The Guilty - Jason Pinter [72]
knife into her heart and you'd still be stuck here wriggling like
a stupid fucking fish on a hook. If I go anywhere near her you
can't do goddamn anything. "
The boy's face seemed to unwind, the tautness leaving it.
In other light it might have even looked kind.
"Amanda," he repeated. "Amanda Davies. Daughter of
Harriet and Lawrence Stein of St. Louis. I got her name from
someone at your office, that newspaper you work for that's
going down the drain. People there are awful free with information. I know where she works, I know what train she takes
to get to her office in the morning so she can save all the little
children whose mommies and daddies didn't love them
enough. Kind of like you and Amanda, right?
"That's right, smart guy. So listen, Henry, you and me,
we're on the same page, right? You can do all the storytelling
you want, hell there must be a million stories out there in this
big bad city. I'm asking nicely, stay away from this one. And
as a token of my friendship, I'll make it a little easier on you."
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Jason Pinter
The boy stepped around to where I was sitting. I saw something shiny, the glint of metal. He held a knife in his hands.
I tried to crane my neck but I couldn't see him as he leaned
down and reached toward where my hands were bound.
I started bucking like crazy, but between my head and the
bonds my strength was gone. I felt a hand clamp down on my
right wrist, holding it to the floor. I jerked my shoulder and
tried to free it, gritted my teeth and attempted to pull away.
Suddenly I felt a searing pain on my right hand and a shout
escaped my lips as the blade sliced through my skin. I cried
out again as the blade kept cutting, tearing through me for
what seemed like hours. I felt hot blood dripping through my
fingers, I bit my lips to keep from screaming.
Finally the blade stopped. The boy stood back up over me.
His hands and the blade were covered in my blood. I thought
my heart was going to burst through my chest, the room
fading away as blood leaked from my veins.
"Now I'm going to just use your bathroom, clean all this
mess up and then I'll be on my way." He stepped away and I
heard running water. The pain was unbearable, blood leaving
my body with every heartbeat.
Then he came back. Squatted down. Pressed the tip of the
knife against my chest, hard enough so I could feel the point
digging in between two of my ribs. One small shove and he
would pierce my heart.
"You have a lot to lose, Henry. Think about where you're
going. Take one bad step," he said, before walking out the
door, "and you'll know what bad means."
33
I sat still as the nurse sewed my hand back together. After
sinking the blade into my flesh, the man had traced every
finger, carving a gruesome glove on my palm. He hadn't severed any tendons, and he'd missed or purposefully ignored
the major blood vessels in my wrist. He wanted me hurt. Not
dead.
Curt Sheffield sat on a stool next to me, watching as the
black threads closed the wounds. He winced every time the
needle pierced my skin, which was slightly disconcerting
since between the novocaine numbing my hand and the extrastrength aspirin for my head, I wouldn't have felt it if someone
hit me with a two-by-four.
"Glad to know the boys in blue get squeamish at the sight
of blood," I said to Curt.
"Blood? Uh-uh. I'm just wincing in sympathy 'cause
you're gonna have one ugly-ass hand once those stitches
come out." Curt looked at me, shaking his head as if he
couldn't believe what he was seeing.
"Least I still have my looks."
"Yeah, right. I'd say you look like hell, but I don't want to
hurt hell's feelings."
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Jason Pinter
"Mmph," I replied, as another nurse placed an ice pack on
my head and secured it with an Ace bandage.
"You're lucky Amanda came home when she did," Sheffield added. "Docs said if you lost any more blood they might
have had to amputate the hand."
"They didn't really say that," I said. "Did they?"
"Nah, just jerking your chain."
"Please, just go away. I bet