Page 65 of Heart Sick

His head snaps back, hitting the edge of a fire escape. Blood quickly pours from the wound, the rain washing it down the drain. When Bosco doesn’t move, I see his eyes have glassed over.

Oh my god. Is he dead?

This split-second decision costs me dearly as the man whose face I smashed with the brick spins me around and punches me in the face.

A strangled breath gets caught in my throat as I stagger backward, attempting to stay upright. But he doesn’t let me as he punches me in the stomach. I drop to my knees, wheezing in air. I taste blood, my own this time.

“You fucking slut!” he roars and punches me in the face once again—harder this time.

I fall onto my back, but I frantically search for the brick I dropped. He stomps on my wrist, it crunches under the force.

“You’re going to beg I kill you once I am finished with you.” And he makes good on his word as he begins to kick and beat every part of my body.

When I try to fight, he breaks two of my fingers. When I attempt to scream, he punches me in the mouth. But I don’t give up. I will die fighting.

And that seems to be my fate when he lifts a silver garbage can and positions it over my head. “Say good night, bitch.”

“Good night, bitch.”

I didn’t say it, but someone did, and with the last shred of energy left, I wearily raise my head to see my attacker being kicked so hard into the wall, pieces of it crumble. Or maybe it’s just my imagination as I’m pretty sure I’m on the cusp of passing out.

But through swollen eyes, I hazily see my hero beat each of the monsters to unconsciousness. With his back turned and fists bunched by his sides, the streetlight illuminates him in a way which makes him appear like a superhero.

And when he looks over his shoulder, I see that’s exactly what he is—he’s here to save me, in every sense of the word.

I’ve sat in this fucking chair, in this fleabag motel, for I don’t know how many hours, watching her. But she doesn’t stir. She simply sleeps.

She needs to go to the hospital, but I can’t take her there. If I do, they’ll just call Dr. Norton and return us back to hell. And besides, the car I stole from those motherfuckers will no doubt be reported to the police.

I don’t know what happened to Luna, but she’s not the same person. She doesn’t remember me. I’m doubtful she even remembers herself. What did they do to her?

The whine of the armchair I sit in hints it’s about to snap in half if I clench at the arms any harder, but it’s either this chair or I go back and beat those assholes to death. It was hard to stop, and it scared me. I’ve never felt that kind of rage before.

But that voice inside my head just spurred me on.

It encouraged me to hurt them and make them pay for what they did to Luna. I wonder if maybe I am actually crazy. I hate using that phrase, but since waking from my operation, things have been far from “normal.”

But being in Parkfields isn’t helping Luna or me. I know what will, however.

I need to find out about the man whose heart I have beating within me. I just know when I know who he is, and how he died, all of this will make sense. This started with him. And it’ll end with him.

His death wasn’t accidental, and although I don’t believe in ghosts or the supernatural, I can’t deny it feels like he’s speaking to me beyond the grave. He seems to like Luna too. But when I take her in, I realize that’s all me.

She groans and I launch off the chair like it’s on fire and run over to her bedside. Her face is swollen and bruised.

“It’s okay. You’re safe,” I say, ensuring to keep my distance, not wanting to spook her.

She wets her bloody lips and tries to speak, but her voice is hoarse. “Who are you?” she finally manages to whisper into the darkness.

I was right. Her memories have been wiped clean.

“My name is Dutch,” I reply, wanting to be honest because this feels like a new start. “And your name is Luna.”

“Dutch,” she says, turning onto her side slowly. “What sort of name is that?”

I can’t help but laugh because it’s something I’ve heard often. “My parents had too much fun on vacation when in Amsterdam because nine months later, I was born.”

She tries to smile but begins coughing uncontrollably.

---