Bleeding Heart

by Taylor Holloway

  “A lot of what they do is good, but they do some other really questionable things. They euthanize almost one hundred percent of the furry friends they take into their shelters. I’m not going to say that there aren’t situations where euthanasia is justified, merciful, or necessary, but there are plenty of verified stories of PETA euthanizing healthy, young, adoptable animals. They’ve also been caught capturing and euthanizing people’s pets against the owner’s consent. They believe that domesticated pets are prisoners of humans, and that death is preferable to bondage and exploitation.”

  “Wait, what?” He looked surprised. Most people did when I went on my anti-PETA rant.

  “I wish I were making it up,” I continued, “the list goes on and on. The official position of PETA is that the merciful and moral outcome is that dogs and cats should be successively neutered to extinction. They believe that all existing pets, including cats who are obligate carnivores, be provided a vegetarian diet. They believe that all animal testing for scientific purposes be banned with zero exceptions. And they rely on shock tactics and publicity stunts to make their arguments instead of facts or helpful discourse.”

  “Jesus Christ. I had no idea they were so batshit crazy. I’ll have them removed from next year’s benefit,” he shook his head, “my mom wouldn’t want to support them.”

  “I’m not trying to go on a rant or anything, and I’m not trying to tell you what to do. PETA just really makes me angry. I would never give them money. I’m a vegetarian for ethical reasons, but I don’t go out of my way to shame or confront people that disagree with me. PETA’s whole perspective is that getting in people’s faces and telling them how awful they are will help.”

  “I’m a… what did you call it with cats? Obligate carnivore. I could never survive off only vegetables. I didn’t know you were a vegetarian,” He said, changing the subject and looking at me in surprise.

  “Why would you?” I question back, feeling strange for some reason.

  “I don’t know. I just want to know more about you. Will you tell me something else I don’t know?” Alexander looked at me with an expression of total fascination. The attention was flattering, if a bit unexpected. I hadn’t expected him to talk to me very much tonight, but we’d done almost nothing but talk since we arrived.

  “Um, I know how to snowboard pretty well? This isn’t fair unless you tell me something, too.”

  “I really can’t imagine you snowboarding… but ok, something you don’t know about me, huh?” Alexander thought about it for a second, absently stroking my hand. His expression turned somewhat bashful. “I would never go snowboarding or skiing. It’s terrifying to me. It’s just foolish to hurl yourself down a mountain on a slick strip of wood at thirty miles an hour. That’s not recreation; it’s one step away from suicide. When forced to go skiing with my family as a kid, I sat obstinately in the lodge and drank hot chocolate.”

  I laughed at his answer. I could easily imagine little Alexander pouting his way through a family vacation. Alexander smiled down at me and I was forced to acknowledge that I was honestly having a nice time with him, despite the fact that he blackmailed me to get me here. He listened to me, and he was very smart and charming when he wasn’t being a jerk. We didn’t agree on everything, obviously, but he didn’t belittle my opinion or try to change my basic values.

  Now I can see that the ‘political’ views he expressed last night were a ploy to get me angry. The fact that seeing me upset or getting a rise out of me made him happy was a bit disturbing, but he was keeping me from sitting at home and thinking about Kevin, which was surprisingly kind of him. Plus, he was about to let me spend an obscene amount of his money on a good cause.

  Altogether this was not a bad date at all.

  13

  Alexander

  I won the basket. It cost me just under seven hundred thousand dollars. It was shaped like a picnic basket and tied with a big yellow ribbon. What was inside was still a mystery. Whatever it was, it was heavy.

  “Aren’t you going to open it?” Madison asked me eagerly, sitting next to me at the bar in the lobby of the Ritz Carlton. The party was winding down at this point, so we’d moved out to allow the staff to clean. I was reluctant for this night to end. The thought of sleeping alone in my big empty house was not appealing.

  “You open it,” I suggested, sliding it over on the bar in front of us. She looked at me with skepticism. The box made a satisfying rattle when I moved it.

  “Are you sure? It’s yours. You paid a lot for it.”

