Healer

1

     Once again, Matt had cause to wonder exactly what he'd done to deserve the life he led. It was like he'd walked into the middle of a fight scene in a gangster movie. All around him, bullets were flying. The acrid smell of gunpowder made his eyes water. His ears were ringing from the noise, even though he had his hands clamped tightly over them. Granted, keeping his right hand over his ear was a little tricky, given that it was currently handcuffed to the chair he'd just thrown himself out of. Worse, the chair in question was bolted to the floor in the middle of the room in the middle of the gunfight, meaning Matt could do little besides try to keep low and pray not to be hit by a stray bullet. Typical.

     A bullet ricocheted off of something near him. Matt whimpered in fear and crouched down more, giving up on covering his ears in favor of throwing his free arm protectively over his head and burying his head as much as he could between his knees. He had no idea what was happening. He wasn't even entirely sure how he'd gotten here. One minute, he'd been waiting anxiously in the chair for the thugs who'd just kidnapped him to decide his fate. Then suddenly, the entire building shook, and the thugs ran to investigate. There was a lot of yelling, gunfire, and a tremendous crash. A much-reduced number of thugs had come running or limping back. Most of them had been injured. Someone was dripping blood onto the floor as they went. They'd ignored Matt in favor of running to the back room, where they'd taken cover and started shooting out the doorway past Matt. Meanwhile, whomever they'd been fighting was somewhere in the hall outside, out of Matt's line of sight, shooting back. Caught in the middle, all Matt could do was dive for what pitiful cover the chair provided.

     After a bit more gunfire, the guns abruptly stopped. Matt dared to look up. Mistake. Here came a man stumbling toward him from the back, covered in blood and obviously shot. His mouth opened, seemingly trying to say something, but this only produced a weak whisper and an ominous sucking sound. He coughed, spraying blood everywhere. More blood was spurting from between his fingers, where he held his hand to his chest. Eyes fixed on Matt, he stumbled forward.

     Matt quickly moved as far away as he could. He tried again to twist his hand from the handcuff, wanting nothing more than to escape. The man, who didn't look like he should still be breathing, much less moving, was stumbling towards him. Matt cringed, trying in vain to push him away as the man fell right on top of him. The guy was a street thug, as his kidnappers had all been. They'd all been big, strong men, looking just as capable of violence as they clearly were. This one was well over six feet of solid muscle. Matt was 5'10 and somewhat scrawny. When the thug collapsed on top of him, Matt found himself crushed against the chair by his weight. Try as he might, he couldn't get the man's body off of him. A hand clutched weakly at Matt's arm, twitched, and then locked down tight around his forearm. Matt panicked, thinking the man had just died and now he was trapped. Somehow, though, Matt didn't have the strength to try to struggle free. He was feeling unbelievably drained. The feeling grew worse and worse the longer the bleeding man lay on top of him.

     "Holy shit," someone was saying from directly above him. "That's incredible!"

     "Get off me," Matt managed.

     The heavy weight shifted, getting off of Matt. Somehow, the man was not only still alive but had apparently made a miraculous recovery. He was grinning at Matt as he got to his feet. "Come on, kid. No way I'm letting anyone else take you now!"

     Hands were fumbling at his wrist. The handcuff was coming off. That was good. Matt slumped, head spinning. All he wanted was to lie down and sleep, but someone was gripping his arms, dragging him up before throwing him over a meaty shoulder.

     A shot rang out. The thug fell, dropping Matt. Matt hit the ground with a grunt, only to feel himself grabbed again, a heavy hand gripping his arm just below the short sleeve of his shirt. Matt slapped weakly at the hand, but once again, he started feeling drained. There was a scuffle, and the hand was gone. Matt heard the unmistakable sound of a punch followed by a crash. Then someone grabbed his arm again, and the draining sensation was back. This time, the world went dark.