Chapter 27
Chapter Twenty-Seven
I’d always heard of out-of-body experiences, even got told a few first-hand accounts when I was in the hospital, but I’d never had any of my own. I think it’s safe to say that I never want to experience one again.
I came to on the ceiling. Yes. On the fucking ceiling. At first, I didn’t know where I was. Then I began to make out parts of myself on the table. I don’t recommend turning into the ghost of your favorite arachnid-based superhero to view the insides of your own body. It’s a trippy experience.
The only words in the room were the occasional request for an instrument.
I didn’t recognize myself. Blood matted my hair, making it difficult to tell where the dark rust color ended and my natural hair began.
Every part of me was beaten black, and blue.
I’d never seen so much blood. There had to be three or four people with their hands inside of me.
One in my stomach, and another at my neck.
“How is this kid still alive?” the one in my stomach commented. Their hands emerged from my abdomen, filled with pieces of something that resembled shredded meat. Even as an out of body spirit I got nauseous.
Nope. I don’t want to see anymore. How do I turn this off?!
I closed my eyes tight and wished like hell to be anywhere else.
My next memory was choking. But not because something was around my neck.
Something was in my mouth. I coughed, trying to tug it out but someone pulled my hands away.
My vision was still blurry. I could only make out blobs of people bustling around me.
A dark shape appeared in front of me, and plastic cleared my face.
As it did, the thing caught in my throat became more prevalent.
“Cough, Mr. Fischer,” I heard a female voice say.
As if I had a choice.
I coughed and gagged, then I could breathe again.
Now, I welcomed the oxygen mask placed over my mouth and nose.
I took in a deep breath of fresh air. The hands restraining my wrists let go, and I attempted to rub my eyes, only for pain to bring tears to them again.
I resorted to blinking, and after a few seconds, my vision returned.
A woman sat in front of me in a white coat.
“Good morning,” she said, pulling a pen from her pocket. “Can you follow this for me?”
I followed the object as she moved it left and right. Then she flipped it and—ouch, not a pen—shone a bright light into my eyes.
“W-Where am I?” I asked with a gravelly voice.
“You’re at the hospital,” the woman answered.
“Where’s André?”
“Who?”
Another voice spoke up from the corner. “His boyfriend.” Dylan. "He’s with the police, David. They needed another statement from him.” My brother appeared by my bedside, putting his hand on my shoulder. “Could you give him a little space? He’s been through a lot.”
The lady nodded and left the room, saying she’d be back in a while to run more tests. Dylan handed me a cup of water from the bedside table and helped me take small sips from it until I felt like I could speak.
“What do you mean by the police?” I asked once my throat didn’t feel like sandpaper.
Dylan chuckled, his smile not quite reaching his eyes. “You’ve got one badass boyfriend,” he said. “You’ve done the hard part. You can rest now.”
I wasn’t going to object. My eyes slid shut, and I fell into a morphine-induced sleep. I was woken up a couple hours later for a brain scan and a blood test. Miraculously, I only had a concussion. My nose had been broken and set already.
Between surgeries and the cuts on my head and my neck, I had hundreds of stitches, and nearly as many staples. They told me that the cut on my neck had narrowly missed my carotid. My right kidney and my spleen were both pulverized. The doctor said they were in pieces when they were removed.
I was lying in bed when that female doctor came in with someone else—the doctor who admitted me, I learned—to explain everything. I’d most likely need additional surgeries on my nose to repair the break, and likely some physical therapy.
“Did you do a rape kit?” I asked once I found a break in the conversation.
“What?”
I hadn’t seen André appear in the doorway. His eyes were red and swollen and he gagged, attempting to cover it up with a cough as he excused himself from the room.
Shit.
“I’ve got him.” Dylan said before I could ask. He ran after André, leaving me alone with the doctors.
I felt terrible that André had to find out that way. I wanted to get up and run after him. I wanted to be held, but I couldn’t bring myself to say it. I felt like a soulless robot.
Only once the room cleared did someone answer my question—the admitting doctor. “There were…” he cleared his throat, obviously uncomfortable.
“I’ve been here before. Don’t sugarcoat anything. I can take it.”
“Okay then.” A deep breath. “There were obvious signs of sexual assault when you came in. You had quite a bit of bleeding, but it was superficial. There won’t be any lasting damage. We took samples for a rape kit, but we can’t process it and give it to the police without your consent.”
“The blood tests?”
“All of the rapid tests came back negative, but you’ll have to be tested again.”
I want André. Bring André back.
“I want to rest now,” came out instead.
Someone, I didn’t see who, placed the call button nearby before they left the room. I was exhausted. My eyes threatened to close, but I wanted to see André again. I had to. I needed to apologize.
Person after person walked past my door, but not the one I truly wanted. The ICU was a really depressing place to be. I was likely the only conscious person.
Just as I was starting to give in, Dylan and André stepped into view. There were tears in André’s eyes when he saw me, but he still smiled. I tried to reciprocate, but I was too sore. “How can you look at me and smile right now? I must be fifteen different shades of black and blue.”
