I did as Peter instructed. I closed my eyes, cleared my mind and focused only on my charge’s name: Thayer Harrison. Thayer Harrison. Thayer Harrison. I tried my best to drown out the sounds around me and focus only on the pounding in my chest. I could no longer hear the ticking of the Time Keeper; it had been replaced by the rhythmic beat of my charge’s heart … of my borrowed heart.
“Eve, I think we’re here,” I heard Peter whisper.
I looked around only to discover we were in the heart of the city. More precisely, we were standing at the corner of State and Maple, as I soon discovered from the nearby street signs.
People mulled busily around us, but no one paid us any attention. I then realized no one even saw us because Peter and I still were invisible.
“Over there. The alley,” Peter whispered. A minute later, Peter materialized in a hidden doorway within the empty corridor.
“Eve, how much time is left?”
I materialized by his side and looked at my watch. “Just under seven minutes.”
“C’mon, Bo Peep, let’s go find your lost sheep and bring him home safely,” Peter chuckled.
“Very funny,” I snapped.
* * *
It was a quarter to ten on a Friday night, and my charge, my “sheep,” was walking out of a restaurant with three other men and a woman, all of whom were at least ten years older than my human.
“Hey, you want to jump in our cab?” one of the men asked my charge.
“No thanks,” he replied. “I think I’ll walk off some of that meal.” He patted his stomach.
“Suit yourself,” the man responded and got into a cab along with one other guy.
“Have a good weekend!” the third man shouted as he and the only woman in the group were running across the street to catch a cab heading in the opposite direction.
“You too!” Thayer Harrison shouted back while waving his hand. He headed north, and Peter and I followed him in our ethereal states. We watched him stop at an ATM to get some money, which he shoved into his wallet without counting the amount before continuing to make his way north on State Street towards a nearby dimly-lit residential area.
He had only gone a block or so when I noticed the man following him. The stranger had not escaped my charge’s attention either. My human glanced over his shoulder and picked up the pace slightly, turning down a small side street. The stranger turned down the side street as well. Suddenly, Thayer stopped dead in his tracks and turned around. I felt his heartbeat quicken.
“What is he doing?” I whispered in alarm.
“Who knows what goes on in their heads,” Peter whispered in response.
“Can I help you?” my charge demanded. I was shocked. He was facing off with the stranger, who was now only a few yards away and closing in fast.
“Just give me your wallet, and I’ll be on my way,” the stranger ordered.
Crap! He wants to mug my human! I exclaimed in my mind.
The mugger was wearing ripped jeans that were at least two sizes too big and an oversized black hoodie that covered most of his face. He unzipped his hoodie halfway and flashed the gun concealed beneath it.
Well that certainly complicates matters. I could only hope my charge would do the smart thing and hand over his wallet.
“I don’t have any money,” Thayer responded. Although his voice sounded calm, I could feel his heart pounding in fear.
“Don’t screw with me, man,” the mugger shot back. “I saw you make a little visit to the ATM. Now, hand it over.”
My charge slowly and reluctantly pulled out his wallet, but he didn’t hand it to the mugger. In fact, my charge seemed to be hesitating.
Was he actually thinking this over? my mind shouted in disbelief. What was wrong with him? Still invisible, I darted over to my charge and stood just behind his left shoulder.
“Don’t fight him. Just hand him the money,” I whispered in my charge’s ear, trying to reason with him.
He whipped his head over his left shoulder, looking for whoever had just offered him the unsolicited advice, but my charge couldn’t see me. Thoroughly confused, he quickly turned his head around in the other direction, but I remained invisible. The mugger took full advantage of my charge in his distracted state, swiped the wallet clean out of my human’s hand, and ran.
My charge abruptly snapped back into reality and began to chase the creep. The mugger was fast, but my human was faster; he was rapidly gaining on his attacker. I moved swiftly and invisibly alongside my human.
