy and pretty.’ Humph.” I sulk but am still intrigued to hear more.
“Anyway, so Harold jumps out of his chair and runs out of the office, not even telling me what’s going on, I had to chase him half way down the street. And he tells me that the police got an anonymous call on Monday night, telling them that a woman had been attacked by two thieves outside of our back entrance and that she was being taken to the hospital, but the police should go catch the thieves who had supposedly been knocked out by the guy who saved you.” She stops to take a breath, her eyes wide from the excitement of telling me.
It is starting to come back to me.
I gasp as I remember the feel of the cold knife against my throat, wet from my own blood. I cover my mouth as I remember how scared I was, how I’d begged to be let go. Tears sprang to my eyes, and my body ran cold as I remember their voices, the feel of his hands on my mouth, slapping me across the face, stabbing into my back.
“Oh, honey,” Harriet stands up and hands me a tissue, softly stroking the hair off my forehead. “It’s okay, you let it out. You’ve been through a lot.”
I shake my head. I don’t want to dwell on it, I just want to make the memories go away.
And then I remember his voice. Soft and almost inaudible, whispering to me, telling me I’d be okay, that he had me, that nothing would hurt me now.
My guardian angel. He saved me.
Blowing my nose, I turn to Harriet, “Do you know anything about the man who saved me?”
“No, sweetie, the call to the police was anonymous and apparently the hospital staff don’t know anything about him at all, except that he said his name was ‘K’?” Harriet shrugs.
“’Kay?’ That’s a weird name for a guy,” I ponder.
“No, I think they meant, like, just ‘K,’ the letter.”
“Oh. Even weirder,” I snort. It was weird. “Curioser a
nd curioser... Ruby, my nurse, tells me he’s super mysterious but has a body she’d, and I quote, ‘leave her ol’ man for’...if he were still alive. So, you haven’t heard anything about him?” I ask.
Harriet grins a grin I know all too well.
“Whaaat?” I am almost too scared to ask.
“Do you have a cru-ush on your mystery man?” She asks, annoyingly chipper now that she can see I’m going to be okay.
“Er, no. Wouldn’t YOU be curious about a man who came out of nowhere to save your life and who just disappeared when you woke up from a head injury?” I argue, not without reason.
But Harriet is unflappable. “Eh, mildly curious, not ‘the only thing I can think about’ curious.”
“I’m not!” I protest.
“Oh, really? All you’ve asked is about Mr. Mystery Man. You haven’t asked what else has happened in the time you’ve been out, what’s happened with the two men who attacked you, who’s been to visit, how my sex life is...” She pouts.
I laugh, the last of the tears dried. She has a point.
I just can’t stop wondering, who is he?
Chapter Four
HIM
I watch the clock as it ticks over to 5:30 a.m. and reach for the alarm button just as it is starting to sound. I wonder why I even bothered to set it. I haven’t gotten a wink of sleep all night, third night in a row. ‘Ever since you saved that woma-‘
“Shut up,” I cut off my inner voice. I know exactly when my insomnia started.
I throw off my duvet and climb out of bed, carrying my water bottle into the adjoining gym room. Pulling on a pair of boxers and tracksuit pants, I click the TV onto CNN and climb on the treadmill. Setting it on the hardest program, I start the 45-minute steepest uphill run. If I don’t sleep tonight, it won’t be because I’m not tired.
Usually, I zone the news out, and focus on my breath. Even now, just turned 33, I can feel my body change with the intensity of my workouts. The breathing from my yoga helps my endurance, and I welcome the clarity that it gives me at the beginning of each work day. At least the day can start out that way. The end is always another story.
But today, all I can think about is her. That woman. Jade.
I haven’t gone into her room since she woke up yesterday morning. She should have her time and space to heal, I tell myself, even while I sit staring out my office window all afternoon, wondering if she is okay.
Fuck! This is ridiculous. Why can’t I stop thinking about a woman I’ve never even spoken to? Who doesn’t even know I exist except that I have saved her from two thugs.
Get it together, man, I tell myself again. But something tells me it won’t be the last time I will have to remind myself.
***
“To Lenox Hill, Henry, before we go to the office, please,” I tell the driver, as I settle into my seat. “I won’t be long, just going in to grab some paperwork.”
“Of course, sir.”
I’ve decided to stop by and get the hospital invoice for Jade’s treatment. It’s on the way to the office, anyway, I tell myself. Saves me from going at some other time.
The hospital is in chaos when I get there; the accounting department office is unsupervised, with no clue when someone will return. I take the elevator to Jade’s floor, pulling my hoodie around me, just in case she is up and about. I don’t want to see her, and I definitely don’t want her to see me.
“Excuse me, do you know if someone has left an envelope here for me? It should have Ms. Sinclair’s invoice in it. It might be addressed to ‘K,’” I ask the nurse at the station. She stares at me for a moment and just shrugs. I sigh and try again, “Please, I’m in a hurry, do you know someone who might know?”
“Sugar!”
Oh, thank God. Someone with sense. I turn around to see Ruby, standing there with her hands on her hips, glaring at me.
“Ruby. Do you know where Jade’s invoice paperwork is? I’m on my way to work and just came in to grab it... quickly.”
She just shakes her head at me.
“You don’t know?” I ask, getting frustrated.
