Prologue
Today, I capture the only ounce of freedom I’m allowed even if it’s brief. Grandpa is running errands in town which allows me off the farm to ride through the streets. I love to ride my bicycle around town, especially around the old warehouses. At the age of seventeen, I am indestructible.
Or so I think.
The wind in my hair.
The freedom to go at whatever speed I wish.
Jumping over abandoned boxes, shoes, bags of trash, and whatever other nonsense has made it into these alleys.
It’s perfect. At least for me. A chance to break away from the family farm and ignore the immense amount of work I know will be waiting for me upon my return.
Today was even more blissful than usual, I think as I ride past the oldest warehouse on Brood Street. It has been abandoned for the past forty years or more. The air around me is a lot quieter than usual.
Almost too quiet.
Suddenly, a loud crash precedes the sound of the windows blowing out all around me.
Sliding my bike to a quick stop causes me to kick up rocks and dust everywhere. I ignore the choking sensation from breathing in the dust that fills my lungs and threatens to incapacitate me. And I manage to fight past my rising heartbeat to stave off the panic.
At least for a little while.
Every last window is shattered, followed by a huge puff of smoke. Soon after the smoke comes the heat of the fire. I can feel the fire, hot on my skin and forcing me to squint from the blinding light and heat that makes them water uncontrollably from the intensity. So I use my hands to block my face.
I hear a woman scream. My adrenaline kicks in and I run through the door to try and find her.
Why did I run into a burning building? To be honest, I have no clue. But a surge of something comes over me and I have to help her. Could this just be the adrenaline rush or something more?
I find her near the back of the warehouse. She is one of the raggedy, homeless people who call it home and she is scared to death. Screaming and pacing back and forth while trying to find an exit. I approach her slowly to try not to freak her out with my hands up to show her I mean her no harm. She grabs my hand, squeezing my fingers close to unmanageable pain, and I help her to the front door.
As I get her to the front, I hear someone else crying for help and they sound like they are upstairs.
Do I go and help? What if I get trapped? Indecision only plagues me for a moment before another surge runs through me. There is no time for indecision. Shaking off the questions, I run up the stairs and look everywhere, but I can’t find anyone.
I hear a loud crack causing me to snap my head around where I see a man. He is dressed in a black fitted suit, a black button-up shirt with the top few buttons undone, and black dress shoes. His golden-colored hair is pulled back into a ponytail at the nape of his neck.
I can’t get any better of a look at him, but the fire doesn’t appear to bother him. Something about him makes me unable to take my eyes off him.
Suddenly I’m startled awake and in a strange room that I’ve never seen before. I stare up at the ceiling, wincing as the fluorescent lights attempt to blind me.
Where am I?
I attempt to sit up, but my muscles are frozen or trapped or maybe paralyzed. My heart threatens to burst from my chest as panic grips me with the possibility that I may actually be paralyzed.
Taking a deep breath, I attempt to collect my wits and assess my body more closely. It feels like I was run over by a truck.
I remember the fire at the warehouse and then here. But after that–nothing.
Looking around, I try to get more of a handle on where I am. The faint beeping of machines manage past the steady echo of my heart echoing in my ears. My left arm and leg are in a cast and I have several tubes running to IVs from my hand. The leg is held up by one of those sling thingies–whatever they’re called. There are bars embedded around my knee with what looks like a cage around it.
All these things combined alert me to my dire situation.
I’m in a hospital room.
Unease settles deep in my gut and I try to shift, but immense pain shoots down my leg and forces me to lay still. Suddenly the scratchy sheet covering my lower half and uninjured leg seem too overpowering. The scent of antiseptic makes my head spin and I focus on taking deep breaths.
Moments from a full-on panic attack, I look around the room more looking for anything to grasp onto and calm my fraying nerves.
I’m looking for an anchor, something to root me to reality and assure me that everything is okay. And then I find it. My grandmother sits at the foot of my bed knitting. Her face is calm and serene, no indication that anything is amiss. Watching her fingers work the knitting needles methodically is enough to settle my mind, and my panic calms at seeing something so mundane.
Reality focuses back around me at the sight of her. I glance around the room, not seeing my grandfather beside her like he usually is. Not even a few minutes later, as if he could tell I was wondering where he was, he saunters into the room, two coffee cups in hand.