“Don’t follow him. It’s not worth it. He has a gun!” I whispered to him again, but he ignored my warning this time. He didn’t even bother to pause and look around to see who might be behind the voice. He was determined not to let the mugger escape.
The stranger darted into a nearby alley, and my human followed. As he rounded the corner, however, he was struck in the head with a two-by-four the mugger had found in the alley. Thayer went down like a house of cards on the pavement.
“Stupid moron!” the mugger shouted, bending over him. Then the guy began pacing back and forth, getting visibly more agitated with each step. “You should have just given me the money. Now you pissed me off.” The mugger kicked my human in the ribs and then proceeded to kick him a few more times. My charge just lay there, unconscious in a crumpled heap, his body heaving with each blow. His heartbeat began to slow down.
I didn’t know what to do. I wanted to shove the mugger away from my charge, I wanted to kick him in the ribs and give him a taste of his own medicine, but I knew I couldn’t. Rule Four prohibited me from deliberately causing harm to any living creatures—criminals included.
To makes matter’s worse, kicking my human wasn’t enough to fully vent the mugger’s rage. Still pacing, the assailant pulled the gun out from under his hoodie, cocked it, and pointed it at my charge’s head.
“This is what you get for being such a stupid jackass!” the mugger seethed.
Crap! I looked for Peter, but he was nowhere to be seen. I hadn’t realized that Peter’s idea of shadowing me would have such a literal interpretation. I had to do something—fast. I did the only thing I could think of doing. Making sure there were no witnesses, I materialized and turned the corner into the mouth of the alley.
“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” I warned. Startled, the mugger looked up at me. He was standing not more than ten yards away. “I know what you look like. I can identify you, but I won’t say anything if you leave him alone. You got what you wanted—just take the money and go. Leave him be.”
Panicked, the mugger turned the gun away from my human and pointed it at me.
“That’s good. Draw the attacker away from your charge and towards you.” I couldn’t tell if Peter was actually whispering to me or if I was simply repeating his advice in my head. Regardless, I felt like I should be nervous or scared. I mean, here I was staring down the wrong end of a gun. But I wasn’t frightened. I was completely focused on doing my job—on finding a way to save the life of this human being lying on the ground.
Thayer stirred; he was coming around. The mugger turned the gun back on him.
So much for Plan A, I thought. I guess it’s time for Plan B.
“I can’t let you shoot him,” I said, now standing a foot away from the mugger.
“What …? How the …? You … you were standing over there.” The mugger stumbled backwards and did a double take to the entrance of the alley and then back to me.
“I won’t touch you … as long as you don’t touch him.” I pointed at my charge, who stirred slightly again. “So my advice to you is to just take the money and get out of here.”
The mugger eyed the wallet in his one hand and the gun in his other. I could see the waves of confusion, fear, and desperation flash across his face. I looked into his eyes; he looked totally strung out. He hadn’t been thinking clearly to begin with; he only cared about getting enough money to score his next fix. I had the sinking feeling it would be utterly useless for me
to try to reason with him. I was right. Without warning, the mugger pointed the gun at my stomach and pulled the trigger.
“Phase out! Quickly!” Even though I still couldn’t see Peter, I heard his voice clearly this time. I dematerialized just in time for the bullet to pass through me and lodge itself in the brick wall behind me.
“Superhero stuff for sure,” I remarked as I rematerialized.
Peter laughed out loud, which made the mugger spin around again, only to see no one behind him. The strung-out druggie was disoriented and confused; which, in turn, allowed me to grab the gun away from him with ease.
“That was not very nice,” I said, flashing the mugger a menacing look. “Didn’t your mother teach you to play well with others?” Now beyond spooked, the mugger dropped my charge’s wallet and ran off and out the other end of the alley.
Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed my human stir again. The alley was dark, save for a few staggered streetlights, one of which was casting its light in our direction. I looked down at my human only to discover him staring up at me hazily.
I couldn’t help but be drawn into his gaze. He had the darkest, deepest blue eyes; they were absolutely stunning. I had to force myself to look away.
