Gulf Boulevard by Dennis Hart

Author:Dennis Hart
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781579623531
Publisher: The Permanent Press
Published: 2014-02-06T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Island Sympathy

“There’s a fine line between cuddling and holding someone down so they can’t get away.”

—AUTHOR UNKNOWN

Somewhere in the vague distance I hear my name. A female voice calls out to me. She is getting closer and louder like the whistle of an approaching locomotive. Occupying a seat next to her is a dark cloud of pain in the shape of my face. The train is traveling at a high speed when the engineer suddenly slams on the brakes in the middle of my kitchen.

“Jason.” She hovers over me. Close to my face. Dabbing me with something wet. Is she the naked lady on the turtle?

“Jason. Jason, I’m here for you. What the hell happened?”

My eyelids lift slightly and a flood of artificial light pours in. I can’t feel half my face.

“That’s it, Jason. Look at me.”

Dark hair. Four eyes, two noses. A few blinks, a reset, and her face comes into focus. Fiona. And then the pain arrives at the station. “Fuck me,” I moan. Part of my impish mind wonders if she might take my first words as an invitation.

“Did you walk into a wall or what?” she asks, brushing my hair with her hand. She is sitting on the floor beside me, my head on her lap. Her other hand grips a facecloth spotted with blood.

“My face hurts. It’s numb.”

“You have a bloody nose, but I think it’s still in one piece. You also have a fat lip and some puffiness under your eye. Does it hurt when I touch you?”

I nod. “Was I robbed?”

Fiona looks around. “I can still see the juice glasses,” she says, smiling. She helps me lean against the wall, then walks around and takes a quick inventory of the first floor. “Nothing I can see is missing. Montana is safe. All your electronics are where they should be. Why? Do you think someone was in your house?”

“No, this always happens when I brush my teeth. Of course someone was in my house. I remember walking into the kitchen and then wham, lights out. What are you doing here by the way?”

Fiona is standing by the freezer door wrapping ice cubes in a different face cloth. When she is done, she slithers back down beside me and gently holds the cold compress against my swelling face.

“After I got home, I felt bad about laughing at what happened to you today. So I thought I better drive over here and apologize. Forgive me, please. I just didn’t think you were serious. But now . . . now you definitely need to call the police.”

“It’s too late at night now. Maybe after I get back from my fishing trip with Sal tomorrow,” I say, regaining my footing. I’m still a bit woozy, and my face feels like a pincushion, but I’m able to shuffle over to a stool at the kitchen counter. “What if Sal is right, though? If I call the cops, these guys might come down harder on me. Christ! Why me? What did I do?”

“Nothing,” she says joining me.

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