Page 71 of Fragile hearts

“What? No, he was sleeping. And he died instantly so he couldn’t have talked.” Officer Stanton averts his gaze, swallowing hard.

My heart beats faster in my chest. Panic rises “What? Why are you looking like that?”

“When they did the autopsy on Micah,” he starts blowing out a heavy breath. “They found blood in his lungs.” He continues talking, something about breathing and being stabbed. But I don’t hear any of it over the pounding in my ears. He didn’t die instantly. He was still alive, for a little while. That’s what that means. That’s how the blood comes in his lungs.

He was still alive.

He was still alive.

“They found you on the floor,” Stanton continues when I could finally hear again.

I shake my head. “No, no, I don’t remember that. I was lying in bed.”

“Most of the blood on the floor is yours. We think…” He pauses. “We think you were trying to help him.” A sob escapes my lips. Tears spill down my cheeks.

“I don’t— I tried, but my body was so tired, and he was sleeping. He was sleeping. I saw him. He was lying in his bed, with his eyes open. He was still. So still.”

“You were halfway when the firefighters found you, your hands were touching his mattress.” He pauses again. “He was alive when you were rescued.”

“No, no—stop,” I beg. “Please stop talking.” I shake my head over and over again, covering my ears as if that would block out his words. “He was for calling you…The firefighters did everything they could. I swear, Alexis, but he lost too much blood.”

“Stop, please, you have to stop.” His words haunt my thoughts.

“You were the last thing he was thinking of…He died in the firefighters’ arms.”

Then it all rushes back to me.

A man is standing in my bedroom. He’s holding something in his hand. It’s wet, dripping onto the floor.

I’m lying on my stomach in my bed.

Mr. Cow lies next to me. He’s dirty, covered in red paint. The man walks closer, his footsteps loud on the floor. I can see him better now. It’s Mr Monroe, my foster parent. I want to say hello, but my mouth doesn’t work.

“You stupid little brat.”

Brat?

I don’t know what that means. I haven’t learned that word yet. My throat hurts. Maybe I got the cold again. Mr. Monroe has tablets for that. I try to get up to ask him, but my legs don’t work. Mr. Monroe is still there. He is watching me, but I don’t know why. He lifts his hand. The object he’s holding is shiny. I like shiny things. He moves closer, lifts the shiny thing, and points it at me. And then.

Pain.

My stomach hurts now too. Stop, I want to say. It hurts. You’re not allowed to hurt people. He lifts the shiny thing, but it’s not shiny anymore. It’s red now and dripping again.

He walks over to where Mickey is sleeping. He is lying on his back like he always does. He lifts the thing again. It’s a knife. Why does he have a knife?

“No,” I try to say. You’re not allowed to play with knives. You’ll hurt yourself. Or others.

He lifts the knife, sticks it into Micah’s chest, and then. Red. Everywhere, Mr Monroe steps away. He’s smiling. He grabs something out of his pocket. A phone.

“Yes, I will be right there, Simone.”

He turns to face me, smirks and leaves. I look at Micah. He’s making weird noises. “Lexie,” he says, but his voice sounds weird. “It hurts.” He’s crying, holding his chest, red spreading everywhere. I manage to lift my leg and arm, and roll to the side, colliding with the floor.

I try to crawl, but my body is so tired. I scoot an inch and then another.

The door opens again. Two men run inside. “Fucking hell!” one says, hurrying over to Micah. The other one throws up, right on the floor. “Come on, buddy, breathe,” The one holding Micah says, I’m so confused, I can’t see well, and I’m so tired. “Lexie,” I hear again. But his voice sounds far away.

Arms pull me up and carry me. My body shakes as we run. Something is pressing against my throat. And then I’m laid down. A man sits next to me. He holds my hand. “You’re going to be okay,” I hear him whisper then I close my eyes and fall asleep.