Artifacts

by Bailey Bradford

  Aldric blinked away the spots dancing in front of his eyes. He had trouble focusing for a few seconds. A kid who had to be in his mid-teens was leaning over him, one hand pressed to Aldric’s chest. “Glasses?” Aldric gritted out.

  “Oh. Hold on…here! Lucky I didn’t step on ’em.” The kid held them out. “Lucky as well they’re not broken.” When Aldric just blinked at him, he carefully placed his glasses on for him.

  “You’ll be okay. I’m Dave. That’s T, on the phone over there.” Dave tipped his head to the left and Aldric, moving slowly so as not to hurt himself more, managed to cut his gaze in that direction.

  The dark-haired boy named T was talking so fast into the phone that Aldric had trouble following what he was saying. Spanish. He’s speaking Spanish. Aldric only knew the basics of it, which explained why he was confused about what was being said.

  “We should hear sirens any minute now. You remember what happened? Like, how you fell?” Dave asked, a falsely cheerful, reassuring note in his tone.

  Aldric moved his gaze back to Dave. Dave also had dark hair. Other than that, Aldric didn’t think the two boys looked alike. “No, but…I’m…f-fine,” he forced out.

  Dave rolled his eyes. “I don’t think so, dude. You were out cold. We—”

  “Thought I was dead,” Aldric cut in. He started to sit up and immediately regretted it. “Oh, God.”

  “Uh, yeah, man. Stay down there. You’re kinda green.” Dave winced. “Listen—sirens. Told ya.”

  “Sirens.” Aldric groaned again, thinking of the cost he could incur even if his health insurance was active. “Tell them to go back.”

  “No can do. You kinda made a mess of yourself when you tripped, or whatever.”

  “He didn’t fall,” T said with authority. “Look at the mess. Not him. The other mess, I mean.”

  Aldric winced at having been called a mess three times in a minute.

  “T!” Dave’s gesture at his friend seemed to be asking for politeness.

  If so, it didn’t work. “Shit’s all over.” T took a couple of steps, kicking at things.

  “Careful!” the more cautious Dave urged. “That’s an antiques store back there, man!”

  Under other circumstances, Aldric might have smiled at that. Now, though, he doubted he could make his facial muscles obey his bidding.

  “So, unless he fell and ripped open that box, then stomped on everything in it—”

  “Everything?” Aldric struggled to remember what happened but couldn’t. “I don’t understand. I guess I dropped the box, when… No. I put it down.” He thought he recalled leaving the store. “Maybe I fell on top of it?”

  “What, like a few times, up and down again? And that was after a knife sticking out of your pocket ripped the cardboard open?” T said scornfully.

  “Aldric!”

  He recognized that voice before he saw Elliot running over to him, a panicked expression on his boss’ face.

  “Aldric, what happened? I get an alert when the alarm goes off and—” Elliot clapped a hand to his mouth, blanched and swayed.

  “Shoot, help him!” Dave instructed to T, who grabbed Elliot by the biceps and encouraged him to sit, making him take a few steps first to a cleaner bit of the ground.

  “Don’t worry. He’s okay,” T said to Elliot. “Does the blood make you want to pass out? My brother’s like that. He’s a badass until he sees blood, then bam! He’s down. Real handicap when you wanna be an MMA fighter, huh?”

  “Blood?” Aldric reached for his head. That was what hurt the most.

  “Maybe you hit it when you fell?” Dave suggested as Aldric’s fingers encountered a wet, sticky fluid at the back of his head. He brought his hand slowly around to his face and tried to focus on the substance coating his skin.

  “I bet whoever robbed him hit him first,” T countered, as blunt as ever.

  “Robbed him? What do you mean?” Elliot’s voice shook and sounded weak. “Aldric, what happened? Damn, I shouldn’t have left you here all by yourself. I should have insisted—”

  “I’m an adult,” Aldric ground out. He forced himself to leave the injury alone, wiping his hand on a paper tissue Dave held out. He brought his hand to his side, then pushed himself—slowly—into a sitting position. “This isn’t your fault.”

  “Duh, it’s the fault of whoever hit you and smashed up your stuff.” Dave added an eye-roll along with his words. “Seems obvious.”