  “I’m sure. The baskets are always pretty lame. They’re just for show anyway.”

  Madison nodded, pulling at the ribbon and the opening the wicker box excitedly.

  “Huh,” She said with obvious confusion, “Not what I expected.”

  I leaned over to see what was inside and laughed. Candy. The box was full of different types of candy, and beneath the candy, a few actual bricks to trick the carrier into thinking it was something else. Specifically, I saw gummy worms, gumballs, M&Ms and Skittles at first glance. There appeared to be a full selection of tooth-rotting sweets in there.

  “These are without a doubt the most expensive gummy worms in the history of the world,” I said, pulling out one of bags and opening it, “Want one?”

  Smiling, she took the candy from my hand and bit the multicolored worm in half.

  “Tastes like virtue, compassion, and high fructose corn syrup,” Madison replied, grinning. She offered me the other half of the worm and I accepted it.

  “As long as it doesn’t taste like a worm. We should probably head back,” I told her after a few gummy worms, looking at my watch, “It’s almost one a.m.”

  “Ok,” Madison replied, “I’m going to run to the ladies’ room really quickly. Be right back.”

  I watched her walk away from me, admiring her the sexy sway of her hips in her tight blue dress. She had literally the best ass I’d ever seen on six continents in over thirty years (I’d never been to Antarctica but could not imagine a better ass would exist there, either). I wondered if the look I saw flash over her face a moment ago was relief that I hadn’t tried to get her to stay the night here at the hotel with me, or disappointment. I hoped it was disappointment and would be happy to suggest it, but the whole point of the evening was to convince her that I was capable of being a decent person. Gentlemen, at least to the best of my limited knowledge, didn’t try to seduce women on blackmail dates. Especially first blackmail dates.

  My phone buzzed to notify me of a new text. It was my father. Fan-fucking-tastic. My and I father shared a name, a fortune, and a mutual dislike of one another.

  You had better not be downtown right now with Madison Clark.

  Well that was just rude. I punched in my response indignantly, wishing I could add a few choice emojis, but that would only confuse the old man.

  Excuse me? My Saturday night plans are none of your business.

  My father was a notorious social butterfly. No. Butterfly wasn’t the right word. He was much more predatory than a butterfly. He was a social… scorpion. He must have had spies at the benefit. I shouldn’t have even been surprised. His response arrived swiftly.

  Don’t fuck up this deal by fucking our lawyer’s daughter, or by somehow fucking her over. David told me you were an asshole to her last night. And then her fiancé cheated on her? Lay off.

  I liked my father much better when there was at least an ocean between us. He needed to chill out. I texted him back irritably.

  I’ll do as I please thank you very much.

  I frowned at the little icon that indicated he was replying. Was he writing me a damned essay? Finally, my phone rang. I guess he gave up on the essay.

  “What?” I snapped.

  His voice was equally sharp, “Listen Alex, there’s a lot riding on this deal. Things you don’t know about. There are political considerations in both countries that demand we move forward swiftly. There’s a reason the Senator is involved.”

&n
bsp; When my father talked about ‘The Senator’ he always meant Clara and Angelica’s father, Thomas Ellis. He was basically our family pet at this point. We’d been bankrolling his political career for so long that perhaps he had forgotten we could easily pull the plug if we wanted to.

  “What? Is he acting uppity? Just threaten to reduce donations to his Super Pac. That should bring him to heel.”

  “No! Listen to me. There are dangerous elements in Colombia that stand to lose big on this deal, and dangerous elements that stand to win big. There is far more at play here than money. Regime change years in the making. Do. Not. Fuck. It. Up. This has all been carefully choreographed and timed.”

  “Ok, thanks Dad,” I said brightly. Madison was making her way back to me and I needed to get off the phone, “I appreciate the call. Have a great night.” I hung up. I would deal with that later. Or never, if that was an option.

  Madison looked at me questioningly, but I just shook my head. I could see my fake-happy voice and smile weren’t convincing to her. Something about that pleased me, although I wasn’t sure exactly why. No matter what, Madison and I had made some progress at the benefit. She was no longer looking at me like I was evil incarnate. In fact, I think she was actually happy to be out with me.

