Fractured Fairy Tales: A SaSS Anthology

by Amy Marie

  "Hear what?" Mack had his phone in his hand, typing a text.

  "The dead guy talked."

  "I'm not dead." The man on the ground moaned and grabbed her ankle again. "Don't kick me anymore. It hurts."

  Mack squatted down and held his palm over the man's nose. "I'll be a son of a monkey. He's alive."

  "That's what I'm trying to tell you." The man opened one eye and looked at them. "What happened? Everything hurts."

  Sylvia clapped a hand to her mouth. "Damn it, man. I'm sorry."

  "Just stop." His eye closed again as he let out a sigh/moan combination.

  Sylvia waved to a couple of medics. "Hey, y'all, bring the stretcher over here."

  "This here sorry sack is still breathin'!" Mack called out.

  Twice her age and as old school as they come, Gene "Mack" McCoy, could be real rough around the edges. The agency had talked retirement with him many times but, he was a kick ass Marshal and had saved her butt more than a time or two so she refused to work with anyone else. This trip was supposed to be his last gig for the agency before he retired at the end of the week.

  Two medics appeared with a stretcher and a gear bag. "Let us in," a female medic said, elbowing past Sylvia and Mack.

  "He's a lot luckier than the other son of a bitch." Mack waved toward the end of the alley where their witness lay.

  Sylvia swung an arm around the shoulders of her partner as they walked over to the crime scene. "Guess you're not retiring on Friday after all. Too bad."

  "Oh no, little girl. I've given the agency thirty years of my life. I'm done."

  "You're gonna leave me to handle this whole mess myself?" Sylvia squatted and pulled the man's wallet and cell phone from his pocket. "So much for witness protection. This sorry sap could have had a whole new life courtesy of the U.S Department of Justice. Instead, he went and got himself murdered."

  Mack's phone chimed, indicating an incoming text message. He read the message then grinned at Sylvia.

  Sylvia used her own cell phone to take a few photographs of the victim. "What's so amusing?"

  Mack chuckled and handed her his phone. "You're gonna love this."

  She took the phone and read the message. "Oh, hell no!"

  The message, from their boss Tom Carruthers read Tell SF she's on guard duty. He's our witness now, and she can't let him out of her sight.

  "I'm not babysitting. No way. All I brought was a change of clothes. He could be in the hospital for days. Or weeks." Sylvia kicked at an empty beer can. It bounced, spilling its contents on her boot. Apparently, it wasn't actually empty. "I knew I should have stayed in North Carolina."

  Mack shrugged. "He's an eye witness to the murder of our witness. Someone's got to keep an eye on him and I've got one foot out the retirement door." He pointed toward the ambulance. "You better get moving, they're about to pull out."

  "Crap! Fine. But you owe me!" Sylvia jogged toward the ambulance, stopping once to turn around. "Steak dinner. I will collect when this over!"

  Mack gave her a salute before turning his attention to the medical examiner that had just arrived.

  Sylvia reached the ambulance and stopped, bending over to catch her breath.

  "You might need this stretcher more than me."

  Sylvia straightened and peered into the back of the vehicle to find the shooting victim smiling at her. "Sorry about earlier, um, what did you say your name is?"

  He pointed to a name tag stuck to his sweater. "Prince Patrick, apparently."

  One of the EMT's appeared at her side. "We need to head out, ma'am."

  "I'm going with you." She pulled her ID from her pocket and showed it to the young man. "This man may have witnessed the murder of a man in protective custody."

  The EMT motioned to the inside of the truck. "Hop on in but you're wasting your time."

  "Why?" Sylvia narrowed her eyes at the man.

  He walked a few feet away and motioned for Sylvia to follow. "Poor sap can't remember anything."

  "Nothing?" She looked over at the man in the bed and then back to the EMT. "He just told me his name."

  "Prince Patrick?"

  She nodded. "Yeah."

  "Dude's wearing a paper sticker that says Prince Patrick on it. It's the only identification he's got."

  Sylvia rolled her eyes. "Well, that's just flipping wonderful."

  "Trauma induced amnesia is usually very short term. His head took a good whack and he's been shot. He's lucky to be alive, if you ask me."

