24. It’s Adventure Time

Bang! Bang! Bang!

The loud nuisance isn't in my head. It's from the back door of my apartment. After being in the hospital for a week and only being home for one day, the last thing I want to deal with is people. Who in the crap could be knocking?

I'm not just dealing with the physical repercussions of having a psycho slice me up, but I'm also dealing with the metal ones as well. The nameless doctor from the hospital said I showed up with one hundred and four stitches in my chest. I found this a little shocking because I didn't feel a thing, as it must've been done while I was passed out from blood loss. They also informed me if it weren't for the sutures, I'd have bled out before anyone could have gotten to me. They also said whoever placed them was very skilled because the stitches were textbook perfect. I would still have them if the doctors weren't concerned about infection. After pumping me with several units of blood, they took me to surgery, washed me out with an antibiotic solution, and sealed me up with medical glue. That's all I can see from the outside, anyway. The doctor did explain that they replaced the silk stitches that I normally use on my cadavers with dissolvable ones on the inside. If it wasn't for my age, I probably wouldn't have been sent home, but they felt confident I could rehab perfectly on my own. I'm thankful I'm in my bed until I have to roll out from the comfort of my blankets. People interaction was not on my to-do list. My eyes are gritty with sleep, and I rub them clear. My chest aches now from the sudden movement of getting out of bed, but it's tolerable.

Bang! Bang! Bang!

"Coming," I call out, hoping whoever it is will stop. The loud knocks are surely going to bring on another migraine.

Egor whines at my feet. I'm unsure if he's telling me he's excited for company or urging me to turn back and ignore it. I pull the wireless landline off its cradle in the kitchen and hold it to my chest. It's the closest protection I have right now. Not that it would help if another person came at me with a knife, but it'll hold back those who still have something to lose. When I open the door, Officer Charles stands on the small slab of concrete right outside my backdoor. His appearance is unkempt. He's in a stained uniform shirt, half untucked from the waistband of his jeans, and his face has more than a five o'clock shadow. He looks like he hasn't practiced any kind of self-care sinceBrandon went missing.

"I thought it might be you," I huff. "Didn't the police force tell you to stop harassing me?"

"You know I'm desperate, Monica. Just please tell me where he is," he pleads, placing his hand on the door frame and leaning into my space.

"I don't remember anything from that night. Someone decided to drug me and cut me open like a freakin' corpse," I state, exasperated. "Which means I definitely don't know where Brandon could be."

"You know!" he cries, stepping farther into my space with his foot on the doorstep. "You know, and you aren't saying anything." He points an accusatory finger at me, and his bloodshot eyes flare with hatred.

"One more step," I hold up the cordless phone, "and I'm calling your superiors."

He bares his teeth at my threat like a cornered animal. Charles is the only one still searching after a week of him missing. I feel for him. I really do, but his son hurt me, and Jax saved me. Jax fixed me. There's no way I'm giving him up for this asshole.

Charles retreats, taking a resistant step backward out the door. "You mark my words. If I find out you did something to my boy, or you know something and aren't telling me. I'll hurt you worse than…"

His words are cut off as the phone in my hand rings. I look down at it for a moment, considering ending the call before it even has the chance to go to voicemail, but I don't. Instead, I let it ring. When I glance up to dismiss Charles, he's already gone. The call I had ignored was from the officer chosen to pick up Charles's task of calling the ‘creepy Frankenstein coroner' for body pick-ups. I swear, the names get progressively worse, but I'll live—obviously. Charles was apparently given a suspension after the way he acted when I was in the hospital. The call was just another car wreck on the highway. There's always a vehicular accident, a homicide gone wrong, another wellness check on an elder found dead and bloated. Slice and dice the bodies. It's a factory now, and my work is never done. I'm on autopilot. Cutting bodies open is now done by muscle memory. It's so… so lackluster. I'd like to blame it on Johnny, but I know that's wrong.

When I woke up in the hospital, there was a huge bouquet of black roses sitting next to my bed. I couldn't think of who they were from because surely a man that sets you on his dead brother's cock then sticks his own up your ass wouldn't send flowers…but when I read the card, I'm proven wrong.

