Page 51 of The Heir
"We are going to take some blood," Dr. Martinez announces in a calming voice. "Is that alright?"
Melody nods, and I bite my tongue. I can't tear my eyes away from the nurse's hands as she wraps the tourniquet around Melody's bicep. She sanitizes the crook of my wife's arm, and before I know it, her blood is flowing into the little tubes. I flick my eyes back to her face, and she's still staring at me. Intensely. As if she's worried I'll fade away unless she keeps an eye on me at all times.
"You've done very well, miss." Dr. Martinez smiles softly.
"Melody. Melody Lyons," I correct.
He flinches but quickly regains his composure. "Of course. I am sorry. You did very well, Mrs. Lyons."
Melody slumps back in the plastic chair and stares at the ceiling. She doesn't say a word. I open my mouth to check on her, but Dr. Martinez turns to me.
"Your turn."
"My turn?" I furrow my brow.
"You look malnourished. You are filthy—all of you are. As I said, we are not a large facility. But we can at least get you a shared room with an attached restroom. Shower included. But before that, bloodwork." He motions to the chair, and the nurses help Melody up. "Sit."
Narrowing my eyes, I tentatively sit where Melody was. The chair is still warm. The nurses try to lead her out of the room, but she shakes her head and points to me. A smug smile breaks out on my face, and she slips her hand into mine as Dr. Martinez fusses with my free arm. I focus on my wife's face and try to ignore the cold swipe of antiseptic. I don't move a muscle when I feel the pinch of the needle.
That man can take as much blood as he wants. I don't give a singular fuck. My wife is in touching distance, and that's exactly where I plan to stay.
The sun warms my body, and a straw hat covers my face. Waves gently ebb and flow a few feet away, sending asalty spray into the air. Sea birds call in the distance. I hear my wife and daughter giggle and splash in the ocean, and happiness fills my chest.
As I move the straw hat, I have to blink into the beaming sun to focus. But the edges of my vision seem fuzzy, as if on a half-second delay. I wave my hand in front of my face, and the movement seems stilted. It doesn't feel quite right, but all thoughts of the strange feeling dissolve as Melody scurries over, hand in hand with our little girl.
"Daddy!" The child launches herself into my arms. "Did you see me? I jumped into a huge wave!"
"She did," Melody laughs.
"I must have missed it, munchkin." I pepper her tiny face with kisses, and she squeals with frantic laughter, squirming in my grasp.
"Is anyone hungry?" Helena yells out, materializing by my side. She produces a wicker picnic basket, overflowing with baggies of sliced fruit and sandwiches. "I've got enough for everyone!"
"Aunt Helly!" The little girl wrenches herself out of my lap and scurries to look into the basket. "Did you bring mangos?"
"Of course, I did. They're your mother's favorite." Helena smiles, rifling through the basket.
"And mine!"
"And yours," Helena laughs, then triumphantly raises a mango from the basket. "This one looks like it's perfect for you."
I blithely smile as I watch the most important women in my life dig into the food. Melody, her best friend, and our daughter happily chatter away. The tranquility of this scene overtakes me, and I feel all of the stress leak from my bones. Towering palm trees sway in the gentle breeze, casting dancing shadows over the white sand. A tiny crab shuffles by, staring at us with its periscope eyes. Down the beach, dozens of other people laugh and splash in the ocean.
This is the perfect vacation. I'm so glad I was able to take everyone out here. Our daughter is the happiest little toddler. She's the spitting image of her mother with her chestnut brown curls, though she has my striking green eyes.
After my little girl finishes devouring her mango, she crawls into the beach chair with me and trails a sticky little finger over one of the many tattoos marking my arm. She traces the distorted face and smiles to herself. Dark eyelashes ring her bright green eyes. Her eyebrows furrow in concentration as she traces the inked lines.
To our left, the joyful shouts and laughter morph into terrified screams. Gunshots ring out and shatter the peaceful beach scene. Melody jerks her head up, fearand concern written across her face. Automatic gunfire gets louder, louder, and I quickly overturn the beach chair. Shielding my daughter with my body, I yell for Melody and Helena to hide.
"We have to be quiet, okay, baby?" I whisper to my daughter's terrified face. She snaps her mouth shut and nods, her beautiful eyes brimming with tears. "It'll be okay. I promise. We'll be okay."
I repeat the mantra to her, half-convincing myself as well. The shots get louder and closer. I hear frantic footsteps in the sand. Hunching over my child, I brace myself. The chair is kicked away from us, and she screams.
Her scream of pure terror permeates my bones. Keeping her behind me, I squint up into the sun and see Roman's scowling face. He points an automatic rifle down at me.
"Say goodbye, Dante," he growls.
I gasp myself awake, incessant beeping filling the air. Every frantic beat of my heart matches the beeps, and I realize it's my pulse. Sweat beads on my forehead and neck. A redheaded nurse I don't recognize scurries in, pressing buttons on the heart monitor next to me.