The nurse follows my grandfather. Her supple, slightly pinked skin mixed with the slightest hint of a gleam to her eyes makes me think she’s closer to my age. The slight bounce to her step and the sway of her coppery-brown ponytail makes me want to know more about her. When she sees I’m awake, she smiles an incredible smile that lights up her face and makes her green eyes sparkle. Her name tag reads Marcia and I immediately fall in love as my pain-rattled brain grasps onto anything to find hope. She reminds me of an angel–she is so beautiful. There appears to be a glow around her, but that could be from my sleepy eyes.
“How are you feeling?” Her soft, lyrical voice is as enchanting as she is. Delicate, but efficient.
I want to speak but can’t get the nerves to respond until I hear this stupid voice say “Uh-huh”.
Fuck. Did that come from me? I am so embarrassed and feel my cheeks warm in response. I want to bury my face into my pillow and wait for this nightmare to end.
“Oh, Tony, my dear, you’re awake. Nurse, do you think he could be in shock?” That is a voice I recognize, my grandmother’s. I can feel my cheeks heat to scalding which I’m certain makes me look even more like a schlup.
Marcia smiles and takes my pulse, “You’ll be just fine, the doctor will be in to talk to you momentarily.”
As she walks out the door, I feel my heart sink. I want to call out to her but my mouth is dry, and I can’t talk.
“Pretty little thing, isn’t she?” I hear my grandpa ask no one in particular.
Shortly after, the doctor comes in. He is an older man, but not quite my grandparents’ age. He sticks something in my IV saying it will help me rest and take my pain away. I almost forgot what happened ever since Marcia came in. I don’t know if the medicine calms me down or not, but it makes me sleepy and I have to fight to keep my eyes open.
I hear the doctor tell my grandparents that I am going to be lucky to ever walk normally again. My left knee is completely shattered. I also hear him mention something about knee replacement surgery which is likely more successful than reconstruction. My left arm and a few ribs are broken, but nothing else is too serious—minor scrapes and bruises.
My eyes grow heavy as sleep takes hold of me and the doctor’s voice fades into nothing.
***
I am surrounded by flames as a large callused hand reaches down toward me. I am scared at first as the smoke builds up around me, burning my eyes and throat.
I follow the hand up to the man in front of me with my gaze. It is the middle of the summer, and he is in a black suit and black button-up. No sweat glistens on his forehead nor is he covered in ashes or soot from the fire, he looks pristine.
A sharp pain in my left leg reminds me I am surrounded by fire in the middle of an old, abandoned warehouse. My eyes rake over the large ceiling beam covering my left arm and leg as a crushing agony begins to consume me. The pain is tolerable which frightens me further, making my heart race and the fact that I can’t move my left side turns my breathing ragged.
Why doesn’t it hurt worse? This means I’m dying or paralyzed, right?
I try to push it off, but it’s too big, and I am too weak. I turn to call for the mystery man in black to help me, he is gone. I struggle and fight, trying hard to free myself. A desolate feeling steadily creeps up as I realize that I’m on my own and utterly useless. I try to push one more time, to free myself from this desperate predicament, but it’s all for naught.
So, I wait for death to come, and I begin thinking about my grandparents as I feel my body trying to give up.
Who is going to take care of the farm if I leave? My grandfather is getting too old to do everything by himself. I think of my grandmother. Who is going to run to town to grab something from the store she forgot?
I am going to miss them, I love them so much. They dropped everything to raise me after my mother died and my father abandoned me.
I begin thinking about my funeral and my eyes begin to water as I picture the look on my grandparents’ faces as they look down at my casket. Will they be ashamed of me for leaving too soon?
Suddenly, the man in black comes out of nowhere, but he is too late. I feel myself slipping into death. The last thing I see are his blue eyes. They are a bright, clear blue. Lighter than most I’ve seen. There is something behind them I can’t figure out. A mysterious power that seems to pierce my soul. They can see a part of me, deep down, that makes me want to live.
But my body is too weak.
I feel the darkness surrounding me and then, the end.
Life seems so short, especially when it ends as early as seventeen years.
Goodbye grandma, goodbye grandpa. I hope you know how much I loved you, you were my life.
“ You’re okay, you’re safe. Calm down. I’m here now.”
