Blood On Her Hands

Chapter 13

"Can you get here in time or not?" Nancy asked, her voice hoarse and raw. I wished I could have seen her face but I didn't need to in order to know for certain she was crying. 

"Yes. I can," I answered, putting her on speaker to pull up the address she sent through text message. I read it over again. My stomach was in knots. "This is the hospital. Are you okay? Is everyone okay?" 

I thought of Adonis and how help was too late for him. I thought of the anonymous caller who spoke with me a few days ago, telling me that their job was to protect me. It was implied that I needed protection. What about the rest of my family? What if one of them was attacked and didn't have someone to call and warn them? I couldn't bear the thought of losing someone else so soon. It would suffocate me, tear me into a million tiny unrepairable pieces. 

"Yes, everything is fine," she said. She didn't elaborate which made it unconvincing to say the least. She could have been omitting information to keep me calm enough on the way over. For all I knew my aunt was in critical condition or Julio was being strolled down into the morgue with a white sheet covering his body. 

I reminded myself to breathe. Focus. 

 "I just want you here with me," Nancy added. "Please. I'll explain when you're here." 

I looked at the set up I had going on. My laptop sat on the coffee table, five different tabs tactfully organized for maximum speed in clicking through each of them. My cup of coffee was in a comically large mug with steam radiating from the top. My blue ballpoint pen and highlights were lined on the left side of the laptop with my mouse on the right. I had actually managed to get things done with the storm of thoughts brewing at the back of my mind. I had gotten into a pretty good groove of reading and marking up the manuscript. My focus was trained on the task at hand so the sounds of the coffee shop had been reduced to white noise. 

One of those thoughts trying to penetrate my tower of focus was about Vincent's text messages urging me to learn self defense. I understood I was in danger from the second I received the anonymous call but Vincent's suggestion made it more real. If someone as knowledgeable as he was in the field was telling me to prepare myself, it meant I should. It meant that the training had a good chance of coming in handy. 

I tried to imagine myself throwing punches. Innocent, helpless Mickey putting someone in a headlock. I knew the thought of it would humour everyone that knew me but the idea of it alit something in me. My knuckles beating into a heavy bag would feel a lot like taking power back. The bruises on my skin would distract me from the blood forever staining my palms. 

I realized that even if I were to ignore my sister's request - which I wouldn't - the groove I had got into with my work would be lost. There was not a chance I would focus after hearing her distressed. Not when I had opened the gates to a whirlwind of thoughts I was suppressing, procrastinating on facing. 

I slammed my laptop shut harder than I should have. "I'll be there in twenty minutes." 

Nancy was sitting in the waiting room, cross legged with her hands folded on top of them. The more put together Nancy acted, the more likely it was she was falling apart. I knew that well. 

She sat back a bit when she saw me. I dropped my bag on the seat beside her. I had the sudden urge to hug her but the last few days had been weird for us. We had been constantly fighting. I crossed my arms instead. 

"What's going on?" 

Before she could answer my question, a doctor came out of a door leading to a long hallway of examination rooms. Her blonde locks swung as she walked up to the two of us, getting close enough that we could hear her properly. She had a pep in her step and a pleasant enough tone that I didn't assume she was here to relay some devastating news. I relaxed my shoulders.