  Elliot opened his mouth but snapped it shut again when sirens blared close by. He moved over to Aldric’s side, Dave and T stepping away.

  Aldric expected to see EMTs rounding the corner, reassuring in their controlled haste and carrying whatever was needed to make him feel better. Instead, two police officers appeared, shoulder-to-shoulder, implacable and unreadable. One man was taller and lankier, his black hair shining even in the poor lighting, and the other was shorter and stockier looking. Both had their guns drawn. The sight of the two cops, moving as one, all practiced speed and stealth with their weapons in their hands, tested Aldric’s bladder restraint. He was glad it held up. He hated guns with a passion, a leftover borderline-phobia from his first job. He’d bet anyone working in fast food who’d had an active shooter on the premises would hate guns too.

  Elliot held out a hand toward the officers. “Please. None of us are the bad guy here, officers. I’m Elliot Douglas, owner of the antique store behind us. Aldric Beamer is my employee, and he’s been hurt. These two young men are…well…um.”

  The cops looked at Dave and T. Both boys held their hands up. “We called for y’all,” Dave said. “T called, and I sat with that dude—Aldric, is it? Cool name. I only touched him to check for a pulse and to put his glasses on for him.” He went to lower one hand, perhaps to show the cops on his own neck where he’d rested his fingers on Aldric’s, but a slight shift by both uniformed men had him raising it again.

  T bobbed his head. “Yeah, I can show you the call on my phone.” He still had his cell in one hand and shook it slightly in illustration.

  “What were you two doing back here?” the more built cop asked of the boys.

  Dave lowered his hands. Slowly. “We always cut through the alley to get to the apartments where we live in at the next block over. It’s shorter than staying on the sidewalk. We’re usually through here earlier, but T and I got parts in our school’s play and we had our first rehearsals just this afternoon, so we were later coming this way.”

  “And you found this man—” This time, the wirier police officer spoke, glancing at Aldric. “Aldric Beamer?”

  “Yeah, we thought he was dead at first. It was creepy!” Dave’s words came out in a rush. “He was so still, and there’s blood, and all that broken stuff scattered around. We didn’t see anyone else.”

  “I need you two to remain where you are. Mr. Douglas, Mr. Beamer, can you corroborate their story?” the shorter officer asked, his voice hard.

  “I was unconscious, but I came to with them trying to help me, and, er, T on the phone with emergency services.” Aldric blinked as he tried to remember what had happened between that time and earlier, when he’d left the shop. “I was leaving, by the back door, then…” Then he had no idea. He’d woken up in this pain.

  A noise at the mouth of the alley had him turning his head to see…and instantly regretting it. More police officers filled the space, with two EMTs right on their heels. Aldric lost track of the cops’ questions. He noted there were no more drawn guns, and two officers were talking to Dave and T, while another spoke to Elliot.

  One of the cops that had arrived after the first two might have been questioning Dave, but he was watching Aldric. Aldric stared back. The guy was average height, but better built than average, and had a square jaw and blunt chin. His eyes were dark, at least Aldric thought they were. He couldn’t see them well in the gloom of the alley, yet he felt the man’s gaze like a searchlight turned on him.

  Does that guy think I’m guilty of something? That I was trying
to rob Elliot’s store? Or maybe that all this is a hoax? Aldric could never do anything to hurt Elliot, and the way he was feeling was no ruse. Perhaps because he was shaken up, Aldric found the courage to snap at the cop, “Why are you staring at me? Who are you?”

  “I’m Officer Darrell Williams.” The cop’s voice was clipped, terse, maybe, but not unpleasant.

  Aldric racked his brain, trying to figure out if that name should be familiar and came up empty. “So?”

  Williams approached, eyes narrowed, looking every bit like the bad cop in every stereotypical good-cop, bad-cop TV show Aldric had ever watched. It irked Aldric. He’d just been attacked and was bleeding in a grimy alley, so why was this Williams guy treating him like that? “What?” Aldric spat out, in a way he never would have dreamed of doing ordinarily, and to a police officer least of all. “You got something to say, say it.”