  "The wound didn't look life threatening."

  He shook his head. "It's not the wounds I'm talking about. Someone tried to kill him. Based on the other body at the scene, I'm thinking his injury was a fluke. It should have been fatal."

  "You know your stuff." She stuck out her hand. "Name's Sylvia Fairfax, US Marshal Service."

  The EMT shook it. "James Boyd. My dad's been on the job my whole life. Dinner time conversations were, shall we say, unique?"

  Sylvia chuckled. "I know what you mean. Let's get Prince Patrick to the hospital, shall we? With any luck, his memory will come back with some medical treatment."

  James led the way, waiting until Sylvia climbed in and then pulled the doors closed behind them. This was going to be a very long night.

  Chapter 2

  She settled on one of the bench seats and held her badge out. "So, Prince Patrick, I'm Agent Fairfax with the U.S. Marshal Service. Can you tell me what happened tonight?"

  "I was shot and I guess I hit my head."

  "Do you remember anything about the person who shot you?"

  Patrick winced as James lifted his wrist to check his pulse. "Nope."

  "Do you have any idea why you were in that alley?"

  He let his eyes close as a sigh escaped his lips. "I wish I did."

  Sylvia looked at James who nodded and made the sign for sleep, pretending to rest his head on his hands. She nodded and sat back against the wall of the ambulance. Sleep could help his memory come back.

  The ride was short and fast. In less than five minutes they pulled up to the emergency room entrance. A team of medical staff met them as the doors to the truck opened.

  "Talk to me," one of the nurses said. To the others she said, "Get him in a room and prep him for surgery."

  "Male, single gunshot wound to the shoulder and a head injury, cause undetermined. Vitals are decent. BP 128/86, pulse 55."

  "Name?"

  "Prince Patrick," Sylvia said. James chuckled and the other staff gave her an odd look.

  "Is Prince his last name?" the nurse asked.

  Sylvia shrugged. "Your guess is as good as mine. He has no identification or cell phone on him and his memory is completely gone. He has a sticker on his shirt that says Prince Patrick."

  "He might need surgery. We'll figure out who he is later." The nurse turned and strode toward the doors, Sylvia and James close on her heel.

  "Where are you going?" the nurse asked Sylvia as she pulled open one of the doors.

  "That man is in protective custody. He's not supposed to be out of my sight."

  "And I need my bed back," James said.

  The nurse rolled her eyes at him. "I wasn't asking you. Just go. You know procedure." She turned to Sylvia, tapping her pen to the clipboard she carried. "But you, well, you can't just hang out in the operating room."

  Sylvia rested her hand on the butt of the pistol she wore on her hip. "I have a job to do."

  Nurse Jodie, Sylvia could see her name tag now, glanced at her hip and then back up. "You gonna shoot me, officer?"

  "I'm an agent of the federal government, not an officer and, no, I don't plan to shoot you at the moment. However, your patient—and my witness—is in danger. I need to be able to protect him."

  "What exactly did he get himself mixed up in?" James asked, pushing the stretcher past them and loading it into the ambulance.

  "We're still trying to figure that out but it's nothing good. Not based on the other body at the scene. Someone known t
o us for way too many reasons."

  Jodie threw her hands in the air and let out a frustrated sigh. "Fine. If he needs surgery, you can stand outside the OR door and watch him through the window. That's the best I can do."

  Sylvia gave her a curt nod. "Works for me. For now."

  Jodie made a note on the chart she carried on a clipboard. "The whole thing is just ridiculous. What could happen to him in the OR? You should go get something to eat. Take advantage of the fact that we have him in a safe space."

  She'd never admit it to the nurse but Jodie had a point. She was hungry, and could use a trip to the ladies' room. "Just show me where he is for now and I'll decide how secure he is when I see the operating room."

  Jodie shook her head and made another notation on her chart. "Fair enough, I suppose. Follow me."

  The other woman led the way down a dim hall to a curtained space at the back of the emergency department.

  Sylvia stepped into the space to find her witness asleep. She settled in the chair by the bed and pulled out her phone. Swiping a message open from Mack she growled when she saw the picture of the juicy steak dinner he sent her.

