Page 20 of Closing on Lynx

“Rot in hell, motherfucker,” are the last words I get out. As the dark begins to takes over, I notice another man in the room, before I make out who it is, I pass out.

***

Lynx

Throwing my gun to the ground, I make my way to move the man off Jessikah. She has to be okay.

Leaning over her, I feel a faint breath against my cheek. Using my fingers I locate her pulse, faintly in her neck.

“Call nine-one-one, “ I shout at Rough standing just inside the window. I lean down to pick her up and stop when Liquid walks in and tells me to stop. Making me aware that we don't fully know the extent of her injuries.

It doesn't take long before the police and emergency services have the neighborhood it up.

“Lynx, what happened here?” the chief asks.

“I'll answer any questions you have, after I figure out if my old lady is going to make it.” I grumble, walking toward to old man who is waiting in his car.

The police showed up, but not before Liquid had the bodies of the men responsible moved from this death trap.

When I climb into the front seat Liquid states, “They will be Trillium food. Slick and Brownie moved the bodies to the flower garden and the prospects are digging six feet and planting plenty of Trilliums—the official flower of Ontario. Nothing like pieces of shit to grow a beautiful garden.”

I nod, closing my eyes and praying Jessikah makes it. Will she be okay, probably not for a very long time, but I am a patient man. I'll show her love, protection and support.

***

Jessikah

So cold, so fucking cold. Why is it so cold in heaven?

“We have her in an induced coma. We need to allow her brain to heal on its own,” a voice says, as a wave of coldness takes over my body.

Tired, so tired. Must sleep.

***

The next time I come into a semiconscious state, the beeping of the machine sounds like nails on the chalkboard making my head hurt more. I need to sleep but it’s so hot in here.

It’s getting hard to breathe, but the lights are so pretty. I want to follow where they go, but it’s so hard to move my legs and arms.

The beeping speeds up as I try to move. But then it feels like the entire room is shaking. We are having an earthquake.

The beeping is speeding up and the sound needs to stop.

God, I am so tired. Shouldn’t death be quieter?

***

“She had a second seizure about thirty minutes ago. Her brain needs to heal in order for her to get better,” the voice says.

“Is there anything we can do?” a more feminine voice asks.

“If you pray, then pray. If you light candles, light candles. The only thing that will help Miss. Gorman is time and patience,” the first voice answers.

“How is the other lady we brought in?” the feminine voice asks.

“Mrs. Wellman is in stable condition. Her bones have all been set, and the cuts have all been cleaned and the ones that needed to be stitched have been. She has been slowly removed from the sedation. Mr. Black hasn’t left her side and has maintained a regiment of reading books to her and talking to her. She should be coming to within the next few days.”

“Why hasn’t Jessikah healed enough to be brought out of sedation?” a deep male voice asks.

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