Chapter 3 Debts and Black Cards

Raynelle

I cleaned the cut with a saline, flushing away dirt and bits of gravel embedded in the torn flesh.

He groaned as the saline touched his open flesh, cold sweat running down the skin.

“I thought you'd macho it out.” I said, dabbing around the edges of his wound with antiseptic.

He tilted his head in direction, his brows creased in fine lines “It fucking hurts.”

Three words. It was the most he had said since he entered my apartment.

His voice was deep and gravelly, like–

‘No Raynelle.’ I stopped myself before I could think even further. ‘He could be a serial killer.’

I covered the wound with fresh sterile dressings and secured everything tightly with a compression bandage wrapped around his torso.

His pulse was weak, but steadier than before.

"You need stitches," I said quietly. "Probably surgery."

His eyes met mine, "No hospital.”

I ran my finger through my tousled hair. He was as stubborn as a mule but I had more important things to deal with.

“Suit yourself.” I stood up, picking up my cracked phone. “I have more important things to deal with.”

I switched my phone on. A spiderweb of cracks spread across the screen, catching the light.

I stared at it for a second. Just what I needed. Another bill waiting to empty my account.

Dialing Harlow's number was one of the hardest things I had to do.

The phone rang twice before she picked up.

“Tell me everything.” I cut in, before she could even speak. “Tell me every single thing that happened.”

The line went silent until she finally spoke. “She's been acting weirdly these past few days.”

“You think she knew?”

“I'm sure of it. She just didn't want us to worry.”

“It's too late for that now.” I responded drily, "I haven't been able to think straight for the last thirty minutes.”

Harlow chuckled humourlessly, “I came home from my shift this evening and I saw her….”

She trailed off, I didn't need her to fill me on what happened next as her voice cracked, little sobs spilling out.

“She was on the floor, Ray.” She cried out, her voice scratchy.

I took a large gulp of water from the lamp stand, my fingers already drumming against the surface. “It's okay, Harlow. Everything's going to be alright. Mom's going to be alright.”

Nothing could ever be alright, but I prayed to every deity above that she was.

I could hear her hyperventilating across the line. “She's going to be alright…. Right?

“She will.” I whispered. She has to be alright. I couldn't even imagine what I would do if anything happened to her.

“Take care of yourself. I'll book the nearest flight home as soon as I can.”

She hummed across the line as she ended the call but I could tell she was anything but alright.

I leaned against the wall. “What am I supposed to do now?”

The criminal stranger was already breathing heavily, probably asleep. My sister was alone in the hospital with my mom and I couldn't even hold my phone without my fingers shaking from the exhaustion and adrenaline still coursing through my veins.

I needed to book the nearest home… fast. Mr Mendelez would understand, I'll file for an official leave.

I ran to my room and pulled out my laptop. The harsh lights illuminated my face and I had to shield my eyes until I adjusted the settings.

There's a stranger in your living room, one that has a ghastly cut stretching through his chest.

My medical instincts kicked in and I bolted back to the living room, setting my laptop on the coffee table, as I sat a couple feet away from him.

“Now,” I whispered to myself, pulling up a new tab, “How much is the flight back home.”

The cheapest flight back to Colorado was six hundred and forty-three dollars.

I could barely scrounge up five hundred. Even if I managed to book the ticket I would be stranded in my own city.

My rent was due in four days. Bus fare. Food. Medical bills. It would all be on Harlow and our …. insurance.

Our insurance could only cover some of it. The rest would bury us alive.

I would only become another liability.

“All those years in medical school and I can't even afford a plane back home.” Hot tears slid down my eyes and this time I didn't even bother to wipe them off.

I was royally fucked. If only Dad was here, he would know what to do.

‘But he isn't here, all because of you.’ The voice in my head mocked,

'And he never will be. Mur-der-er.’

I dug my fingers into my palms. No, this couldn't be happening, not right now.

My heartbeat spiked and my eyes darted around the room. Where the fuck was my needle.

A low voice brought me out of my stupor. "How much?"

I looked up. “Aren't you supposed to be asleep?” I asked, taking a deep breath. The panic receded like it never existed in the first place.

"How much?" He asked again, his lips thinning in a straight line as he sat up.

“You're not supposed to move.” I leaned forward, “You'll open your wounds.”

His eyes scanned across my living room, and my breath caught in my chest.

“What are you doing?” I asked, backing away.

Just now, he didn't look like somebody who was badly injured. He looked like a predator.

Alarm bells rang in my head and I gently backed away. He could split his wound open for all I care but I wasn't getting killed in this shitty apartment.

"I overheard you talking on the phone.” He grimaced, placing a hand on his abdomen. “How much do you need?”

A low giggle left my lips, my shoulders shaking. “And how much can you give me? Do you know how much Chemo costs?”

He raised his brows as I continued, “You look like you barely have your life together. Minutes ago you were hanging on a thin thread. Keep your money."

He reached into the inside pocket of his ruined jacket and tossed a black credit card onto the table.

"Consider it part of the payment plan.”

My eyes darted between the black card on the table and his face. “What the actual fuck!”