  "Imbecile," she said, sticking her tongue out at her phone.

  "You or the phone?"

  Sylvia looked up so see Patrick watching her through the loose waves that had fallen across his forehead, a teasing glint mixed with the obvious pain in his eyes. "What?

  "Are you calling yourself an imbecile? Or your phone?"

  Resisting the sudden urge to smooth that hair back from his eyes, she shoved the phone in her jacket pocket and frowned. "I thought you were sleeping. Has your memory come back yet?"

  "I'm doing okay, thanks for asking." Patrick lifted his uninjured arm and covered his eyes with it. "And, no, it hasn't."

  Sylvia frowned. The longer it took for him to remember, the longer she'd be stuck babysitting.

  "Good evening, Mr. Prince." A tall man wearing scrubs and wool socks with a pair of Birkenstocks stepped into the space. He turned to Sylvia, hand extended. "I'm Dr. Rivers. Are you Mrs. Prince?"

  "No!" Sylvia jumped to her feet, pulling her credentials from her pocket. "I'm US Marshal Sylvia Fairfax. This is my witness. His name isn't Mr. Prince."

  Looking amused, Dr. Rivers studied the chart, his brow furrowing as he read. "That's what it says here."

  "He's got amnesia or something. Says he can't remember anything." She pointed toward Patrick's chest. "His name tag says, Prince Patrick, but he has no idea what it means."

  "Hello." Patrick waved his uninjured arm. "I'm right here, people. Stop talking about me like I'm dead or something, just because I don't remember who I am."

  "I'm so sorry, sir." Dr. Rivers walked over to the bed. "Let's take a look at your injuries."

  Patrick leaned forward slightly so the doctor could examine the wound on his head. He checked Patrick's eyes and then examined the shoulder wound. Sylvia watched in silence as Patrick winced with each probe of the doctor's fingers.

  "So, you definitely have a concussion. Your left pupil isn't reactive to light the way we'd like it to be. Your shoulder wound, however, is a very clean, through and through shot. The bleeding has all but stopped. I'm going to order a CT and an MRI to scan for any internal damages but I don’t think you'll need surgery, just some stitches and a round of heavy duty antibiotics. You'll be out of here in two or three days, tops."

  "Two or three days!" Sylvia couldn't stop the words. She clapped a hand over her mouth.

  Dr. Rivers nodded as made a couple of notations in the computer he'd logged into. "I'm afraid so, Miss. Don't worry though, he should be absolutely fine."

  Sylvia paced the tiny space. Two steps to the left and two steps to the right. "It’s not that. This was supposed to be a quick overnight trip."

  "You can just go on about your business. I'm sure they will figure out who I am eventually."

  She stopped moving and glared at the man in the bed. "You are my business. I can’t just leave the only person that witnessed the death of a high value government asset."

  "High value government asset? Lady, you found me in an alley wearing a sticker that claims I'm a prince with no money, no identification, and no memory. I'm no value to anyone."

  Propping a hand on her hip, Sylvia narrowed her eyes at him. "Not you. The man you saw get shot. He's our asset. I have no idea who you are."

  Patrick reached over and wrapped his fingers around her wrist. A shot of pure energy passed between them, warming Sylvia in places that had been dormant way too long. "That makes two of us, sister."

  The electricity that arched between them when he grabbed Sylvia's wrist could have lit up the entire city. The shock of it caused a slight groan to escape his lips. He really hoped she thought it was because of one of his injuries.

  The doctor looked from Patrick to Sylvia and back again, his expression tinted with a slight smile. "I'll have the nurse set things up and then I will be back to sew you up. In the meantime, I'll schedule those tests and see about getting you admitted."

  "Thanks, doc."

  Dr. Rivers left the space. Patrick never looked away from Sylvia's dark green eyes. The color of emeralds and perfect accent to her dark hair, those eyes would have made him forget everything, if he hadn't already.

  Sylvia glanced down at his hand, still holding on to her. "You can let go. I'm not leaving and, unfortunately, neither are you."

  "Good evening, Mr. Prince." The curtain parted and an older woman wearing green scrubs and her hair in a tight knot as the base of her head stepped in to the space, pushing a small cart. "We're gonna get you sewn up and then set you up with deluxe accommodations upstairs for the next few days."