My little LDG~

You're mine to take care of, so that's what I'm doing.

I took care of all your friends and put your furball in that fancy dog boarding place, where he'll get spoiled until you come back home. The fee is paid in full for two weeks, so take your time getting better.

~Your King

That answered mostof my questions and was the reason I wasn't chained to my hospital bed, awaiting jail time. The only thing left is what happened to Brandon. My guess would be Jax killed him, but where's the body?

Losing Johnny didn't hurt like I thought it would. I'm almost thankful Jax took care of it because I had a hard time letting go. I'd believe it was Johnny that made me feel liberated, but that's only half true. Johnny was merely the spark that started my journey to cutting out my limitations. Jax, though, is the everlasting fire that's left an impression on my soul.

I haven't seen Jax since that eventful day, but I think of him all the time. In the morning, when I wake, until I close my eyes. Sometimes, he'll even intrude upon my dreams. I'm always wondering if he'll creep up on me like before. If he's watching me from outside a window. Every day I don't see him, my obsession grows. Every day, I don't feel his rough touch on my skin. My infatuation multiplies. Even the newspaper reminds me of him with pictures of his clinic surrounded by caution tape. It's under investigation for an oxygen leak catching fire, so I can't visit him there. He's a doctor. Maybe If I look him up, I'll find him.

I chew on my lip, lost in thought, as I pull organs out, weighing them and inserting needles into arteries. I'm a little slow going because I'm distracted and injured, but slow and steady, embalm the bodies. As I go through the motions of work, my brain takes it a step further with the what-ifs. What if I stop taking calls? What if I hire someone to run this place for me? What if I go out and see the world and have experiences removed from dead people and grieving families? I've only held onto this place because I've held onto the past. Maybe I need to grab my life by the horns and ride the bull. You know, instead of the corpses.

Coagulated blood coats my gloves as I sew the old man's chest that's lying on my table. "What do you think, Herbert? Do you think I should finally live my life and leave this place behind?"

I imagine him as an old crabby, curmudgeon sitting on his front porch, spouting threatening words of wisdom. If you play with the birds, you'll lose an eye or something like that. I cut the silk thread with a snap. It makes me feel like one of the weird sisters from Shakespeare's Macbeth. I'm deciding my own fate with a giant pair of scissors, severing what's holding me back. They signify the beginning and end of an era for me.

"Yeah, I think that's what I need: adventure."

My old laptop,which has served me well for years, sits on my bed with a dead screen. Before the screen died on me, I discovered there were two Dr. Kings. Well, were, since the one I used as a personal pleasure device is no longer living. The one who held a practice at the gynecologist's name was Jeremy, while Jax, the other brother, had his license suspended. Twins. I'm assuming the one I'm looking for is the outlaw of the two. In my search, I found that Jeremy is considered missing and a person of interest concerning the fire at the gynecology office, so his home address is out of the question. There was one clue, though, before my laptop died: a picture of Jax at a bar.

I've spent hours scouring the internet for places I think Jax may patronize. Somewhere that suits his unique style. However, the more I searched, the more I realized I was unsure of his style. The only time I've seen him was in his, or rather his brother's, office and when he came here. And even when he was here, he wore that damn ski mask the whole time. Except for the night he saved me. That night, he showed his face outside of his office, and it was just as beautiful as I remembered. Damn it! I hate him for making me want him.

"This is no use." With an irritated huff, I click the window's tab closed on my father's old office computer and rub my temples. "I need a break, to get anyway," I admit. The blue light from the screen was starting to make my vision blur.

The air here is stale, with flecks of dust floating in the streaks of afternoon light peeking through the blinds. I feel guilty for not coming in here more often and showing this part of the family business some love, but I need to shove those thoughts away to function. If I don't, this place is going to become my tomb.

"Maybe I should just go and see what the parties and clubs are all about," I lament to Egor, who's lying at my feet. He turns his head to the side, perking up an ear. "It would be something new, something fun. What do you think, Egor?"

He jumps to his feet, wagging his tail. When I push the chair back, Egor prances around. It's almost as if he's excited for me. Or he thinks he's going back to The Paw Spa to get pampered some more with massages and aroma therapy. I'll pretend it's the former.

