Heartbeats Amidst Chaos, Part 4

1. Chapter 1

Chapter one

P anic spurred Elio to run, but his feet let him down, slow and heavy underneath him.

They were coming. He didn’t know who they were, but the sharp staccato of gunfire rattled in his ears. When he craned to look over his shoulder, black-masked visages swarmed him.

A hand closed around his arm, and Elio jerked away, twisting forward again. Suddenly, a wall of white exploded around him, flinging jagged chunks of debris toward his head. Elio ducked and flinched, his breath coming in panting gasps.

“Elio, please, hold still,” a woman’s voice pleaded. “I have to stop the bleeding. Elio?”

He opened his eyes and blinked rapidly, trying to focus as the wreckage faded into nothingness—a mirage. He realized he was seated on the ground, and it was dark around him except for the sharp brilliance of a cellphone flashlight shining up from the leaf-strewn ground beside him.

His thoughts were hazy as he sorted through them to make sense of the vanished explosion. . . or crash. . . or whatever it had been. Alarm still tingled through his entire body, and he turned his head, looking for any other threats, real or imagined. His head hurt. Something was pressing hard against it. He reached towards the pain, but a firm hand seized his wrist, and the woman’s voice pierced his thoughts once again.

“Hey,” she said. “I’m right here. It’s okay.”

Elio’s eyes finally landed on the woman and he paused, his thudding heart slowing ever so slightly as he took her in. She was kneeling in front of him, straddling his outstretched leg. The beam of the flashlight lit her only slightly, but even in the uncertain light, he could see that she was beautiful.

Her slender arms were stretched toward him, one of her hands grasping his while the other pressed a wad of fabric to his aching head—the pressure he felt. She wore a deep ruby gown of some filmy material that draped her form and left one leg and her shoulders bare. Her hair was as dark as the night around them, falling over her exposed shoulders.

What in the world? Did I just walk through a wardrobe or fall through a mirror? Nothing makes sense right now.

He licked his lips, testing whether his mouth would work. In dreams, he often found it impossible to call out, so this seemed as good a test as any. He tasted blood and felt the raw gape of split skin beneath the tip of his tongue. Not a dream then.

“Who are you?” he mumbled. “Where am I?”

He couldn’t see the color of her eyes in the darkness, but the woman was looking intently into his own. Her forehead and mouth were twisted with concern––and sadness.

Was that a tear drifting down her cheek? Before he could think, Elio lifted a finger and brushed it off, gently trailing his thumb along her smooth cheekbone.

“Elio,” the woman said again, obviously addressing him. “Do you really not know who I am?”

The possibility seemed to have made her almost distraught, and Elio was reluctant to answer.

“I don’t—think so.”

The woman’s face crumpled even further, and she dropped her head slightly, another tear flashing through the flashlight’s beam and landing on her bent knee. Elio felt a pang of regret. How had he forgotten this beautiful woman? But he was so confused. He might have forgotten his own name if she hadn’t continued to say it through the course of their brief conversation.

A damp breeze blew against his face, filling the air with the rustle of leaves. They were in a forest. But why?

His lips struggled to form more questions, and he gave up after a brief attempt, focusing instead on seeing just one rather than two women kneeling across his lap. His vision was blurred, almost as if he was drunk, and his stomach twisted with nausea. Was that why the woman was in a fancy dress? Had they just come from a party?

But then why the feeling of deep-seated dread in his chest and why was he bleeding? Despite the woman’s staying grip on his wrist, his hand drifted up to touch hers where it was holding the material firmly to his wound. The woman looked up, her face changing to steely determination.

“We’ve got to find somewhere I can take care of your injury and check to see if you’re hurt anywhere else,” she said, her voice steady enough that he immediately doubted she had even been crying at all. “Do you think you can walk?”