André pulled up a chair next to me and grabbed my hand. “I’ve spent the last week hoping to see those baby blues. I’ll take what I can get.” His voice broke, and he swallowed hard. Soft lips against my forehead, and he sat down in his chair.
“I’m really sorry—”
“No,” he interrupted, tenderly brushing my forehead with a single knuckle, like he was scared to break me. “Don’t you dare apologize for anything.”
“I made you sick.” I tried to laugh, but it hurt. Everything hurt.
“Your brother tried to warn me. It’s my fault for not believing him.” André looked down at our entwined fingers. “I never wanted to believe that people were capable of this.”
I glanced between the two men.
“What were you doing with the police?” I asked André.
“Something went wrong with my first statement. I needed to do it again.”
“Statement about what?”
André looked… haunted. Dylan on the other hand, appeared impressed. “If you won’t tell him I will. But I thought he’d like to hear it from you.”
“For god’s sake, someone tell me,” I demanded.
“I got your text,” André said, not taking his eyes off our hands.
Text? I never sent a text. “What are you talking about?”
Alarmed, André looked at my brother. “It’s okay,” Dylan told him. “It’s a trauma thing—he’s subconsciously blocking details out. We just have to remind him.”
“How much do you remember, baby?” André asked.
“I um… I remember you leaving for work, and then Regan took me. We were in the car for a long time, but things get blurry after that.”
André peered up at Dylan again, and Dylan nodded.
“You were gone for three days. After the first night, I couldn’t track your phone.
That’s when I called Dylan. We must have searched every house in New Orleans looking for you.
Neither of us slept. The police weren’t much help.
They’d search until dinnertime and call it quits.
We were just about ready to lose our minds when I got a text from you.
I don’t know how you did it, but you sent us your exact location.
I tried to call again after that… and text, but I don’t know what happened. ”
“I told Hot-Head Harry over here to sit back and let the police handle it,” Dylan offered. “I don’t think he heard a word I said that night.”
“No, I didn’t,” André confirmed. “I knew the police would take their sweet time getting there, not to mention you were in a different district—I decided to take matters into my own hands. Regan was not happy to see me, but I didn’t care.”
The crashing and shouting came back to me. Then…
“There was a gunshot.”
André raised his head, tears in his eyes. “Yeah, there was.”
Slowly, the pieces of the story seamed themselves together. “So, if you’re here, and Dylan’s here, and neither of you have been shot…”
André simply watched me, expressionless, while Dylan grinned like the Cheshire Cat. “I told you,” he said. “Your boyfriend’s a badass.”
My head whipped back to André. Ouch, bad idea. “You shot him?”
He only nodded. “I did.”
It was then that I realized—not a single police officer had been in to talk to me since I woke up, and no one had mentioned Regan at all.
“I-Is he…”
“No.” André squeezed my hand and forced a smile. “God knows I wanted to, but I didn’t. My daddy taught me better than that.”
I was rendered speechless. Dylan was so impressed that I thought his face would explode, and André acted as if it were the simplest decision he’d ever made. I struggled to wrap my head around it. He’d shot someone, just to help me?
“How long have you had a gun?” I asked, giving his hand the slightest squeeze with the tips of my fingers.
“Ever since I was big enough to hold one. I never told you what my dad did for a living?” I shook my head, and André’s lips twitched. “He’s a retired SWAT officer.”
I didn’t think Dylan could get any prouder. My free hand pinched my thigh beneath the scratchy hospital blanket. Yep, this was real.
André squeezed my hand a bit tighter. “You don’t have to worry about anything. I’ve never had to shoot it at someone before and after that, I don’t think I’ll even look at it again.” He shuddered.
“What’s happening to Regan?” I asked Dylan, still twisting the skin on my thigh.
The smile faded from my brother’s face. “He was treated for the gunshot wound on his leg—he’ll be fine, unfortunately.
He’ll be charged with felony escape, kidnapping, varying degrees of assault, and possession of a deadly weapon on top of the other charges.
He’s being held in the medical wing of the state prison and once he’s cleared, he’ll be extradited to Georgia. ”
I appreciated that Dylan skipped over the “R” word. I attempted to take a deep breath. “I’ll have to be there too, won’t I?”
André gently hooked a finger under my chin, arresting my attention. “We’ll cross that bridge when we get to it, baby. The only thing you have to do now is rest.”
“Kiss me?” I squeaked, surprising myself. I hadn’t even realized that was what I needed.
“Gladly.” André smiled and leaned over, tenderly pressing his lips against mine.
Dylan left the room, muttering about something he needed to take care of, and André and I were left alone. My boyfriend brushed my hair away from my face, soothing me to sleep.
Just before I drifted off, I tugged on André’s hand to get his attention. I was still very groggy and my words came out slurred, but I tried my best. “Did you close that deal?”
André gave me a sleepy smile, and this time, his eyes sparkled. “Yeah, baby. I closed the deal.”
I tried to smile. I’m fairly sure I did. I held on tight to his hand as morphine swept me into unconsciousness once more.