"I think so too, Egor." I reach down and pat his head. "After all the shit this town has put me through, I deserve to go out and have fun like normal people my age."

With a bit of pep, I skip to my apartment. I'm ready to make my debut. It takes me no time to find the black dress I keep in the back of my closet. It's been there for a few years, bought in a moment when I felt confident and pretty. Although it's black, there wasn't an occasion to wear it. It's short, barely covering my lady bits, and accents my cleavage in lace. Now I'm ready to take it out for a spin. I twirl around to face Egor, who pants with enthusiasm.

"What do you think?" I ask, gliding my palms over the fabric that hugs my curves.

In response, I get the best bark from my fluffy bud. I take that as a good sign when Egor's teeth are fully displayed with his tongue lulled out at the side.

The static electricity rushes over my skin and coils tight in my chest. I'm doing it. If he doesn't come to me, I'll have to go to him. See how he likes being the one stalked. I'm going out on the town for the first time in my whole life. Sure, I've been around town, but I've never willingly been in public social settings.

The first bar I stop at is underwhelming, there's a small stage in the center with a few people sitting at the bar. They all swivel to watch me walk in, and instantly, I turn around. Nope, it's too personal. The next is more extensive, with swinging doors and yellow walls. There's a Western flare to it, with cowbells on the tables and worn saddles hanging from the wall. I think I've walked onto the set of Yellowstone. Everyone is dancing in the middle of the floor with cowboy hats and boots. The twangy music doesn't seem like the place I'd find someone as dark and mysterious as Jax. I tried a comedy club, a karaoke club, and even a VIP club, which I couldn't enter without an invitation. There's only one more place to try, but it's in the industrial area where parking sucks, and you need to walk to get where you want to go.

There aren't many places to park when you drive a hearse in the city. It literally takes up two parking spots. Before I left, I called the county, letting them know I'd be taking the night off. Whatever needs to be done can be taken care of by the next town over, or even the city, until I can find a replacement for my assistant.

"Shit," I scream when a horn honks too loudly near me. This makes me want to turn the car around and try again tomorrow. Or never. "Nope, you're not doing it. You've come all this way. You're fucking doing this."

Good talk, Monica. Good talk.

After depositing the hearse in a nearby parking lot, I traverse down the strip of eateries and businesses closed for the day. I breathe in the night, hoping to calm my nerves. I had paired my dress with black, strappy high heels that weren't exactly made for walking. I wish I could've parked closer, but all the gates on the lots are locked with long, haphazardly hung chains. It's only a few more yards before I'm finally met with the main attraction in this area—Deep Rust. It's a large, red brick building that stands out like a sore thumb among the behemoth concrete and corrugated steel warehouses. The stereotypical base throbs from the building like a heartbeat. There's a line of about ten people waiting to get in, with a bouncer and red velvet rope policing the front door.

"Original," I murmur sarcastically as I tentatively become the caboose of the gathered patrons.

"Not your scene?" A young guy beside me questions.

"Not really," I admit.

The ring on his lip glints from the bright flood lights emanating off the building, piercing the night sky with their obtrusive light. His hair is black and spiky with blue tips. With his black fitted T-shirt and black skinny jeans—they're so tight I can see the outline of his mushroom tip—he looks like one of those guys from an emo band.

"Yeah, not mine either, really." He grabs the large headphones around his neck and tugs at them. "I wouldn't be here if not for the owner paying me as good as he does."

I nod because I can understand that. And then I'm silent because I'm awkward as fuck. I don't know what to say. Come on, Monica. Say something that someone who doesn't fuck dead guys would say.

Luckily, the guy takes a step toward me and says, "You should come see me after the show. I'll give you the deets on the places that are…" His eyes roam over me, and my skin itches from the attention. This is new. Random people gossip about me, not check me out sexually. "...more your vibe. Yea?"

My…vibe? "Yea. That would be great, thanks," I murmur, wrapping my arms around my middle.

The waves of anxiety begin to really churn. I'm talking to a guy who knows nothing of the rumors surrounding me. It's so normal. It's almost nerve-wracking.

"The name is Zack." He grins, tilting his head. "We should meet up sometime."