I must be dead because I hear an angel calling me. Her voice is so beautiful. I am too afraid to open my eyes.
“Are you an angel?” I whisper.
“No, I’m Marcia, your nurse. I heard you screaming so I came to check on you. Are you okay?”
“I’m not sure, am I dead?”
“You wouldn’t be talking to me if you were dead.”
She’s right. Why do I always say the dumbest shit when she’s around? “It must have been a nightmare; it seemed so real, though.” I open my eyes slowly, afraid of making myself look any dumber than I must already look to her.
I see her beautiful face while she dries my forehead with a towel. This time I am able to get a better look at her. Her green eyes are more of an emerald color and complement her beautifully bronzed skin. Her long shiny brown hair is pulled back into a ponytail.
She sticks something into my IV.
“Want to tell me about it?” She looks up at me and smiles.
I shake my head. “What are you putting in there? I hope it’s something good.” Lord knows I could use anything to keep me from dreaming of the warehouse again.
She sits down on the side of my bed. “Diazepam. It’ll help you relax. Hopefully, reduce your nightmares.” I stare at her blankly. “Don’t worry, it’s just a low dose.” Her face lights up into a beaming grin again.
My breathing slowly relaxes and my heart no longer feels like it is going to pound out of my chest. I lay my head back down on the pillow, not realizing I had lifted it before.
“Why don’t you tell me something about yourself? Get your mind off whatever it was you were dreaming about.”
I stare at her. Really? Why would she want to know anything about me? She’s beautiful and perfect whereas I’m just weird.
Sensing my unease, she speaks up first. I’m assuming to help me feel more open to talking with her. “Fine. I’ll go first. My father didn’t want me to be a nurse. It was my mother who used to be a paramedic. She is the one who gave me a love for wanting to help people.”
“She used to be a paramedic?” I can’t help but catch the sadness in her voice and then I scold myself for bringing up a likely painful topic.
A pained expression plays across Marcia’s face. “My mother died when I was thirteen.”
“Oh.” Geez. Foot in mouth much? “I’m so sorry, I shouldn’t have pried.”
The corners of her lips turn up slightly, but I can see it’s a forced smile that doesn’t reach her eyes. “Don’t be. After she met my father, she didn’t need to work anymore. When my mother died, my father felt powerless. There was nothing he could do to save her. That’s why I became a nurse. This way I can help another family not have to go through the same thing. Or at least make it hopefully easier on them.”
“Wow. You really are an angel.” Her cheeks turn the most beautiful shade of pink. Well, fair is fair. She shared first to distract me. Now it is my turn. “My mother died giving birth to me and my father was committed to a mental hospital. So, my grandparents have raised me on their farm.”
“I bet it’s never been boring,” she declares with a slight raise of her eyebrows.
I laugh. “Definitely not. Barely have any time to myself.”
“What do you want to do when you graduate high school?” she asks, keeping the inquisition going since I’m speaking.
“I want to study anthropology.”
“Really?” She purses her lips slightly, looking mildly impressed.
I feel a tiny bit of bluster which builds up my confidence knowing that I surprised her. Hopefully she’ll always remember me as the guy with the busted knee that made her smile. “Native American lore fascinates me. My grandfather used to tell me stories about the Manetoa.” She raises a brow in confusion, so I explain further. “It’s an old Kickapoo story about giant water serpents who will lure you into the depths of lakes and rivers to drown you.”
Her face drops and her brows raise to her hairline. “Why would he tell you such a horrifying story?”
I chuckle, suddenly feeling at such calm with her near. A calm I’ve never felt around anyone before. “To scare me out of our lake, which I felt the need to go swimming in even when they weren’t watching me.”
Her real smile returns. “Did it work?”
I shake my head again. “Nope,” I say, popping my lips on the p. “It had the opposite effect. I actually went in search of them a few times.”
She bursts out laughing. Wow, she has a wonderful laugh. It forces a huge grin on my face.
We end up talking for almost a half hour. I tell her more Kickapoo legends until I can’t keep my eyes open anymore.
Marcia sits on the edge of my bed listening to my nonsense. She refuses to leave my side until I fall back asleep.
That is the last time I see, or hear of Marcia. She goes back to college without another word and leaves me with another nurse. It feels like a betrayal, shattering my heart into a million pieces—just like my knee.