“No, I know. I just don’t know YOU, boy. You sit a vigil by her bed waitin’ for her to wake up, and the minute she does, you disappear!”
“Ruby, the paperwork.” I want to get out of there before Ruby makes a scene and calls attention to me.
“Yeah, yeah, I hear ya, Mystery Man.” She waves her hand at me dismissively and leans over the nurse’s station and grabs a large yellow envelope. “Here,” she shoves it into my hand. “Dunno why you’re in such a hurry anyway, she’s gone.”
I look at her, surprised, “Gone? Gone where?” I ask, my voice louder than I expect.
“Gone home! Doc gave the okay and she left about an hour ago. She couldn’t just wait around for you, Sugar!” Ruby grins.
“Who’d she go with?”
“Her friend, Harriet. She’s staying with her for a few days, as far as I could tell. Gotta go, angel,” she winks at me and turns into a nearby bed bay.
I stand there clutching the envelope for a second before someone rams my leg with a hospital bed.
“Beep beep, sir!” the orderly calls out.
“Uh, oh sorry,” I step to the side, letting him pass.
She’s gone. And I haven’t had a chance to say goodbye. It’s better this way, I know it.
But I just can’t shake that brown eyed porcelain doll that laid so still in my arms.
***
“Morning, Jemima,” I nod to my secretary as I get off my personal elevator and step into my office. It expands the entire top floor and is floor to ceiling glass; the only wall, also glass, is erected between my actual office and the reception area and Jemima’s desk. On a clear blue day like today, with nothing to obstruct the eyes, I sometimes feel like I am freely flying over the stunning Manhattan skyline.
Aside from my personal desk, which I rarely sit at, there’s a large table in the middle of my office, filled with patent models and sketches, and whiteboards on wheels with stand haphazardly around the massive open space. Small spaces make people think small. I believe in freedom for the brain to play and expand. It seems luxurious, taking a whole floor for myself and my brain and my pacing, but it has led to some of the most iconic products my company has ever created.
I throw my leather briefcase onto my empty chair and stand looking out at the skyline, taking a deep breath as I prepare for the day. I’ve taken too much time out, my thoughts completely unfocused the last few days, but with Jade leaving the hospital and all ties being lost, I’m ready to move on.
“Jemima,” I call through the door, ignoring the unnecessary intercom.
I wait the few seconds it takes for her to push the door open to my office, a small stack of notes in her hand, “Yes, Mr. Ashley?”
“Call Xavier, please, and tell him I need to talk to him as soon as he has a minute. Tell him I need to see him in person, not over the phone. But before you do, I’m ready for my morning messages now.”
She rattles them off, counting on her fingers to make sure she hasn’t missed any. Jemima is diligent and professional, and I pay her twice what she’d get elsewhere just to make sure she has no thoughts of leaving. The arrangement we have is unique, considering who she is and the favor I’m doing her family, but in the two years she’s been with me, she’s proven to be indispensable.
“Oh, and, there’s a parcel on your station. It’s gone through the scanner, so it’s okay,” she adds.
“Thank you, Jemima.” I say, taking the list of phone messages from her.
“Will there be anything else?”
“No, thank you. Just please get onto Xavier. ASAP,” I remind her.
“Of course, Mr. Ashley,” she says before she turns on her heel and the door closes behind her. I can hear her already talking to my lawyer on her headset before she’s reached her desk.
I walked over to my massive work station to the small parcel that sits on the corner. It’s a plain white cube box
, tied in a bright red bow. Handwritten on the top is just my name, “Kaine Ashley,” with no return address or sender’s name.
I hold it in my hands for a moment, turning it over, examining every inch. It isn’t my birthday or Christmas, not that anyone knows my birthdate anyway, and I am not in the habit of giving or receiving Christmas gifts.
I bring it to my ear and shake it, drawing out my own suspense, trying to solve the mystery. Not knowing something is a sensation that isn’t common to me these days, and I’m glad for something to take my mind off the events of the last few days.
Finally, curiosity gets the better of me and I carefully untie the ribbon, open the box and look inside.
My blood instantly runs cold.
Ice cold.
Freezing in my veins.
I pick up the small round contraption in my hands and stare at it.
Uncanny.
Peering inside the box, I pull out the note inside.
“What a beautiful product. You’ve really outdone yourself this time. But maybe you’ve been a little too greedy. It’s time to share, don’t you think? Can’t keep everything to yourself. Think about it anyway. We’ll talk soon,” the note reads. A single italicized “J” ends the letter.
How? How did he get this? I wonder.
How did he get his hands on the FireFree by Ash Industries?
My brand-new, ground breaking, industry changing, fire safety changing baby about to be launched in a month’s time. How did he get his hands on the specifications to make it? I know it isn’t one of ours, on the bottom, there isn’t the Ash Industries brand that is on all of our prototypes. Prototypes that no one out of the specialised project team in this company has seen or touched. He has to have the product blueprints to be able to produce what looks like an exact copy...and who knows what else.
Someone, someone had to have given them to him. Someone I am going to find.
“Jemima!” I growl.
She recognizes the tone and comes running.
“VPs. Now!”
Chapter Five
HER
“Get back into bed!” Harriet yells at me when I shuffle into the kitchen.