"Monica. That would be great." His smile is contagious, and we share a long look before he saunters off and is immediately swallowed up by a group of people dressed in mixed attire of shimmering metallics to worn jeans and sneakers. They greet him with whoops of laughter and slap him on the back as if the party has finally arrived. I observe the interaction as a scientist would a bug under a microscope. I've never had this kind of reaction from one person, much less from a crowd of people.

The line no longer exists, so I close the gap and reach the door. The imposing man merely gives me a head jerk, so I waltz through the rusted metal doors. I swallow down any disquiet as I travel over the threshold and under the sign declaring the club name in old, yellowing paint. The inside is massive. Strobe lights combined with some pop song being blasted over the loudspeaker begin to wear on my senses. Bodies grind and sway as they dance, looking like one giant, gyrating entity. Others are lined up at the bar and top balcony railings, gathering like flies.

My eyes widen to take everything in. This is unlike anything I've ever experienced. I'm so enraptured by what's in front of me that I haven't moved an inch. Therefore, I shouldn't be surprised when I'm bumped and knocked into when the next flood of people rush through the doors.

"Gah, move out of the way," a man huffs, shoving past me for the bar.

More shoulders and elbows clip me as I gravitate to a nearby wall, out of the way of flowing traffic. I catch several people staring at me, making me rethink my fantasies of becoming a functioning member of society. This is not my place, that's for sure.

I'm so lost in my inadequacy that I don't notice when someone claims the spot on the wall beside me.

"New here?" a man asks gruffly from under his thick lumberjack beard.

I bite my bottom lip as I tentatively turn to the newcomer. He looks just as out of place as I do in this crowd. It makes me do a double-take.

"Yea?" I'm not used to people coming up to me and starting conversations, so my suspicion is on high alert. He's about a foot taller than me in a red plaid button-down with the sleeves cut off at the shoulders. It seems like he should be doing manual labor, but I shouldn't be judging. I've been judged my whole life. He could work an office job and is here to unwind.

"Hmmm," he hums, shifting his weight to lean his shoulder on the wall, angling his body toward mine.

I don't know how to take that response. To be fair, there are probably not many responses I would know how to take. "Hmmm? All you have to say is hmmm?" I squint, getting a little defensive.

That's the second person that's called me out for being new. Is it really that glaringly obvious? Like I have a neon sign posted over my head. I probably stick out like a sore thumb with my white hair. Maybe next time, I should wear a wig.

Ha! Like there's going to be a next time.

"Yeah. Just takin' in the view. We don't get fresh meat in here often," he drawls as if he's the owner and I'm trespassing.

Feeling a little brazen, I straighten my spine. "What? Did I walk in on a secret cult ceremony where you bring in live sacrifices to offer the radio gods?"

White teeth gleam from under his dark mustache as he chuckles. It's warm and leaves my extremities tingly, like a shot of whiskey. Even though he looks out of place, he still looks more relaxed than I do.

"No, no. Keeping track of people is my job, darlin'." He shoves a thick hand in my direction. "I'm Declan Fionn. But I prefer Finn."

His handshake is firm, with his mit nearly swallowing mine. Not only is he strong, but I can feel his rough calluses against my palm. It's the hand of a man who works hard. "Nice to meet you, I'm?—"

My voice is drowned out by the crowd's sudden roar as the beat starts. Then the lights turn down a notch, and the dimmed spotlights focus on the stage. Amidst the chaos of everyone rushing to the stage, Finn releases my hand. The curtains draw back to reveal the guy I met outside with the headphones around his neck.

Zack surveys his adoring crowd and grants them a huge smile. He lifts the mic to his lips and announces, "The party has arrived!"

The beat increases in volume while the mosh pit forms at the elevated platform. People jump and cheer, excited for the show. I'm staring at the stage, curious about what they're all expecting when the music starts to speed up. Then it reaches a point of going so fast it's one long note. He moves a hand over his setup, and the beat immediately drops, and everyone screams. The base rattles my chest, and if I thought the music was loud before, it's unexplainable now.

I know conversing is impossible, and yet I turn to say something to Finn about the show. When I tilt my head in his direction, he's gone. I'm left holding up the wall by myself.