Page 41 of Icy Heart, Empty Chest
Cora:I’ve never seen you lose control like that. What did he say?
Damien:It was stupid.
Cora:So you’re not going to tell me? Your best friend?
Damien:He was calling you a loser, among other things. I stopped it
Cora:Oh, Dae. He’s an idiot. Was your dad upset?
Damien:He’s been going nuclear for the past few hours. I don’t expect it to stop anytime soon.
Cora:I’m so sorry. Do you need to come over?
Damien:He will not let me. I’m on lock down indeterminately
Cora:Damn. Don’t fight over me OK? It’s not worth it.
Damien:I’m always going to defend you, Cor.
Cora:Well, hopefully not at the expense of your face. ;)
Damien:I’m serious, Cora!
Cora:So am I, you have a nice face.
Damien:Gotta go, old man’s angry again.
I wentover my wardrobe to find the most professional pieces that I had, laying them out on my bed. Sometimes the best disguise is the one right before your eyes. Knee length boots, pencil skirt and a blazer would be suitable for where I was going. Before going to bed, I sent him a text saying simply,Stay strong, and got a happy face back in return. I hoped it was genuine.
I woke up Saturday morning early. I hadn’t gotten much sleep, mostly tossing and turning, thinking about Damien. Thinking about my plan.
This was not the smartest plan I’d ever concocted in my life but at this point, desperation was starting to seep in. He was in pain. I couldn’t allow it to continue.
So, when the time was right, I hopped in my car for the two-hour journey. I kept trying to center myself on what was yet to come but my thoughts kept floating to him. Past but also future. Would he visit me again once his heart was safely back in his chest? Was I still his best friend, still the same “little nymph” he’d always known?
I pulled into the convention center parking lot feeling a tad nauseated. Was it the fast-food coffee I’d gotten or was it from nervousness? Likely both. I adjusted my wig, scratching at the back of my head.
When I got into the convention center, I picked up the pamphlet with the speakers’ names on it and what rooms they were in. That was step one. Step two was to adjust the fake glasses that I was sporting and bump ever so clumsily into a doctor. I relieved her of her badge quickly, flipping it around so only the conference name was showing. I sat through a forty-five-minute lecture on advancements in hematologic cancers which was fascinating but mostly I was just killing time.
After it let out, I mingled around, looking at the varying exhibits but keeping an eye out for him. There, close to the mezzanine. He didn’t seem very striking at first, pristine coat, balding, sweating slightly. Maybe it was for the better. He didn’t have the most muscular frame so I hoped he’d spent more time on books and less on self-defense lessons. He was picking at a giant pretzel and eyeing the room he was set to go into next.
Fifteen minutes before he was due to speak, I made my move.
“Excuse me, Dr Ziedlin? I’m trying to load your presentation and I’m having some issues with the file. Can you follow me?” I put on my most charming smile and let him down the thoroughfare away from the crowd and around the corner.
Knocking him off balance, I pushed him into a nearby closet. I felt bad for this, truly. I heard him hit the ground with a loud thud, pretzel remnants flying.
“Hey! What are you doing?” He was on his side, arms up defensively. I groaned internally. This was no hardened criminal. This was a desperate scientist. While he had about forty pounds on me, he was breathing like he was running laps. I barely had to bump him. This would not go down as my proudest moment in any career. I reached a hand into my boot and pulled up the knife hidden there, flicking it open.
I let out a breath and advanced on him, kneeling, putting the knife to his throat.
“Listen to me very carefully and don’t try to scream. I need to know where the heart is.”
“What are you talking about?” he babbled. Tears were gathering at the corners of his eyes.
“Don’t do this, you’re expected up there in a very limited amount of time,” I remarked dryly. Why do they always deny? “I know you bought a kelpie heart on the black market. I know you’re going to use it in your cancer research. I know the owner and they need it back. Where is it?” The knife was biting in enough to form a red dot on it.
“You’re mad!” he howled and tried to pry my arm away from his throat. I winced at the volume.