In response, Elio slowly began to scramble to his feet. The woman moved with him, her hand under his elbow supporting him while she continued to hold the bandage to his head. Eventually, he made it to his feet, gripping the tree with one hand while his other arm circled her shoulders as he leaned into her slender form.

Elio’s vision blurred again, and suddenly, he did remember the woman—at least, he thought he did. A dizzying flashback showed him leaning on her once before as she helped him down a long, carpeted hallway that smelled sharply of cleaning solution. Quickly, the scene changed, and he saw her dressed in white, bending over him, her cool, gentle fingers on his skin. And he was lying in a bed. . .

“Are you a doctor?” he asked as the image finally clicked into place.

The woman looked up at him, her face a slightly lighter impression in the darkness around them.

“Yes,” she said. “I’m Dr. Rissa Mahoney. I took care of you when you were in the hospital after the explosion. Do you remember that?”

Dr. Mahoney. Rissa.

“I don’t know,” Elio muttered.

They began walking slowly through the trees. The narrow beam of the flashlight bounced over the ground in front of them. Elio felt Rissa’s tension beneath his arm and heard the quick, sharp intakes of her breath every few seconds. She was scared, he realized, just as he had been when he had come around in the forest.

His terror faded as he struggled to remember what had led to it in the first place—as he had focused on the doctor, her fancy dress, and the tears in her eyes. She made his heart pick up pace for an entirely different reason. Which didn’t make sense if he didn’t know her at all.

I took care of you after the explosion.

What explosion?

He stumbled as his mind scurried into increasing confusion, and the woman’s arm tightened around him.

“There’s something up ahead,” she said, just above a whisper. “See the light?”

Lifting his head, Elio squinted into the murky woods before them, and he did see some kind of light ahead. It seemed to float across his sight and disappear, only to flicker back into place a moment later.

Fuck, I must have hit my head hard.

They reached the edge of the woods and Rissa paused, pulling him to a stop beside her. He realized they were looking at a shabby little 24-hour convenience store. The only car in the parking lot was a beater hunched in the far corner. He couldn’t tell what make and model from this distance, but rust was eating the poor machine alive, that much was clear. It was probably the store attendant’s vehicle—one he or she wouldn’t mind being stolen.

Why am I thinking about stealing cars?

Elio shook his head again as if a hard enough jostle would settle his thoughts and memories back into their proper place.

“Hey, don’t do that,” the doctor—Rissa—hissed as her hand slipped and the wad of fabric shifted against his head.

“Sorry,” Elio muttered.

He looked down at her, lit more clearly now by the glow of the parking lot lights. His eyes scanned her drawn face, lingering at the full red lips which were puckered with indecision as she eyed the establishment. He had a sudden, powerful urge to turn toward her, dip his head, and kiss her full on the lips. His heart leaped at the thought.

But surely that was an inappropriate thing to do to a doctor.

You’ve done it before, his brain offered out of nowhere.

Once again, Elio’s brain summoned the image of her in a white coat, her hair in a shiny ponytail that swung over her shoulder. Her face bent close to his, her lips moving with a question he couldn’t hear. Feeling as if he had suddenly been transported into the vision, he lifted his hand, reaching for her, but it was pulled harshly to a stop.

He was in handcuffs, handcuffed to the bed.

And he remembered that when he had been leaning on her as she helped him down the hall, he had been handcuffed then too.

Unease joined the swirling nausea in his stomach, and he swallowed hard. He looked again at the woman who called herself a doctor. What was going on? Was she truly helping him or was she the reason he was in this predicament? And who were they running from?

His mind was still filled with shadows, and he felt a gradual return of his panic at the realization of how lost and out of control he felt. He could make a run for it, but then what? Would he run right back into the arms of whoever he and Rissa Mahoney seemed to be fleeing from?

And even if he didn’t, where would he go and what would he do? He was wounded, without memories, and completely dependent on a person he had no idea if he could trust. There was only one thing he was sure of at that moment.

Shit. I am in deep, deep shit.