“You should have seen the look on the hospital administrator’s face when that nurse explained that a five-foot-nothing hundred pound girl had ripped the arms right off the exam chair and beat her up with them.”
“Is that what happened?”
PJ waved it off. “Who the fuck knows? Probably just had an old table. You do get pretty jumpy, and adrenaline does some weird shit.”
When PJ moved the tray to the floor and lay down next to me on the bed, I realized I'd eaten everything. It was a personal best for me.
“You might want to put something on. I feel my latent lesbian tendencies emerging.”
I looked down and immediately ran into the bathroom to grab a bathrobe. “How did that happen?”
PJ laughed. “Beats me, chica. Maybe you’re a sleep-stripper. Think of the possibilities.”
5
The next few days were pretty uneventful. I slept, ate like a starving child, and slept some more. I started to feel better enough to once again venture into the world, and PJ suggested some R&R.
Her form of relaxation was a club downtown, just a couple blocks from the ball park. Thermal was an all-ages club, which made it less popular with the over-21 crowd, but I knew the bartender and had a running tab. It was a good thing, too; I still hadn’t recovered my ID or any of my cards. I settled into a spot at the bar and watched PJ dance with some high school kid. The big black Xs stamped on their hands made them easy to spot.
After two shots and a screwdriver, I had just begun to get into my rhythm. Then I felt a horrible itchiness on my back. I slammed the rest of my drink and threaded my way through the crowd to the ladies’ room.
There was a line, of course. I stood in it for a few minutes, but when the itching became unbearable, I pushed past and said, “Irritable bowel, people. Move it or wear it.”
It worked, just like it usually did. I made it into the bathroom just as the itching became more than I could handle. I ran to the mirror and lifted my shirt. The runes had turned an angry, burning red. The moment I saw them, my brain registered the pain and I had to bite back a scream. I bullied my way into a stall and took off my top and bra.
With no fabric to rub against, my skin felt a little better, but I could still feel the heat coming off of me like a radiator. I couldn't go naked, but putting my bra back on hurt too much. I settled for the top and stuffed the bra in a pocket of my jeans. It only bulged a little.
I had to find PJ and get out of here.
The first part turned out to be more work than I expected. The place was packed wall to wall with people, and I’m not exactly tall. It took me a while to weave my way to the bar, but I saw bouncing red curls and bored a hole through the crowd.
PJ was comfortably drunk by this time. Her cheeks almost matched her hair, and her dancing looked a little erratic. She smiled at me and tried to drag me into a three-way butt grind. Instead, I grabbed her hand and pulled her to one of the far walls.
“I don’t feel well. I need to go.” I practically screamed it into her ear to be heard over the music. She dug in her pockets for her keys and gave them to me.
“You’re not coming?” I asked, confused.
PJ shook her head, still dancing even though there was hardly anyone on this side of the club. “I’ll call a cab. Take care.”
I was annoyed, but in the interest of fairness and trying not to drag down my friend’s good time, I relented. She signaled me to call her later. I nodded, and then realized my cell phone was missing along with everything else. PJ was lost in the crowd before I could tell her.
Outside, the night was unseasonably cool. I started to hike back to PJ’s car and looked up at the sky. It only ever really gets cool in Houston when it’s about to rain. Sure enough, it was completely clouded over and looked less than friendly. I walked faster. PJ, ever the cheapskate, always parked as far as she could from the club to get the cheaper parking rate.
I had to walk about three blocks to the car, and this whole burning up and freezing at the same time bit was getting old. A few stragglers were getting to the club late and walked in clumps on either side of the street. Some walked in the street itself.
I was just about to the car when a shadow blocked my path. I could just make out a ragged man in an old suit and slippers. His smell made me want to heave - sweat and stale urine, in equal parts.
“Got a dollar?”
PJ, for the love of God, why couldn't you park closer?
“No, I’m sorry. I don’t have any cash on me.”
For once, it was the truth, but the bum didn’t want to take no for an answer. He followed me to PJ’s car and stood close now.
“Two dollar get me a forty. Maybe you give me two?” One more step and he could grab me.
“I really don’t have any money. Please, just go.”
Something flashed, and searing pain hit my stomach. I looked down and saw a horizontal slash that sliced my top and bit into my skin. I was bleeding.
“You gimme what you got, bitch.”
So much blood. Gut wounds are bad. Heard that on a movie somewhere. Oh Jesus, who cares? RUN!
I didn’t get two steps before he blocked me off. I ran straight into him and the knife. Turns out I can’t bounce off steel. With a sickening, wet sound, the knife went straight into my abdomen.
Oh shit. Oh God. Fuck you, PJ!
I backed away. He looked almost as shocked as I did. Without thinking, I pulled the knife out and dropped it to the pavement. My legs gave out and I ended up on the ground, staring at the night sky.
