Human after All

Matthew parked his car a few blocks down the street from the strip club and decided to walk around the back way. There were still a few hours to go before he could expect the last of them to meet at the bar, but figured he would get a few drinks in ahead of them. He heard sirens in the background, and could only imagine as to their source.

Turning, he made his way down the damp alley that led to the rear entrance of the club. An alert man would have sensed the attacker as he drew within range; a dexterous man would have been able to dodge the lumbering mook s swing once there. Matthew was neither type of man. He hit the ground. Hard.

A portion of his senses returned to him, and then were taken away. Senses gained , senses lost. This happened a few times until his brain was finally able to grasp the fact that he was having the ever-loving shit beat out of him. He was not able to see, but from the sheer number of blows beating down upon him, he estimated no less than 10 men were upon him.

Then, the beating subsided. It took him a few moments, but he was able to pull himself out of the fetal position he had instinctively curled into. Slowly, he rolled over onto his side up onto one elbow . His eyes were already starting to swell, and various parts of his body were sending damage reports to his brain in the form of intense pain. He looked up, attempting to identify his attackers .

One figure slowly came into focus. He simply stood there, excitingly wiggling his fingers with open hands, looking down at Matthew with a half smile.

You ve been a bad boy, said the man-who-was-ten. I normally just get a spanking for that, coughed out Matthew. Heh, Knuth said you were a smart- ass. From this angle, that s about the only thing smart about you.

Before Matthew could brace himself, the man-who-was-ten planted a hard, swift kick square in his abdomen. Don t move, I ve got a gift from Mr. Knuth.

Matthew now began to panic. This was no mugging. Knuth had found out about his side job, and now he was going to pay for it.

With that, Matthew felt his legs spread open by the feet of his attacker. Expecting a kick in the groin, Matthew instead felt the biting sting of a blade on the inside of his inner leg ”the cut was deep.

Even with the wind knocked out of him from the kick, Matthew cried out in a series of pained curses and associated vulgarities.

Nice language. You kiss your mother with that mouth? mocked the man-who-was-ten. Matthew replied, No, but I kiss yours!

From time to time, the part of Matthew s brain that allowed him to think before he spoke malfunctioned. This was one of those times. His mental query as to how stupid it was to say something about an armed man s mother was answered by another, this time slower, cut to the inside of his leg. That one s from mom.

Matthew felt a fist grasp the hair on the back of his head, and for a brief moment, felt the impact of another to his face before things went black.

He had no idea how much time had passed when he finally began to regain consciousness, nor was he cognizant of his surroundings. His memory started to return, bleeding into his mind much like his own blood leaving his body.

He was in a car, which was now stopping. Door open. A pulling at his shirt. A thud. That was me, he thought as he figured out that he was now on cold pavement. Some distant shouting, then running footsteps. Door closed. Screeching tires, accelerating engine. Then sweet silence.

He was cold, and his jeans were saturated with blood. Wavering between conscious and the unconscious, he heard more sounds shouting, but different this time, excited and concerned . As he passed out, he didn t feel the hand placed on his shoulder, nor did he hear the promise that help was there.

Matthew had been dumped at the Emergency Room entrance at the St. James hospital. Apparently, his attacker had alerted the staff of his arrival just before he sped off unseen.

He was fortunate his records were on file in the hospital system from his previous visit with Capri. His ID was checked and matched, and St. James was able to immediately produce an admission sheet and medical chart already filled in with all of his personal information.

Matthew was fading in and out of consciousness, though he was still aware of some of the activity going on around him. He heard something about a low hemoglobin count, and seemed to think he was being taken to a blood transfusion unit not only to receive some much needed blood, but also to close up the wounds causing the deadly blood loss. He saw the train of overhead lights stream past, though he knew it was him streaming past them. He laughed to himself of how stereotypical that scene was, remembering how it was always shown in those ER shows. He thought of Red Bull and Skittles. Green ones.

It was something he overheard through the darkness that brought him back to some semblance of lucidity. Let s get him started on four pints of type A immediately. He looks like he might be going into shock ; we don t want to lose him, said one of the nurses.

A? he thought. Did she say type A? I m B+! A cold shiver ran down Matthew s spine, but he didn t feel it. With whatever strength he could muster, he forced himself to speak out loud: B+, he said softly.

What was that, honey? said the nurse. Matthew didn t feel the needle find its target in his arm. With great effort Matthew was able to speak a bit louder, and with more enunciation. B, +, he said slowly.

What did he say? asked the one. He told us to be positive, said the other. Now that s the spirit, honey. Don t you worry none, you re in good hands now.

Matthew thought of Capri, and then fell into unconsciousness once again. And from it, he did not return.