My charge tried to sit up, but he was in no condition to do so. He clutched the side of his head where he had been hit with the two-by-four. There was a deep gash above his left temple, and he was bleeding.
“Don’t try to get up. You’re hurt.” I heard the sirens off in the distance; they were heading in this direction. Someone nearby probably heard the gunshot and called the police. “Help is on its way.”
“Evie? Is … is that you?” my human mumbled weakly. He looked at me again, struggling to focus on my face. “I thought you …” His voice was trailing in and out as he was teetering on the brink of unconsciousness.
Evie? I repeated to myself. Did my charge know me? I was beyond confused. I thought we were assigned only to humans who had no knowledge, personal or otherwise, of us when we were alive.
“I … I’m sorry,” I stuttered, “I think … you have me confused with someone else.” I began to doubt my words as soon as they stumbled out of my mouth. There was something about my charge, something vaguely familiar about him—about his eyes. It was like I had seen them before. But this was neither the time nor the place to figure it all out. The sirens were getting closer. I knew I had to get out of there.
“Help will be here soon,” I reiterated. “You’ll be fine … Just don’t move.” I tried to remain calm, but it was difficult to do so under the circumstances. My adrenaline, if that’s what you called it, was on overload. In a matter of minutes, I had revealed myself to a human, met my charge, saved his life by almost taking a bullet for him, disarmed a drug addict-mugger-murderer, and now had to come to terms with the possibility that my charge recognized me. I wondered if other Shepherds’ first days on the job were anything like mine. Probably not.
I realized I was still holding the mugger’s gun and laid it carefully into a shallow pool of water that had formed in a pothole about ten feet from my human. I made sure the handle of the gun was still visible so the police could locate and confiscate it with ease. Afraid to dematerialize in front of my charge, I just turned around and began to walk briskly out of the alley the same way I entered.
“Evie! Wait! Please!” my charge shouted weakly. His words haunted me, sending shivers down my spine, but I had no idea why.
I didn’t dare look back. I rounded the corner and made sure there were no witnesses before resuming my ethereal form. I waited for the ambulance to arrive, not wanting to go anywhere on the off chance that the mugger would return to the scene of the crime while Thayer lay there injured and vulnerable. Two police cars and an ambulance arrived within a couple minutes of each other. As I’d hoped, the police found the mugger’s gun and my human’s wallet. They questioned my charge to see what happened, but he wasn’t much help in his current state.
“A guy tried to … to swipe my wallet,” my charge managed. “I chased him … but he hit me … Then a girl … she stopped him. I think he might have … shot her. Did you see her?” he asked more urgently as he unsuccessfully tried to sit up. “You … you have to find her.”
Thankfully, the police did not take my human’s version of the evening’s events verbatim.
“Son, have you been drinking tonight?” one of the officers asked. He had pulled my human’s driver’s license from his wallet. “Says here you’re only twenty.”
“No … no drinking,” my charge replied weakly. “Just dinner … with people from work.”
The EMTs laid Thayer out on a stretcher and loaded him into the ambulance. I also rode inside the ambulance, careful to remain out of sight and out of the way. My human continued to slip in and out of consciousness. While in his semiconscious state, he uttered my name once or twice followed by bits and pieces of my whispered warnings. One of the EMTs administered a shot of something into my charge’s arm, and in less than a minute he was out like a light.
I watched the EMTs treat his head wound and examine his body for additional injuries. In the ER, he was diagnosed with a concussion and bruised ribs. His head was stitched and bandaged, and he was admitted for the evening for further observation. I stayed by his side the entire night. My mind was racing, wondering if he really did know me.
15. A Case of Mistaken Identity?
Thayer was discharged from the hospital early the next morning with a handful of extra bandages and a bottle of codeine. He took a cab back to his place—a one-bedroom loft on the third floor of a mid-rise in the West Loop. He peeled off his clothes slowly, wincing in pain as he did, crept into bed, and slept most of the day away.