  “Just, you say you were robbed, but nothing was stolen from you? You still got your wallet? It seems odd that you—”

  “You can ask him questions after he’s taken care of,” Elliot interrupted, pushing his way past Williams as if he weren’t afraid of the police at all. “Your tone is incredibly rude. Aldric’s been hurt. He’s the victim, not the perpetrator or one of the perpetrators. If you want to be obnoxious to him, I can make sure my lawyer handles all the questions you might have.”

  “Why would he need a lawyer?” Williams asked. “And I wasn’t being obnoxious. I—”

  Elliot growled, a sound Aldric had never heard him make before. “Oh, for the love of God! Stop harassing him. What is your problem?”

  “Williams, come here,” someone called. “Now.”

  Williams stared for another second, then turned and walked off.

  “Some cops,” Elliot muttered. “I can say that because I once knew a police officer—well, a detective—who was great at his job. That guy who was snapping at you, not so much.”

  Aldric couldn’t help agreeing about the Williams part of that statement, but tried to be fair. “Maybe he’s having a bad day, or…or he’s the bad cop in the scenario. And it could look suspicious, me being hurt but nothing being taken.”

  “Or it could mean someone is out to hurt you specifically.” Elliot pursed his lips. “Damn it. I should not have said that. It’s possible the boys interrupted a would-be robbery.”

  Aldric was stuck on the first of Elliot’s ideas, that someone had meant to hurt him, that he had been the goal, not his merchandise or money. But what does that mean?

  The wave of nausea that hit him, making him twist around and vomit, might have been caused by his head injury—or the fear that Elliot was right.

  Chapter Six

  Spending even one night in the hospital was not going to happen. Aldric flat-out refused, despite how bad he was feeling. “I must have already racked up thousands of dollars in debt!”

  Elliot frowned. “Your insurance will cover most of it. We have an excellent plan. Workman’s Comp is also going to be involved since you were hurt on the job. You won’t have to pay anything. You’re staying until they release you, then you’ll come home with me until the doctor gives you an all-clear to be by yourself.”

  Aldric tried not to pout. His emotions were all over the place, which wasn’t usual for him. He’d been on the verge of tears more than once since coming to the hospital.

  “Hmm. You don’t seem too keen on that. Do you have family or friends to go stay with?” Elliot scrutinized him. “Friends other than myself you’d prefer to let assist you?”

  His cheeks burning hot with embarrassment, Aldric couldn’t look at Elliot. He took off his glasses and studied the new chip in the frame, courtesy of the alley’s concrete. “No.”

  “Then you’ll stay with me. I’ll go to your place and grab some clothes. Is there anything specific you want me to get from your apartment?” Elliot asked.

  “No.” Aldric looked down at his chest. No, he didn’t want Elliot, his wealthy, cultured boss, seeing the crappy place he lived in. Not that Elliot would belittle him for it, or say anything about it, probably, but he’d see it, and look at Aldric, and… Aldric gave up trying to sort through all the ways in which Elliot would react to both the decrepit studio apartment above a garage and to Aldric afterward.

  “Or I can stop by Target and get you a few things on the way to my home,” Elliot said after a moment. “That might be better.”

  Aldric would need more clothes, and toiletries, if he were staying anywhere other than his own home. He was torn between telling Elliot not to buy him anything, because he hadn’t budgeted for it and couldn’t afford it, and relief at knowing that if he agreed to the purchases, Elliot wouldn’t see his place.

  “I’ll drop by Target, and you are not to worry. We’ll work out a payment arrangement for anything I pick up for you, unless it’s something you hate and want to return, of course.” Elliot stood and stretched.

  That he’d be staying at Elliot’s belatedly registered with Aldric. A guest in someone’s house? And him injured, probably needing care or help or… Worry bubbled up, chased by anxiety, both of them making his head throb more. He put a hand to it.

  Elliot followed the movement of Aldric’s hand, and his lips thinned. “I’m sorry you were hurt, Aldric. That shouldn’t have happened. I’ll be contacting the alarm company about installing cameras and ensuring we have the best security services available. Oh, and here comes Jonas to check on you too. I struck gold, hiring you both.”

