She Has A Broken Thing Where Her Heart Should Be - J.D. Barker Page 0,91

need to stop them, or we’re all dead.”

“Christ—where’s the gun?”

“On the floor. By my feet. I think my arm is broken. I think I’m gonna…” Momma said.

Chocolate milk, in my eyes, my hair. Sticky.

“I can’t find it. Stay with me, Katy! Focus on my voice.”

“It’s there. Was holding it. Couldn’t—”

Momma’s voice fell away. Sleepy voice.

Loud bang.

Many loud bangs.

“He’s coming around,” I heard a voice say, distant, through a tunnel, an echo off smooth walls.

“Kid? Can you hear me?”

The air was cold, wintry cold.

I drew a deep breath.

Coughed.

I tried to reach for my mouth, but my hands, my arms, wouldn’t move.

“Breathe, kid.”

More cold air.

Something mopped at my eyes. Wet.

“Hand me the scissors. I need to get this sweatshirt off him. The jeans, too.”

My eyes fluttered open.

“There you are!” The man was looking down at me, a forced smile. He produced a penlight and pointed it at my eyes. When I closed them, he forced them back open with his free hand. First the right, then the left, then the light was gone. “Can you tell me your name?”

I stared up at him, the churning clouds above him.

“Kid?”

“Pip.”

“What?”

“Jack.”

“Just Jack?”

“Jack Thatch. John Edward Thatch.”

“That’s a long name.”

“Everyone calls me Jack.”

“You’re one crazy son of a bitch, Jack. Can you tell me who’s president of the United States?”

“Clinton.”

“Gold star for you.” He turned and shouted over his shoulder. “I need a free bus to take this kid to Mercy General!”

“Two more ambulances inbound!” someone replied. “ETA, three minutes!”

“Krendal,” I forced out. My mouth was not working.

“What?”

“The man I tried to pull out…”

The paramedic’s face drooped. “I’m sorry, son. He didn’t make it.”

Someone started tugging at my jeans. I turned to see a female paramedic holding thick shears, cutting through the material.

My head swiveled, taking in my surroundings.

I was in the middle of Brownsville Road, strapped to a stretcher. Black smoke churned out of Krendal’s Diner to my left, firemen crawling all around the opening like yellow ants with hoses, water flooding the sidewalk.

I turned in the opposite direction, toward my apartment building. “Gerdy.”

Her name came out, followed by another cough. I realized for the first time I had a mask on. The paramedic pulled the mask down over my chin. “What?”

“Where’s Gerdy?”

“Is there a Gerdy here?” the paramedic shouted toward the crowd of people around us.

A woman stepped forward, an older woman in a floral print dress and gray hair pinned back neatly. Her arms and face were covered in black soot, the hem of her dress burnt. She knelt down beside my stretcher. “Is that the girl who was with you? I saw you walking down the sidewalk with her, right before…you were holding hands. Is that who you mean?”

I nodded.

Her eyes filled with tears. She leaned in closer. “I’m so sorry. I tried to stop her, but she was just too strong. I couldn’t hold her.”

“Hold her…what?”

“She chased after you, into the fire.”

Every muscle in my body tensed. I tried to leap up from the stretcher, but the straps at my wrists, ankles, and neck held me down.

“Whoa, buddy,” the paramedic pressed a steady hand to my chest.

“Let me out of this thing!” I rocked violently back and forth. “Gerdy!”

I swiveled my head back toward the parked cars. A crowd of people stood between the Volvo and Sentra, where I had left her. I couldn’t see her, though. I didn’t see her. “Gerdy!”

I turned back toward Krendal’s, toward the black smoke drifting out the shattered opening. Firemen disappeared inside, pulling heavy hoses with them. “She’s not in there! She wouldn’t go in there!”

The strap on my right hand broke free. I reached over and started on the left.

The woman in the burnt floral print dress backed away, her eyes filled with tears. “I’m so sorry,” she mouthed.

“Give me 10mgs Haldol, now!” the paramedic shouted above me, holding my chest down with the bulk of his weight.

My ankle broke free.

I tried to buck him off.

A needle plunged into my arm.

No, please. Not Gerdy. Not Gerdy.

All went dark then.

4

Faustino Brier liked pizza.

He liked pizza damn near more than anything else on this planet.

Of all pizza in all of Pittsburgh, he particularly liked Mineo’s Pizza in Squirrel Hill, so when John Mineo came over to his table no less than thirty seconds after his 16” cheese and pepperoni arrived and told him he had a phone call, he instructed the man to tell whoever it was that he wasn’t there, he hadn’t seen him all day. When John Mineo returned and told him the caller