  Outside in the cool evening, the valet was nowhere to be found. This time of night the street was totally dead. Maybe the valet stepped off to have a well-earned cigarette. My car was sitting right in front of the building only twenty feet away. That was unsurprising; valets usually liked to keep her somewhere conspicuous because she was so damned gorgeous. I’ve seen brand new Lamborghinis get moved around the corner by fancy restaurants to showcase my precious Arlene.

  Yes, I named my car.

  No, that isn’t weird at all. People do it all the time.

  After waiting for a minute or two with Madison, we both got fidgety standing there in the dark. The stupid basket we won must have weighed thirty pounds because of all the bricks. The keys to Arlene were sitting right there in the valet’s key box, so I just grabbed them and shrugged at Madison. She chuckled and took my free arm as we headed across the empty street.

  I opened the door for Madison, pausing momentarily when she suddenly stepped back with an annoyed noise. Her stiletto heel was stuck in the crack in the sidewalk, sinking her down about two inches and pinning her in place. I dropped the basket in the passenger seat momentarily and spun around to help free Madison. As I turned, I heard a strange, heavily mechanical, decisive click.

  The next few seconds seemed to take ages. I took two or three steps toward Madison and the world behind me exploded into an impossible to interpret strobing burst of bright, flickering color, heat, and screaming sound. It was kaleidoscopic, but I couldn’t admire it, because before my senses had a chance to absorb the display, I was thrust forward like I’d been fired out of a cannon. My body attempted to reorient me as my vision returned, but other than a vague awareness that I’d been thrown away from Arlene, I no longer knew what was happening. In fact, I seemed to be on the other side of the street entirely, which was now washed in a vivid red-orange glow. Sparks and flames cascaded downward like roman candles. I couldn’t see Madison anywhere, but I heard a woman’s bloodcurdling, terrified scream over the cacophony.

  Everything went black.

  14

  Madison

  Alexander woke up in the ambulance. The paramedics said he had a concussion and a few probable broken ribs, at the very least. He might also have serious internal bleeding, organ damage, brain damage, or even a spinal fracture. They wouldn’t know until they got him to the hospital.

  The paramedics tried to keep me from riding with them, but I wasn’t about to be dissuaded. I told them I was his lawyer and had a fiduciary duty to remain with my client. Neither was technically true, but they bought it, or at least they pretended to. It probably wasn’t worth arguing with me. Next, I would have claimed to be his wife, or his sister. Or his fairy godmother. I was going in that ambulance.

  “Alexander?” I asked him, reaching out my own bloodied hand to grasp his, “Alexander we’re going to the hospital. It’s Madison. I’m right here. I won’t leave you. You’re going to be ok.”

  His black eyes had been fixated on the ceiling, but they darted to my face when I spoke. I could see no recognition in them whatsoever. It was like he was seeing a stranger. My breath froze in my lungs. Alexander stared at me for a long, terrifying moment before I saw understanding creeping in. He attempted an uncomfortable nod that was made exceptionally difficult by his gigantic neck brace, and then closed his eyes and fell unconscious again a moment later. His fingers curled around mine tightly though; I took comfort in that.

  The next few hours were a painful, chaotic blur of diagnostic tests, police, phone calls, panicked family members, and waiting rooms. The next time I was halfway cognizant, I was sitting in Alexander’s shabby hospital room as he slept. The sun had come up, and its rays were burning my eyes through the dirty, narrow window. Another police officer was speaking to me while family and friends had been asked to step outside.

  “Ms. Clark, I know you’re exhausted,” the uniformed woman said evenly, “but I need you to go through this again. The faster we get your statement, the more likely it is to be accurate. What happened when you left the hotel?”

  “We were waiting for the valet, but he wasn’t there,” I recounted, my voice sounding distant and exhausted even to my own ears, “Eventually Alexander just took the keys since they were right there. We walked over to the car and Alexander opened the door for me. Only I couldn’t get in because my heel got stuck in the sidewalk a few feet away. He put the basket down and came to help me, and then the car exploded.”

