Birds in Paradise

Part 11

"Are you sure you didn't recognize the man who attacked you?" Blakey asked me three days later. I was still in the hospital, despite my protests. And feeling groggy again. I wasn't going to be able to pay for this kind of top-notch medical care, but Pete wouldn't let me leave. Brandi visited daily to read me verses from the Bible, whether I wanted to hear them or not, and to pray over my "poor broken state." Every morning she appeared in my room, with a cat-like smile that made me wonder if she didn't enjoy torturing her captive audience. Blakely seemed to like having me under his thumb, too. He popped up every day to grill me about the man who had attacked me. I'm not sure why, I never changed my story.

He pressed his knuckles against the mattress and leaned in so close I could smell poi on his breath.

"I don't believe you. I need you to give me a description," he said, his hot, stinky breath swirling across my face.

"It was dark. And it happened so fast," I lied and gave his chest a push. "Give me some air."

He backed up...just a little. "So, you're saying that you were strolling in the park at—" he checked his notebook "—three in the morning and a man—cloaked in shadows, mind you—stabs you for absolutely no reason and runs off."

"I don't know what he did afterwards. There was a knife sticking in my gut at the time, so I wasn't exactly paying that close attention to anything else."

"But you claim he didn't rob you."

"I didn't have any money on me." I'd handed it over to Sally. Blakely didn't know about Sally, and I wasn't about to tell him...or anyone. So what if she'd ran off...with my money...and without telling me much of anything.

I probably would have run away, too.

Self-preservation isn't always pretty. It can sometimes be downright immoral.

"I don't believe you," Blakely said. "I have a witness who says he saw you talking with another woman." He checked his notebook again. "A brunette in her early twenties. Did she stab you?"

That was new information. He must have been doing his homework. I was impressed, but not impressed enough to spill my guts.

Oh...bad analogy.

I fought off a wave of dizziness at the thought of my insides spilling out all over the park. My face felt suddenly clammy and it hurt to swallow. But I wasn't going to throw up. Not in front of Blakely. It would be a show of vulnerability Blakely might one day use against me.

"If your witness knows so much about that night, why don't you ask him to describe my attacker?" The room started spinning. I grabbed the edge of the bed.

"Dammit, Kyra. You might be able twist Pete around your little finger by batting your eyelashes and looking helpless, but it won't work with me. I know you. I know what you are."

I struggled to sit up in bed. The movement pulled at the stitches, setting off a firestorm of sharp pains through my middle. "And what am I?" I managed to get out from behind my clenched teeth.

"You're street trash. A piece of chewed up gum that gets stuck to the bottom of an expensive pair of shoes. A stain on paradise. Get a job. Get a life. Or better yet, get the hell off my island."

"That's enough, Kevin," Pete said as he entered the room. He was carrying a small travel bag that he dropped on the bed. "I'm taking you home, Kyra. Get dressed."

Despite my heavy eyelids, I greedily reached for the bag, but Blakely snatched it up and cruelly held it out of reach. "I'm not done with her."

"She's already given you her statement. It hasn't changed. Why do you insist on grilling her day after day?"

"I keep hoping she'll tell me the truth."

"You should trust her."

"Why? Because the street rat's your lover?"

"She's given you her statement, Officer. You should leave." The threat of violence hung heavily in the hospital's sterile air. The two men squared off chest-to-chest. My goodness, Pete's chest was much better defined than Blakely's. When had Blakely gotten so fat? He used to be skinny as a pole.

Things change... People change... I took another sip of the water Blakely had poured for me. I felt as dry as a salty beach. I couldn't seem to get enough water. The room was spinning again. And my head was feeling muzzy...again...

...Pete was taking...me home. And yet...I couldn't...remember...why...I...shouldn't...

"Pete..."