  Aldric wasn’t sure about that, not in regard to himself. He closed his eyes and remembered the article he’d read on self-confidence. Insulting himself wasn’t going to make him smarter or more successful. He couldn’t afford to go to college yet, but he could become a better person in many ways as long as he tried. To that end, he’d been researching some of the issues he knew he had, and he’d realized he didn’t have to be unseen, someone who barely survived. He had value. For some reason, an image of that police officer flashed in his head, the man’s short dark brown hair and dark eyes as clear as day. What color had they been? A kind of brown?

  “Aldric?”

  Aldric blinked, then blinked again as he tried to focus. Jonas was standing beside the hospital bed. A wrinkle marred his brow, making him appear older than usual.

  “You drifted off.” Jonas’ frown deepened and he looked at Elliot.

  “I imagine his injury has a lot to do with that,” Elliot said.

  “How do you feel?” Jonas asked.

  Aldric tried to focus. “My head hurts,” was the best he could manage.

  Jonas sat in Elliot’s chair by the bed. “Elliot told me what happened. It’s very strange. I checked the shop as he asked me to. Nothing was missing from it. The police finished up there while I was doing a quick inventory. I don’t know exactly what was in the box of stuff you were carrying, but none of it survived.” He winced. “I don’t know why someone would do that—attack you, break your things and leave.”

  “The guys who found me might have scared the person off,” Aldric said. His head pounded and he bit back a moan.

  “And on top of that, some Neanderthal of a police officer was rude to him,” Elliot told Jonas.

  “No!” Jonas indicated Aldric where he lay in a hospital bed, no doubt pale and pathetic-looking.

  “Yes.” Elliot thinned his lips. “He was a real brute.”

  “He…” Aldric didn’t know what he was going to say. “Was probably having a bad day.” He tried a shrug, or as much of one as he could manage without making his head move too much.

  “I was, but that’s no excuse.”

  Aldric jumped, then groaned. The jarring had hurt. He wasn’t hallucinating, was he? That guy, that cop—all crew cut and piercing gaze—from the alley was here, in the hospital room, speaking to him. He snuck glances at Elliot and Jonas to check if they saw and heard him too.

  “Officer?” Elliot, his normally placid face taking on some of the anger it had at the scene of the crime, got between the man and Al
dric. Jonas sprang to his feet and joined the human barrier too. “Why are you here? Do you have more questions for Aldric? Because if so, what I said earlier stands—you should ask them through my lawyer, who—”

  “No.” The cop’s upraised hand cut Elliot off. “I…”

  I just said the first thing that came into my head in that alley, when he caught me staring. Yeah, that should go down great. Darrell pulled his gaze from the pale, bruised figure in the bed and switched it to Elliot. “I came to apologize.” He included Aldric as he continued, “I was curt. Rude.”

  “You were indeed.” Elliot Douglas pursed his lips.

  “Green!”

  “Excuse me?” Darrell said to Aldric, who’d uttered the word, in a tone of discovery. “What—”

  “Dark green.” Aldric colored, and it made his hospital-pale complexion look sallow. “Nothing. I’m concussed. But, you, earlier…it’s okay.”

  “It’s not.” Darrell clasped his arms behind his back, his feet shoulder-width apart. “I’m here to apologize.”

  “You’ve done enough, from the sound of it.” The other man by Aldric’s bed, who Darrell presumed was a co-worker, joined the chorus.

  “Is there a problem here?” The doctor Darrell had seen outside entered, looking from one person to another. He half-turned to the nurse with him, raising his eyebrows in what Darrell judged to be a pre-established signal that she could alert security.

  “No, sir.” Darrell snapped open his wallet and presented his SAPD badge.

  The doctor nodded to the nurse, who pushed the dispensing trolley over to the bed and passed Aldric a small medical cup and a larger cup of water to swallow down the meds that the plastic beaker contained.

  “This is the officer who was called to the scene of the attack,” Mr. Douglas explained.

  Attack. That word hurt. Aldric reacted to it, and Darrell flinched for him. Aldric was bruised, yes, but still, well—beautiful, was the adjective pushing its way to the forefront of Darrell’s mind, ambushing him with its softness and gentleness.