  The stern-looking woman nodded to her partner, an equally serious man with a bushy, white mustache. He scribbled something in his notepad before asking,

  “You two were incredibly lucky. Any closer to the explosion and you’d both be dead. Now, you had been attending charity event that night?”

  “Yes. The answer is still yes. It hasn’t changed since the last time you asked me thirty minutes ago. We were at a benefit.”

  “Officers, stop please,” a new voice ordered, and all three of us turned to the door. There was a stout man in a suit standing there, flanked by two other, younger men in suits.

  “Chief?” the officers asked in unison, looking annoyed and confused at the intrusion.

  “This case is FBI now. We’re off it,” the stout man said, and then the police left in a huff. They made a big, elaborate show of stomping around and looking frustrated. The two men in suits stayed.

  “I already told the police what I know like fifty times,” I said to the FBI newcomers once the police were gone, not even waiting for them to introduce themselves, “I just can’t do it again. Could you look at their notes?”

  The two agents exchanged a wordless glance. The smaller of the two men, the one wearing glasses, spoke first.

  “Are you at all familiar with a man named Cesar Arturo Chacón?”

  “What? No. I don’t know anyone named that.” I had literally no idea what they were talking about.

  “How about Marco Arturo Chacón?” The larger one asked.

  “No,” I replied with the same confusion, “Who are they? What’s going on?”

  “That’s all for now Ms. Clark. We’ll let you know when we figure out who placed the car bomb. Please give this to Mr. Durant when he wakes up. We need to speak with him.”

  And after the smaller man had handed me the business card, they were gone. I scribbled down the two names they had asked about before I forgot them, and then put my head down on the little table in front of me. My head was spinning, and I was feeling a bit dizzy. I was only going to close my eyes for a second…

  “Madison?” Alexander’s low, urgent voice reached me in my troublesome dream, and I woke with a start.

  “Alexander! You’re awake,” I cried happily, crossing the little room to sit next to him on the hospi
tal bed. The angle of the sun was slightly different, and the shadows of the room had shifted a bit during my impromptu nap. I didn’t know how much time had passed. At the moment I didn’t care. All my attention was on Alexander.

  “Are you alright?” Alexander asked, sitting up in his hospital bed with a painful grunt in order to get a better look at me.

  “I’m fine,” I replied, placing my palm on his chest to keep him stationary, “You’re the one in the hospital with the head wound and the bruised ribs. All I got was a few scratches and some singed hair.”

  Alexander placed his own hand over mine, holding it to his heart affectionately. I looked at our joined hands, feeling suddenly awkward. The experience that we’d just shared was horrifying and confusing. The last few hours had been hellish. But somehow, touching Alexander like this made me feel irrationally comforted. Alexander was alive and mostly unharmed, and so was I. For a brief moment, I felt like everything was going to be ok.

  “Arlene blew up,” Alexander mumbled confusedly, and my blood ran cold. Who? Did he have brain damage after all? The doctors said his concussion was extremely mild. Brains are so fragile. Maybe it was more serious than they realized…

  “Alexander, um, who’s Arlene?” I asked carefully, trying not to let my fear show on my face. Maybe this was just a result of the medication.

  Alexander laughed and then winced and coughed, shifting my hand to hold it in both of his. At least his sense of humor was intact because he looked awful (for him, which was still surprisingly sexy). I handed him a glass of water with a straw and he drank from it gratefully.

  “Arlene is the name of the car, Madison,” Alexander said when he was able to speak again. He flashed a brief smile that quickly turned to a more somber expression, “Or at least it was. Someone blew her up. Someone blew us up.”

  “Yes,” I said, nodding, “You just missed the police and the FBI. So far, they don’t know much about who did put the bomb in the car, but they do know how they did it. There was a pressure switch under the passenger seat. The only reason we aren’t both dead is that you walked over to help me with my shoe and the basket triggered the switch instead of my bodyweight. They found the valet. He’d been knocked out in the alley. The FBI left you their card. They want to talk to you.”