The moon peeked out from behind a cloud. For a brief second, it was a blinding white, and then everything went dark.
6
I woke up screaming. It was still night, and I was still in the parking lot. The pain in my back had gone down to a dull throb, and the man was gone. I looked quickly in all directions. Not a soul was out and about. My mouth was dry and tasted like copper. I felt a tickle and coughed something thick and dark onto the pavement. The knife was gone.
I gave myself a good look from head to toe. My jeans were soaked with dried blood, but my stomach was untouched. I ran my hand against it just to be sure, and I felt nothing but unbroken skin. What had really happened? That bum couldn’t have stabbed me, right?
You didn’t come to the club sporting all that blood, genius.
I debated calling the police, but what would I tell them? Oh, yeah. Random homeless guy attacked me. I got better.
I looked around where I’d been laying and found PJ’s keychain. Another small miracle.
I thought about going back to the club to grab PJ, but the idea of walking back through the streets made me shake. Or maybe it was the fact that I’d just nearly been gutted like a fish? Either way, it didn’t matter. I got into PJ’s red coupe and floored it out of downtown.
The dashboard clock glowed an amber three-fifteen a.m. I’d been out for four hours. I was amazed no one saw me and called the cops. I was suddenly indignant about that.
Whatever, I told myself, maybe the universe is telling you to stay the hell away from clubs.
I don’t know why that seemed funny, but I laughed desperately most of the way home.
At the apartment, I locked the bolt, hung the chain, and set the push-lock on my bedroom door. I checked the window I’d jimmied open. It was fixed. Only after all that did I strip and crawl into bed.
I probably should have taken a shower to wash off the blood, but I was just too tired. I curled up in a little ball and slept.
7
Morning came too early. The insistent banging on my front door sounded so far away, I assumed it was the neighbors. When it didn’t stop, I angrily tossed my pillow to the corner of the room and got up. I reached to shuck off the covers, but they were a tangled mess at the foot of the bed.
I threw on a robe and stomped to the living room. I didn’t even bother checking the peephole. I just undid the bolt and twist-lock and flung the door open. “PJ, for fuck’s sake!”
I st
opped there, because the person at my door was a very tall, broad-shouldered, uniformed policeman. I choked on my own words and tried to smile meekly at him.
“I—uh, I’m sorry, officer. Is there something I can help you with?”
To his credit, he tipped his hat and went on like nothing was wrong. “Yes ma’am. Are you Dreama—”
“Dree, officer. Yes, that’s me. Can I help you?”
He brought up a clear plastic bag that I hadn’t noticed him holding and handed it to me. I took it dumbly, fumbling around at the contents until they registered.
My handbag! I tore the plastic open and rifled through. Everything was there. Tension I didn’t know was there released itself so suddenly that I swayed on my feet.
The officer flinched as though to catch me, but I waved him off. “I’m okay. I’m just so relieved to get it all back. May I ask where you found it?”
He nodded. “Well, that’s the curious thing, ma’am. It was brought to the station, as is. Left at the front desk before we could ask anything.”
Figured. Still, at this point, I was just so relieved to have the pieces of my life back that I didn’t care how they got there.
“You don’t usually hand-deliver this stuff, do you?” I gave him my best disarming grin.
He smiled shyly, and his dark brown eyes looked away. Interesting.
“Uh, no, ma’am. I actually live in the complex, and when I saw your address on your license, I thought I’d come by and save you the paperwork.”
“Well, thank you so much, Officer—Sutton. Would you like something to drink? Ice water, tea?” I dropped my things on the end table and turned toward the kitchen.
He actually blushed and looked away. “Oh no, ma’am. I’ve got to get to my patrol, but I wanted to drop off your things before I left.”
He tipped his hat and wished me a good day. It was only after he’d left that I realized the real reason he was blushing. My robe had fallen open when I turned. I cinched it shut again, then hastily closed the door and flipped the bolt.
8
PJ dropped by later in the day to pick up her car. I relayed my morning embarrassment and she completely missed the point.
“Was he hot?” she asked.
“I don’t know, I guess. What happened after I left last night?”
Her eyes lit up, and she spoke in rapid-fire phrases. “Oh fuck! You missed some excitement. A little while after you left, some guy runs in and pushes past the bouncers, and he’s all covered in blood. He’s screaming at the top of his lungs to call 911 and saying something about his buddy getting attacked.”
Guess that makes two of us, I thought. I shuddered, and PJ noticed.
“What’s wrong?”
“It’s nothing,” I lied. “Just a chill, I guess.”
“Easy to do in your robe. The fuck is it with you and clothes lately? Thinking of going nudist on me?”
I shrugged. “What happened next?”
