Page 9 of Heart of a Killer

“You were stabbed in the back, puncturing one of your lungs in the process. You’re lucky they missed your spine and your heart. You have an incision here.” He points to a spot on the side of my chest which is covered up. “We inserted a tube to protect your airway and re-inflate your lung. Which is why we had to make this incision, for draining the blood that constricted your ability to breathe properly. Then we took you to surgery to repair the damage. You have been in a sedated state for a week until you were healed enough to breathe independently without the assistance of the breathing tube.”

My brain is sifting through sand, trying to process everything he is saying. I can’t piece anything together. “How did I get stabbed?”

“The police are here, right outside your door. They have some questions for you about that. We only know your name and address from the ID we found on you when you came in.”

“Can I see it?” I ask in a hoarse whisper.

“Yeah, sure, maybe it will help jog your memories.” He goes to the corner of the room where a bag is sitting on the chair. He rummages through it a bit before finding what he’s looking for and pulls out a card. He walks back over and hands it to me. “I hope you get better soon, son.”

My heart swells at his calling me son.

When he leaves the room, I look down at the plastic card and see the picture of a man. He has brown hair and one blue eye, and one black eye with only the smallest hint of blue. He also has scruff lining his jaw and a scar on his left cheek. Instinctually, my hand goes to the cheek, and I find the imperfection under my fingertips. This picture is me? I see the name Leland McCaw, and the address is in Mississippi. None of this rings any bells, but it has to be me. Right?

Dr. Benjamin looksdown at his notebook and jots something down. It looks like chicken scratch from where I’m sitting. “Right, and the computer with the pictures of hospitals is the only thing you can vaguely remember from your time before the hospital?”

“Yeah. So?”

When he stops writing, he looks up at me, considering something, but stops. I can see the debate happening behind his eyes.

“Go ahead, Doc. Spit it out.”

“I was thinking. Maybe we could try some of the older methods to see if those will help refresh your memories.”

“I’m willing to try anything.” My mind wanders to the brown-and-red-haired girl from the doorway. She isn’t a natural redhead because her brown roots are grown out, but there is something about her. It’s tickling my brain. Thinking about her overwhelms me with a sense of déjà vu.Do we have more of a connection than just fate?

He looks hesitant. “The only thing is your brain will lock down parts of your psyche to protect you until it feels you can handle the full truth.”

“I’m ready,” I say in a rush before he can change his mind. I need to know. I’m dead set on finding out what my brain is hiding from me. I’m willing to try anything at this point. Right then, the timer for our session goes off.

“Next time, Leland. I’ll get something together for you, and we’ll try different methods until we can discover your lost memories.”

Sounds good to me. I’d like to know for myself since no one will tell me more about what happened. The cops have been waiting for me to get my memories back before they interrogate. My guess is that’s in order to keep my statement from being tainted, but I won’t change my story regardless of what I find within my memories.

“Ok, Doc.” I go to stand, but his hand catches my attention. A clear tan line is etched on his left ring finger. Stopping in my tracks, I point to his hand. “Are you married?” He never talks about himself, only asks questions, and I’ve been extra curious when it comes to other people’s private lives here.

“We aren’t here to talk about me. Go on now, Leland. It’s lunchtime.”

Secretive little shit.How can he delve deep into our minds and gain all of our secrets without giving any in return? I’m stuck on that thought as I make my way to the lunchroom, following the crowd of other patients.

3

Skylar

Walking down the facility hall, I count the old black-and-white tiles, refusing to look up at the other patients’ faces. I might catch their eyes, and then they may try to talk to me like Sam did. I can’t deal with that right now.

My mind keeps circling back to Alex. Why the actual fuck is he here? How in the fuck is here? I thought he was dead. I mean, Nicole stabbed him in the back. When the medics took him away, I thought for sure he was gone, dead, soon to be buried or cremated. Also, why doesn’t Alex know me? Is he acting? If he is, he’s doing a damn good job at it. He is here, so maybe there is something wrong with his brain.

Losing myself in my thoughts, I lose track of counting and walk right into the back of someone standing in line for the cafeteria.

“Oof.” A huff of air leaves me, and I look into the face of the person I walked right into. “I’m so sorry,” I squeak, making myself smaller than I already am.

She looks me in the eye and furrows her brow.

“Watch where the fuck you’re going, trailer trash.”

Sparks are flying, and not in a good way. She is shooting flaming daggers at me with that glare. After everything I’ve been through, anger rears up, and I lash out at her. “And who the fuck are you?”

I look her up and down, cataloging her appearance. She has that mean girl persona with her hip cocked to the side and a practiced sneer gracing her lips. Her hair is dirty blond, pulled up in a high ponytail.

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