  "Dr. Rivers said two days. You think it will be longer?" She tugged at her arm as she spoke. Patrick reluctantly let go of Sylvia's wrist and she stepped quickly away from the bed, out of his reach.

  The nurse shrugged. "That decision is above my pay grade. But, either way, sweetie, your man will be as good as new once Dr. Rivers is done. He's the best there is in this department. Actually, the entire hospital, if you ask me."

  "He is not my man. He's my witness." Sylvia flashed her badge again, quick to define their relationship.

  Not that they had a relationship. He didn't even know her. Heck, at the moment he didn't even know himself. Something about Marshal Sylvia Fairfax intrigued him though.

  Not that it mattered. He could have a wife somewhere. He looked down at his left hand. No ring. No ring tan. Okay, so probably not married. Maybe a girlfriend? He shifted on the annoyingly uncomfortable mattress.

  "This sucks." He shifted again.

  Sylvia scowled. "Not exactly a dream date for me either."

  "I meant this bed. I can feel every metal bar through the mattress."

  She chuckled. "This isn't the Hyatt. Maybe your name tag should have read Princess. Can you feel the tiny pea poking at you?"

  "Don't quit your day job. Comedy is not your talent." He moved one more time. Pain shot down his arm and he moaned. "I think the pain meds are wearing off."

  The nurse patted his leg. "Not to worry young man, I'm about to fix that right now." Using a large syringe, she injected some liquid pain medicine into his IV. “In about three seconds you won't feel a thing."

  In his head, Patrick counted to three. The room became hazy. Sylvia grew a second head and he could have sworn he saw birdies circling his own head.

  "Ohhhh, wowwww." Patrick let his eyelids close slightly to block out the sharp glare of the overhead lights. "Is this what it feels like?"

  "What feels like?" Sylvia leaned over and looked down at him.

  Patrick reached up to touch her face and missed. There were now three Sylvia's staring at him, grinning. "Drugs."

  The nurse laughed. "He's on a major trip right now. In a few more minutes he'll fall asleep and won't feel a thing."

  Patrick nodded. At least he tried to. His head felt like it weighed a thousand pounds. "I am kinda tired."

  "We
ready to stitch up that wound and get you down to the imaging department?" Dr. Rivers stepped into the tiny room, this time wearing a white coat and pulling on some gloves.

  "Sure thing, doc." His words sounded odd to his own ears. Like the letters had all run together.

  "He's high as a damn kite, Dr. Rivers." Sylvia laughed. "I'll get out of the way now."

  Patrick reached out and grabbed her hand. "Stay. Please."

  Sylvia gave him a confused look. "Why?"

  "I don't like needles." His head lolled to the side, his tongue feeling two sizes too big for his mouth. Air refused to get into his lungs. Patrick gasped, trying to suck in oxygen.

  "Um, doctor, I think something's wrong. He can't breathe. And his lips are turning blue."

  Doctor Rivers looked up from his surgical supplies. "What do you—oh wow! He's having an anaphylactic reaction to the pain medicine. Nurse! I need epi, right now!"

  The tighter his throat felt, the tighter he squeezed Sylvia's hand. Black spots danced before his eyes, taunting him with complete darkness.

  When he next opened his eyes, sunlight streamed through the partially opened curtains on the lone window in the tiny room. The smell of disinfectant lingered with something even less appealing, like vomit.

  "Where am I?" The pain it caused when he spoke, cut right through him.

  "Virginia Beach General Hospital."

  Patrick turned his head to the side and caught sight of the stunning brunette sitting beside him, her emerald eyes filled with concern. "You nearly died. Twice now, actually."

  "Agent Fairfax. Right. I forgot, someone tried to kill me and I don't know who I am." He tugged at a loose thread of the blanket that covered him.

  Sylvia reached over and placed her hand over his. The simple touch fired off some not so simple reactions in his sore body. "You had an allergic reaction to the pain medicine they gave you in the emergency room."

  Patrick frowned. "I don't have any allergies. At least, I didn't think I did. But, who knows."

  She squeezed his hand lightly before pulling away. "We will figure out who you are, I promise."