“Oh, I came over to see if you had my money,” he said, “but when you two were so wrapped up in your little tryst, I just had to enjoy it too. Thankfully I keep this little camera on me all the time, fits so easily in my pocket. Works great for taping cops who pull me over, just getting inspiration for a photo shoot . . . and getting interesting film sometimes too.”
“Fuck you, Hale,” I said, scooting forward enough that Alix was now behind me. I turned to Alix, placing my body further between us, supposedly to help her with her shirt, but just making sure she was behind me. “So what the fuck do you want now?”
“Simple . . . twenty thousand a week,” Sydney said, grinning. “If not, this joins Alix’s previous performance on the web. Hell, I bet I could get Vivid to give me a good half million for this.”
“You’re fucking slime, Sydney,” Alix spat, her voice near breaking. “You’re an abusive, manipulating, scum of a man. I can’t believe I thought I loved you.”
“Thought? Baby, you were so head over heels for me you thought I shit rainbows and pissed gold,” Sydney laughed back. He took his camera and put it in his pocket, while at the same time taking his left hand out of his pocket and crossing his arms across his chest. It was a mistake I hoped to make him pay for. “Stupid bitch didn’t even realize how long I was slaying pussy behind your back.”
“Don’t say a goddamn thing about Alix,” I growled, turning back to Syd. In doing so, I pulled my left leg up underneath me while still sitting back. I hoped I could use it to my advantage, especially as Sydney didn’t have his hands in his pockets any longer. “She’s a better person that you could be in ten lifetimes.”
He laughed, then grew serious. “You can be lovesick all you two want, I don’t fucking care. What I do care about is the money. Now, are you paying, or do I walk out of here and upload this in my car?”
“How about I just shove that camera up your ass then smash your fucking face in?” I asked. I could feel the demon inside me clawing, forcing its way out, the edges of my vision going red. I was going into battle rage, something I hadn’t felt against another person since that last boxing match two years prior. It was honestly a welcome feeling.
Sydney chuckled and turned away, waving with his left hand over his shoulder. “Whatever. See you on the Internet, fuckers. Have a nice life.”
I was up in an instant, surging toward Sydney, only too late realizing he’d been baiting me. His right hand, which I hadn’t seen clearly since he took it out of his pocket, flashed forward, and a sharp pain pierced my stomach even as I slammed into him, shoving him down the hallway. I took another step before realizing I couldn’t breathe, and the pain drove me to my knees, my hands going to just below my sternum.
Sydney watched me, the small knife in his hand stained red with my blood, grinning as he climbed to his feet. “That’s what you get for breaking my nose, asshole,” he said. I struggled to get to my feet as he came toward me again, but stumbled, the red in my vision turning gray as my life’s blood dripped onto the carpet and the oxygen left my body. “Now you get to watch as I take what I deserve out of your precious love as well.”
But Alix wasn’t on the carpet any longer, having jumped to her feet while Sydney was focused on me. When he turned, she had a baseball bat in her hand, swinging it hard enough to leave a divot in the wall. She was angry, wild, and Sydney could see she wouldn’t be the timid girl he’d slapped around so easily just a couple of months prior. He shook his head and left, running out the door while I collapsed face-first onto the tile, the world fading.
* * *
The next thing I was aware of was a very, very bright light. At first I thought that perhaps all the New Age shows I’d ever watched on cable were correct, and that you were supposed to go into the light when you died. However, the next thing I knew, I could hear the beeping sound of a heart monitor, and then the hiss and thump of a ventilator.
I squinted and blinked, trying to gather my senses. I was in a hospital, that was for certain, although I couldn’t tell much more. Looking to my side, I saw a nurse checking my vitals on the heart monitor before looking down at me. “You’re intubated, so you can’t speak right now, Mr. Prescott,” she said, professional to the utmost. “You lost a lot of blood, and you’ve been out of surgery a few hours.”
I nodded, feeling the constricting harshness in my throat, and pointed to the pen on the sleeve of her surgical top. Understanding what I wanted, she handed it to me along with a pad of paper. Family?
“They’re outside, you’re still technically in the recovery room,” she said. “I’ll get the doctor to give you a check out, and see if we can move you to your room. They’ll be able to meet you there.”
Tube out?
“That’s up to the doctor. He had to repair a puncture to your diaphragm, so you’re not going to be breathing well for quite a while. But if he thinks you’re doing well, maybe he can move you to a normal respirator soon enough.”
She turned to go and I reached out, causing her to stop. “Yes, Mr. Prescott?”
Police?