CRIMINAL (On Hold)

Chapter Two (Part Two)

Chapter Two (Part Two)

Calla

Warm blood streamed down my leg as my dad ran to the couch and grabbed a blanket.

My heart raced as he tied it around the wound. "Apply pressure. I'm calling 911!"

I looked down at the brick. Bile crept up the back of my throat and threatened to spill over. Why? Why are people doing this to us?

My father didn't leave my side as he spoke to the 911 dispatcher. "Yes, please send an ambulance immediately! My daughter has been hit by a brick. We need police officers too." He paused. "Yes, please hurry!"

His voice started to sound faint as the room began to sway. The blood and the pain were too much. As my hand slipped from the towel, I slumped on to the carpet and fainted.

***

"We've sedated her and stitched up the wound on her leg. She'll need crutches for the next week or so and she cannot get the area wet until we take the stitches out."

My eyes fluttered open in confusion. Unable to place the voice, I looked around the room. Long white curtains with mesh tops divided the room into two. Machines beeped from somewhere in the distance and the smell of bleach permeated my nostrils.

"Keep an eye out for infection. If she experiences any redness, swelling, or heat emanating from the wound, bring her back in immediately."

"I will. Thank you so much for looking after my daughter today," replied my father.

I sat up, wincing in the process. "Dad? Dad, where are you?"

The curtain flew back and my dad's face appeared. Relief and concern flashed through his eyes as he rushed to my side. "Oh, Calla! I'm so sorry!"

I looked down at my bandaged leg. "It's okay, Dad. It wasn't your fault."

A tall woman with her jet-black hair pulled into a tight bun stepped into the room. She held a chart in one hand and a pen in the other.

"Your leg," his voice quaked, "your leg needed stitches. But, don't worry. You're going to be just fine. Dr. Yari took excellent care of you."

The doctor smiled as she approached the small hospital bed. "Hi, Calla. I'm Dr. Yari." She held out her hand.

As I shook her hand, I frowned and pointed to a bag of clear liquid hanging from a pole. "Why am I hooked up to this?"

She made a quick note in my chart. "You were slightly dehydrated when you came in, so we are giving you some fluids. We've also given you a shot for the pain and you have a prescription for antibiotics."

"Is my leg broken?" I asked, struggling to process her words.

She shook her head. "No, the bone is fine. We took an x-ray and there were no signs of damage to your tibia or fibula. The cut was fairly significant, so you will need to take it easy and use crutches for the next one to two weeks."

"Do they know who did it?" I asked, sweeping my gaze from Dr. Yari to my father.

He pressed his lips together. "The police are at the house. They haven't shared much information, other than they are looking for the perpetrators."

"Calla, it appears that you are under a lot of stress right now. We gave you some medication when you first came in to help. Would you like me to give you a prescription for something to help with the anxiety?"

My throat constricted as tears welled up in my eyes. "Maybe."

Dr. Yari placed her hand on my shoulder. "I'll send in the prescription and if you're feeling overwhelmed, you and your father can make the choice if you'd like to fill it, okay?"

"Okay." The word sounded foreign. It didn't sound like my voice.

She pulled her hand back and made another note on my chart. The plastic clipboard it rested on had some prescription medication advertised across the back in bright pink and blue font. "Do you have any questions, Calla?"

"No, I don't think so." I pulled the sheet over my leg, hiding the crisp white bandage.

The doctor nodded. "Okay. I'll come check on you again in thirty minutes. The fluids should be gone by then and we should be ready to discharge you."

"Thank you, Dr. Yari," said my father, holding out his hand. "Thank you for taking care of my little girl."

After they shook, she exited the room.

A pained expression settled on my father's face. "I'm so sorry, Calla. This is all my fault."

Ignoring the sharp pain in my right leg, I sat up and grabbed his hand. "Dad, this isn't your fault. Whoever threw that brick is a criminal. You didn't do anything wrong."

He squeezed my hand. "I think you should stay with your Aunt Kady for the rest of the school year."

I wanted to protest, but I didn't want to upset him anymore.

He let go of my hand and rubbed his face. "I can't have your life in danger every time you walk into the living room."

"Maybe we should move?" I asked. Our house held so many memories, both good and bad. Dad had refused to leave before, saying it would give the people who falsely accused him and sent him to prison a sense of pride. Even after his case had been turned over and he had been released from jail earlier this year, people still accused him of killing my stepmom.

His lips formed a thin line and his shoulders went rigid.

I know he didn't want to move, but people were becoming more aggressive. His car had been vandalized six months ago and someone spray painted, "KILLER" on our garage door in bright red paint three weeks ago. When I had brought it up in the past, he always resisted. "We were both raised in this house," he would say. "Your Grandparent's left it to our family." The other part, which he would never admit to out loud, was that a murder occurred in the house. People were leery about buying houses where brutal homicides had taken place.

His head dropped. "Maybe it's time."

"We can talk about it later," I said, not wanting to push the matter.

"The police are going to ask you for a statement." He handed me a plastic glass of water. "Would you feel up to giving it before we leave the hospital?"

"That's fine. I don't know what I can tell them though... I heard squealing tires, ran into the room, and got hit by a brick. I didn't see anything else." I took a sip of the room temperature water.

"I didn't have much to add either," he said, accepting the cup back and sliding it on to the counter.

I heard a faint buzzing from somewhere in the room.

"Oh," said my dad, crossing over to a small chair on the other side of the room. "I brought your purse. I think that's your phone."

Reaching forward, a sharp pain shot through my leg. Ignoring it, forced a small smile. "Thanks, Dad. It's probably Rowan." I didn't have any other friends, so he was the only person who ever called or texted me.

My phone buzzed again as I reached into my purse. As I pulled it out, a small scream escaped my lips. A text message from an unknown number stared back at me. It had a picture of the brick that had been through our window and the words, "YOU'RE NEXT!"

*******

Cliffhangers,

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Hearts and Daggers,

Kelly Anne Blount xoxo

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