HER
“No! Let me go!” I scream, bracing against the wall in the dead-end alleyway.
“Give us the money!” He pants in my face, catching up with me and grabbing me by the shoulders, shaking me hard.
“I don’t have any, please, let me go!” I beg.
“Shut her up!” A deep voice orders from behind him.
“Open wide,” the one holding me taunts and grabs my chin, shoving a handful of sawdust into my mouth.
I try to spit it out, choking as it catches in my throat, spluttering trying to breathe.
“Is she okay?” I hear a far-off voice say. It’s a male voice that’s only vaguely familiar.
“Yes, she’s okay, just dreaming.”
“Okay, I’ll be back tomorrow.”
It’s dark again and I sleep.
A while later, I don’t know how long, I feel a soft cool hand press against my forehead. My eyes open and then slam shut again, getting used to the light.
I can just make out a figure by the bed, stocky and dressed in white.
“Where...” I try to speak, but my mouth feels like... huh, feels like sawdust.
“Aw, sugar, hang on, let me get you some water, you must be absolutely parched, the poor dumpling,” the cheery voice says. “Here you go, just go slow, don’t you go choking on my watch now.”
She holds the plastic cup to my lips and I drink fast and long; I’ve never tasted water so delicious before.
When I finally have my fill, I close my eyes and lie back on the pillow. “Thank you,” I say, hoarsely, the water slowly seeping into my lips and tongue. My head is pounding and I just want to sleep.
“You know where you are, sugar?” she asks as she fusses around me, lifting my arm and checking my blood pressure.
“Hospital?” I reply, unsure.
“Haha, well, it sure ain’t heaven, cos I would not be wearin’ vomit splattered shoes if it were!” She belly laughs, appreciating her own joke.
“I’m Ruby, by the way. You call me if you need any damn thing. You’re at Lenox Hill hospital, have been for two days now.” She writes something on a chart and then tucks the blankets tight around me.
“Two days!” I’ve never slept that long in my life. “What happened to me?”
“You got a guardian angel, that’s what happened to you, sugar,” she nods seriously, and then grins, showing her row of bright white teeth. “A gorgeous guardian angel if you get me.”
I can’t help but smile even through the throbbing headache, her joviality is infectious. “I don’t remember anything. My guardian angel is gorgeous, you mean?”
“Well, if his body is anything to go by. My my, if my old man was still alive I’da left him for a piece of your angel, but,” she stops and looks ponderous, “can’t really say I’ve seen much of his face. It was covered most of the time by his hoodie.” She turns back and winks at me, “but sometimes, you don’t really need to look at his face at all, do ya, sugar?” She makes a show of elbowing me and throws back her head and laughs again as she grabs my chart and goes to leave.
“Don’t be going nowhere, doctor’ll be in to see you in a minute, dumplin’.”
“Where am I gonna go?” I call after her, sad to see her go. “Gorgeous guardian angel, huh? Whodathunkit?” I muse to myself as I fall back asleep, dreaming of a man in a grey hoodie rocking me against his chest.
***
“Jade! Oh my god, look at you. JADE! ARE YOU OKAY?”
Harriet’s voice jerks me from my sleep.
“Wha?” I try to sit up, but fall back down when the room starts spinning.
“Whoa. Dude. What the hell happened to you? You poor, poor thing.” She grabs my hand and leans over the bed her face inches from mine.
“Harriet,” I say softly, happy to hear my voice is coming back.
“Yes, hon?” She asks, worried, leaning in even closer, so our noses are almost touching.
“Did you enjoy your ham and pickle sandwich?”
“Um, yes. How did you know...”
“Because I can smell it on your breath,” I tease her.
“You can not! Witch! Ugh!” She squeezes my hand and sits down on the chair by the bed. “Guess you’re feeling just fine!”
I smile at her, it is so good to see a familiar face. Truth is, in the five years I’ve lived in Manhattan, Harriet is the one who has made life bearable when the homesickness gets to be too overwhelming. “Just kidding, you’ve had a ham and pickle sandwich every Thursday lunch for as long as I’ve known you.”
