Chapter 3 - My Mystery Man
Now traditionally, when one finds a bleeding man in the dark backroom of an art gallery, said person might: a) Run in terror, b)Scream and trip over themselves trying to run in terror, or c) (and my personal favorite) Empty the contents of their stomach on the floor, then after, finish with a combination of both“A” and “B”.
But since I'm not a cast member in M. Night Shyamalan's newest blockbuster hit turned train wreck movie, I decided to settled for option “D”. Otherwise knows as “figure out what the hell is going on”.
So with that in mind I began my trek towards the far wall where the boy was laying, nimbly stepped over the tubes of paint and fallen canvases. It took me a minute or two but I finally made it over to him, and it was then that I realized that this situation was way out of my league.
From what I could see in the dim light of the moon (which had moved back behind the clouds) the boy was beat up pretty bad. Bleeding scratches crisscrossed his arms and legs cutting not only into the fabric of his jeans but cut deep into his skin. There was a large purple bruise that went all the way around his neck which was so dark that I was surprised I missed it when I first saw him. But the worst damage was done to his chest.
Long jagged tears (that bore a strange resemblance to claw marks) had practically ripped his black shirt to shreds and had dug into his skin, leaving behind ugly scratches across his chest. This guy had lost so much blood, which caked the fabric of his shirt, it make my stomach turn. I was surprised that this guy was even alive due to the extent of his injures.
His breathing was ragged at best and he was I could see his eyelids fight to stay open. And I was pretty sure that if he slipped into unconsciousness with the amount of blood that he lost, he could die. So I did what any confused teen would do in this situation, I proceeded to shake him until he woke up.
“Dude,” I said gripping his shoulder and shaking him roughly. “Come on, please get up. Hey. Hey! HEY!!”
He groaned. His eyelids fluttering open and shifting towards me. He moaned something under his breath.
“What?!” I said leaning closer.
“Stop shaking me,” he groaned weakly. “It hurts”
I dropped my hands at my side. “Oh, sorry”
He groaned again “It's ok.”
“What happened?” I asked pointing to the scratches on his chest and arms.
“Attacked,” he replied. “came out of nowhere”
“Who attacked you?”
He tried to sit up but I grabbed his shoulder and stopped him.
“You've lost a lot of blood” I told him “please stay there. I'll call an ambulance”
I reached down to pull my phone but before I could the guy grabbed my wrist. My heart skipped a beat.
His hands were rough but strangely warm. I caught a hint of amber in his eyes as the two of us looked at one another. Eyes that were distant yet at the same time familiar
“No ambulance” he grunted.
I hesitated and glanced at his wounds. Wounds deep enough to kill a lesser man, yet somehow he was still alive.
Who was this guy? And why did he not wanna go to see a doctor?
Maybe he was a runaway and couldn't go to the hospital. Or maybe he was a on something. Or maybe he was an escaped criminal. ..oh god I hope that wasn't it. Whoever he was, he needed my help.
“Please,” he pleaded weakly. “Please.”
I opened my mouth to ask agree. But before I could get the words out, he shuddered, his eyes rolled back into his head, and he passed out. His body slumped and slid sideways.
Shit, I swore in my mind, as I ran forward and caught him seconds before his head hit the floor.
“Please don't be dead. Please don't be dead,” I prayed to every god in the heavens, as I reached down to check for a pulse.
His skin was warm against mine as my fingers brushed his neck. Frantic to find some sign of life.
Searching.
Needing.
Wanting.
Hoping.
And that was when I felt it. The faint, yet steady, thump of his heart beating against his chest. I let out a breath that I hadn't realized that I had been holding in.
Why did I feel this way, I didn't even know this guy. But something about him seemed familiar to me. Something in his eyes that reminded me of him.
I shook my head.
Stop thinking about the past Samantha, I thought. Focus on the here and now. And right now, this guy needs your help.
So as quickly as you could say “I don't think this is a good idea”, I grabbed the boy by his wrists and pulled him to his feet. Then (with another very unlady-like grunt) using all of the strength I had, I hoisted him up onto my shoulders in the sort of carry that firemen use in the movies. Thank the all day hero marathons of TMC for that.
He looked way heavier than he actually was, and it only took me a few seconds to get acclimated to the added weight. So as soon as I was ready I took off through the backroom and was out the door in seconds. Thankfully no one had spotted my car, which I had parked in the shadows on the far end of the alleyway. I slowly rolled Mr. Unconscious off my shoulders and propped him against the wall, before running down into the walkway and unlocking my car. I slid into the driver's seat and all but jabbed my key into the ignition, cranking the engine to a start.
I slowly pulled forward, stopping only a few inches from where he was sitting, and jumped out of the car.
“Hey, dude!!” I said grabbing my unconscious 'friend' by the armpits and pulling him away from off the wall “I could use some help here”
Unfortunately for me he was too in dreamland to here me so I was forced to do it on my own. So with a frown I yanked him upward and, with every ounce of strength I had, pulled him into the backseat of my car. He was much heavier when I pulled him. But finally after a minute or so I got him in and secure. So with that I shut the door and ran back into the building to get my bag and the painting that would get me out of cleaning for two months. How do you like them apples Johnny?
I was just as stealthy getting out as I was getting in and in seconds, I was closing the backdoor and walking to the other side of my car. I climbed in and was buckling my seat belt when Mr. Unconscious groaned in the back seat and said something in a voice that made a shiver shoot up my spine.
“Samantha,” he whispered. “Help me Samantha.”
And with that he fell back into unconsciousness.
I shuddered as I flicked on my headlights. Thousands of questions whizzed through my head right now, but three were the most evidently important.
Who was this guy?
How did he know my name?
And, what in the world was going on?
I shook my head and pushed these questions to the back of my mind and focused on the task at hand. So with that I slowly pulled out of the alleyway and made my way towards the freeway. Silently praying that I wasn't heading back home with a homicidal serial killer in my backseat.
