Page 56 of Bozo

How the hell did he manage to get the knife again? Fuck. I don’t know what I’m going to do. How the hell am I going to get out of this?

My fingers barely graze the doorknob, when I feel a sharp, burning pain in my side. I look down to see the knife buried in my flesh, the man's hand still gripping the handle.

"No loose ends," he whispers in my ear as he twists the blade.

I scream, the pain blinding. But through the pain, fear, and panic, I hear something else—sirens. They're getting closer. Did someone call for help? I really hope so.

The man hears them too. His eyes widen with alarm. "Damn it," he mutters, yanking the knife out.

I collapse to the floor, pressing my hand against the wound. The man hesitates, his eyes darting between me and the door. The sirens are getting louder, closer. He curses under his breath, clearly torn between finishing the job and saving his own skin.

"This isn't over," he snarls, wiping his bloody nose with the back of his hand. "We'll find you, wherever you go."

With that, he bolts for the door, wrenching it open and disappearing. I lie there, gasping, my hand pressed firmly against my side. Blood seeps through my fingers, warm and sticky. The room spins around me, and I fight to stay conscious.

The sirens stop abruptly, replaced by the sound of car doors slamming and hurried footsteps. "In here!" I try to shout, but it comes out as barely more than a whisper.

Suddenly, two gardai rush in, guns drawn. Their eyes widen as they take in the scene—the shattered lamp, the blood-stained floor, and me, crumpled against the wall.

"We need an ambulance, now!" one of them shouts into his radio as the other kneels beside me.

"Ma'am, can you hear me? Stay with us. Help is on the way," the garda says, pressing his hands over mine to stem the bleeding.

I try to speak, to warn them about the man, about the danger, but my vision is fading. The last thing I see is the garda's concerned face before darkness claims me.

I drift in and out of consciousness, catching snippets of conversation and flashes of light. The wail of an ambulance siren. Paramedics shouting medical jargon. The rush of a hospital corridor. Then nothing.

I’m beyond sore.I’ve got a broken nose, multiple contusions, and I feel like I’ve been hit by a damn truck. My entire body feels as though it’s been through the wringer.

"Dr. Fallon? Are you awake?" I hear a familiar voice ask.

I turn my head slightly to see Detective Connolly—the garda who interviewed me after Antoine attacked me at the hospital—entering my room. His face is etched with concern.

"Yes, I’m awake. You found me?" I croak, my throat dry and scratchy.

Connolly leans forward, his voice low. "Someone tried to kill you, Dr. Fallon. We got a call about a disturbance at your address. When we arrived, we found you bleeding out on the floor. The attacker had fled."

I close my eyes, the memories flooding back. The blonde man, the knife, the pain. "He said... no loose ends," I whisper.

Connolly's expression darkens. "We believe this is connected to Antoine's murder. Dr. Fallon?—”

Panic rushes through me. “Murder?” I ask. What the hell does he mean, murder? No. God no.

Connolly nods grimly. "Antoine was found dead days after he attacked you. We think whoever did it came for you next."

My heart races as the implications sink in. Antoine is dead. They killed him, just like they tried to kill me. And they won't stop until I'm silenced too.

I hear footsteps in the hall, close to my room, and my body tenses. Is it the man? Is he coming back to kill me?

“Grá.” I hear the low, anguished tone of Jerry Houlihan as he steps into my room. “God, what the fuck happened? I swear to God, girlie, you’ve about put me into an early grave. This is the second time in a week, Gráinne,” he growls. “What the fuck is going on?”

“Mr. Houlihan,” Detective Connolly begins as he rises to his feet. “I’m currently speaking with Dr. Fallon?—”

Jer cuts his gaze to the detective. “Yeah?” he spits. “Tell me what the fuck you’re doing about this shit? Hmm?”

Detective Connolly's jaw tightens as he faces Jerry. "Mr. Houlihan, I understand you're upset, but this is an ongoing investigation. I can't disclose?—"

“My daughter is lying in a hospital bed, and you're giving me the runaround? I want answers, and I want them now!"

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