She pokes her tongue out at me and squeezes my hand tight again. I can tell she was worried.
“How did you know I was here?” I ask. I haven’t gotten much information from anyone yet, just that I’ll be okay and in the hospital for a few more days. The “gorgeous, guardian angel,” as Ruby and I call him, has yet to make an appearance since I woke up that morning.
“Oh my God, you’ve missed all the drama! And it’s all about you, how ironic! All this gossip and you’re the subject and you don’t even get to enjoy it! Everyone’s been hanging around! There’ve been police and reporters and some weird library customers who think they know you just because you checked out a book for them!” Harriet gushes a mile a minute.
“Harriet.”
“Yes?”
“I have a head injury. I need slow, short, not-too-loud words.” I draw out my last sentence dramatically.
“Oh, sorry!” she says in a loud whisper, not all that quieter than her normal voice, “Well, Harold got a call from the documents translator on Tuesday morning telling him that you didn’t deliver the manuscripts on Monday and he was SO mad. But then a few minutes later, he got a call from the police asking if a woman - late 20’s, brunette, about 150 lbs, green eyes with a tattoo of a book on her ankle - works there.”
“Ugh, lucky guess with the weight,” I pout.
Harriet grins at me, “He DID say ‘pretty’ as well.”
“Did not. Anyway, they all say that. Have you read those Readers Digest articles about murderers and rapists? They always start by describing the victim as ‘caring, happy and pretty.’ Humph.” I sulk but am still intrigued to hear more.
“Anyway, so Harold jumps out of his chair and runs out of the office, not even telling me what’s going on, I had to chase him half way down the street. And he tells me that the police got an anonymous call on Monday night, telling them that a woman had been attacked by two thieves outside of our back entrance and that she was being taken to the hospital, but the police should go catch the thieves who had supposedly been knocked out by the guy who saved you.” She stops to take a breath, her eyes wide from the excitement of telling me.
It is starting to come back to me.
I gasp as I remember the feel of the cold knife against my throat, wet from my own blood. I cover my mouth as I remember how scared I was, how I’d begged to be let go. Tears sprang to my eyes, and my body ran cold as I remember their voices, the feel of his hands on my mouth, slapping me across the face, stabbing into my back.
“Oh, honey,” Harriet stands up and hands me a tissue, softly stroking the hair off my forehead. “It’s okay, you let it out. You’ve been through a lot.”
I shake my head. I don’t want to dwell on it, I just want to make the memories go away.
And then I remember his voice. Soft and almost inaudible, whispering to me, telling me I’d be okay, that he had me, that nothing would hurt me now.
My guardian angel. He saved me.
Blowing my nose, I turn to Harriet, “Do you know anything about the man who saved me?”
“No, sweetie, the call to the police was anonymous and apparently the hospital staff don’t know anything about him at all, except that he said his name was ‘K’?” Harriet shrugs.
“’Kay?’ That’s a weird name for a guy,” I ponder.
“No, I think they meant, like, just ‘K,’ the letter.”
“Oh. Even weirder,” I snort. It was weird. “Curioser and curioser... Ruby, my nurse, tells me he’s super mysterious but has a body she’d, and I quote, ‘leave her ol’ man for’...if he were still alive. So, you haven’t heard anything about him?” I ask.
Harriet grins a grin I know all too well.
“Whaaat?” I am almost too scared to ask.
“Do you have a cru-ush on your mystery man?” She asks, annoyingly chipper now that she can see I’m going to be okay.
“Er, no. Wouldn’t YOU be curious about a man who came out of nowhere to save your life and who just disappeared when you woke up from a head injury?” I argue, not without reason.
But Harriet is unflappable. “Eh, mildly curious, not ‘the only thing I can think about’ curious.”
“I’m not!” I protest.
“Oh, really? All you’ve asked is about Mr. Mystery Man. You haven’t asked what else has happened in the time you’ve been out, what’s happened with the two men who attacked you, who’s been to visit, how my sex life is...” She pouts.
I laugh, the last of the tears dried. She has a point.
I just can’t stop wondering, who is he?