Knowing he would not soon wake from his drug-induced slumber, I materialized and stretched out my limbs. Peter was right; I did prefer to be in my human form. The ethereal, or “phantom,” version of me felt too strange, too insubstantial—too lifeless.
Speaking of lifeless, it was a little unnerving watching my charge, my sheep, lying there so unbelievably still—his body battered and his face swollen, purple, and bandaged. The painkillers really affected him. He lay there motionless; I could barely see his chest rise and fall with each breath. And even though I could hear his heart beating steadily, I walked over to him and placed the back of my hand near his face to feel his breath as he exhaled. I stood there for a while, staring at him, studying his face, searching it for anything familiar, but I drew a blank.
I hung out in his apartment all morning, snooping around to learn more about him. I was sure that all the information I needed to know about Mr. Thayer Harrison was tucked neatly away in his file—the file that I hadn’t had time to read while out in some cornfield in the middle of nowhere with only minutes to spare before needing to save his life. So now I had to resort to more covert tactics; I would turn over every stone and see what I could find out about him. I mean, I was assigned to protect this guy’s life, right? Wasn’t it in his best interest for me to learn everything I could about him?
I actually liked his apartment; it was open and airy and had a somewhat industrial feel about it. The living area was made up of a spacious common room with a combined kitchen. The room had high ceilings, complete with exposed pipes and ducts suspended above. A few oversized vintage posters of Chicago were hung on the walls.
In the northwest corner of the large common room was the kitchen. It had stainless steel and glass cabinets, black marble countertops, and stainless steel appliances. The only division between the kitchen and the rest of the room was a breakfast bar that jutted out from one of the two exposed brick walls. I opened the refrigerator to discover it contained only a half-empty gallon of whole milk, a six-pack of Coke, several bottles of water, and a few miscellaneous take-out containers.
Opposite the kitchen were wall-to-wall windows that extended from floor to ceiling, providing a partial view of the Loop skyline. I sat down in an upholstered wingback chair facing the kitchen and the
hallway to his bedroom, propped my feet up on a dark wood coffee table, the length of which was positioned a few feet in front a sage green couch, and surveyed the rest of the space.
To my left were a big flat-screen television and a sleek stereo system. Two floating glass shelves were hung on either side of the TV, but the shelves were empty save for a few coffee table books, Chicago travel guides, and a short stack of CDs. On the other side of the couch, opposite the TV, was the dining room table, on which sat a stack of papers and a laptop. A charcoal-grey suit jacket was draped over one of the dining room chairs.
I stood up and wandered back down the hallway into my charge’s bedroom. An alarm clock and an iPod docking station sat on one of the two bedside tables flanking the queen-sized bed, in which my charge was sleeping. The headboard was pushed up against the only exposed brick wall in the room, on which was hung an array of miscellaneous black-and-white photographs of Chicago tucked inside an eclectic collection of picture frames. The west wall of his bedroom also had floor-to-ceiling windows, which were hidden behind thick, dark curtains.
The apartment was in perfect order. Certainly no one could accuse Thayer of being a slob. Still, something was amiss. The apartment was devoid of any personal effects—no family photos, no mementos, and no knickknacks of any kind. And save for the scant summer wardrobe and business attire, the closets were virtually empty. No winter coats or boots, no sports equipment—nothing. There weren’t any boxes of stuff yet to be unpacked either. In fact, there was very little evidence to suggest that my charge actually lived there. The one bedroom loft seemed more like a hotel suite than a home.
How odd. On a mission to find something more about my charge, I examined his medicine cabinet. He had the usual stuff: toothbrush, toothpaste, mouthwash, deodorant, hairbrush, some type of hair product in a jar, disposable razors, some aspirin, and a bottle of Motrin. In the shower, he had a bar of oatmeal soap and bottles of citrus-mint shampoo and conditioner.
Borrowed Heart Page 17