“Oh, they called an ambulance. I figure it was just a drunk fight, you know? One guy beats up on the other one and realizes ‘Holy shit! He’s really bleeding!’ and panics. Full moon brings out the loonies.”
I got up for water. “Do you want something? I’ve still got some sweet tea left.”
PJ nodded. While I was in the kitchen, she peeked her head around the corner at me.
“So what happened to you last night? Pick someone up?”
I was glad I had my head in the fridge so she couldn’t see my face. I debated what to tell her. The truth, but not the whole truth, was probably best.
“My back started hurting.”
“Hurting how?”
I recounted the whole incident in the ladies room. She thought for a moment.
“Maybe you’re allergic to the ink they used. It’s happened before. My uncle runs a tat shop. Sometimes folks have a bad reaction.”
“Do you think your uncle would know anything about my back? Like what it means?”
She shook her head. “He’s a Texan, born and raised. Poppa might know something, though.”
“Your Dad?”
“Nah, grandpa. Poppa Mackenzie. He immigrated in the forties. The shop’s his, but my uncle runs it these days.”
It was as good a place to start as any. “Where is this shop?”
“Southwest side.”
Ouch. Any time you heard something on the news about a shooting or a serious car crash, it was on the southwest side. We’d have to go during the day.
“Up for a drive?” I asked. The smile on PJ’s face was answer enough.
PJ drove, so it didn’t take us very long to make it around the city. Celtic Knot Tattoos was perhaps not the most original name for a tattoo parlor, but the patterns around the sign were close enough to the things on my back that I had hope.
The sounds when we walked in set my teeth on edge. I focused on the back of the store, and avoided looking at all the needles and various other instruments of torture. Apparently they pierced here too. Good for them.
A burly middle-aged man came out from behind a curtain. He gave PJ a broad smile and an open bear hug, and shook my hand gently.
“Connor Mackenzie. Nice to meet you. My niece says you have a question about a tattoo?”
“I do. Is there somewhere…more private I can show you?”
He gave a sly smile. “In a sensitive place, is it? Come on in.”
He directed us back to a room that looked disturbingly familiar to the hospital exam room. There were no windows. He shut the door behind us.
I took off my shirt but left on my bra. This was PJ’s family, not mine. Connor took a look at my back and whistled.
“Man, that’s fine work. Who’d you get it done by? I want to hire him. Or her?”
I gave PJ a distressed look, and she covered for me. “Do you think Poppa might know what the runes mean? She just picked them out of a book.”
I breathed a sigh of relief. Connor put on a pair of gloves and poked around on my back a bit. “Damn fine work. Amazing detail. Bon, you need to give me this guy’s number. He’s an artist. A goddamned Michelangelo.”
It took me a second to realize that Bon was his name for PJ. She nodded. “I’m sure we have his number somewhere. Can you get Poppa for us?”
Connor stopped poking me. I slipped my top back on and watched the two Mackenzies share a glance that I’m pretty sure I wasn’t meant to see. Connor forced a smile.
“He’s upstairs. He’s missed you, Bon. It’d do him good if you said hello yourself.”
PJ grabbed her necklace and started chewing on it. “Okay. Dree, come on.”
She opened the door and motioned me to follow. We climbed a set of narrow stairs and came out in a cozy little apartment. Apparently when PJ said Poppa lived at the shop, she meant it literally.
PJ moved around like she was familiar with the place. I wasn’t so lucky. I ended up bumping the kitchen table, which was filled with bottles of medication and alcohol. We went into the small bedroom and PJ greeted the old man in the bed with a gentle hug.
He smiled. “That’s my Bonny wee Lass. Been some time.”
PJ turned to me. “Poppa, this is my friend Dree.”
Poppa Mackenzie looked like he might have been a boxer in a former life. He had the kind of build that was part bulldog and part dwarf: short, but thick.
“Hello, sir,” I said.
“Call me Poppa.”
“Um, hello, Poppa.”
He motioned us to sit down in the chairs beside his bed. “So what brings you here, Bonny Lass?”
“Dree has a question about some symbols on a tattoo she got. We wondered if maybe you could take a look.”
“Aye, I could. Care to show me?”
I sat on the edge of his bed and lifted up the back of my shirt. I wasn’t entirely sure if he’d consider it appropriate for me to strip it off.
“That’s a good bit o’ ink, lass. I cannae see it all, though. Go ahead, your vitals are covered.”
I went ahe
ad and took my shirt off, and watched him over my shoulder. He was squinting.
“Bonny, fetch my spare eyes, would ye?”
PJ handed him his reading glasses from the nightstand and he made a more thorough inspection with his hands. He went from top to bottom. When he’d finished, I felt him draw back and take a sharp breath.
Dreams of Gray Page 2