Jack of My Heart

Aces

     "Tell me what you see, Jack," A voice instructs me. I open my eyes, all my senses hitting me at once. The frigid wind slices through my thin clothes, and the scent of street filth stings my nose. My vision reels as though I'm seeing it through a shaky, handheld camera except the fact that it's impossibly clear. My breath appears like a small puff of smoke, and when I look down at my hands I feel much closer to the ground than I should be. A strong gust of wind pushes me into an alleyway, the wind sending me into a fit of shivering.
     "He's freezing! Bring him out of it!" Another voice booms, shaking the ground like a giant crack of thunder.
     "G-God?" I look up, only seeing a dark indigo sky above me, peppered with stars. When no response comes I blink a few times before shaking my head and looking down the alley I was pushed into. I think this leads back home. I glance behind me, trying to get my bearings.
     "Where are you, Jack?" The first voice asks again, not as violent as the second one, instead just rolling over the tops of buildings.
     "I'm in Chicago. I just left my friend's apartment, we saw a movie together," I say aloud, then immediately wonder why I did.
     "And that makes you... how old?" The voice asks again.
     "I'm five-years-old," My high voice suddenly sounds strange in my ears.
     "Five-years...? Are you with anyone? Parents? Adults?" The second voice fires off questions, and the trash can behind me rattles. I look around and shake my head.
     "I usually walk home alone," I shrug, venturing further down the alley.
     "You're five-years-old, wandering through the backstreets of Chicago alone?" The second voice explodes and so does a trash bag in the dumpster. Glass from beer bottles shatters as it rains onto the cracked asphalt, some pieces sticking into my legs. I wince when they make contact, blood trickling from a few of the deeper wounds. There's some rumbling from overhead as the voices argue.
     "Who... Who are you?" I ask, neck craned to look at the heavens. The rumbling stops abruptly.
     "Keep on your route," The first voice suggests, his voice calming. The glass falls from my legs and the wounds heal over. I nod and do as the voice says, humming softly as I grip my backpack straps and bounce down the way. My frog rain boots touch down on every bump in the side street until I see a puddle and aim both feet toward it. When I hop under the light of a street lamp, I can see that my boots are splattered with a thick dark liquid. I bend down to inspect them further and see that the liquid is deep, deep red. Slowly, with horror filled eyes, I look up to see the puddle is fed by a small stream, and that stream comes from a huge dark mound, only moving in brief spasms. I look down at my boots, back up to the mound, then puff my chest out as I swallow hard. My father's credo sounds in my head: 'Always stand up for others, and always stand on your feet.'
     Putting on a brave face, I march towards the twisting form.
     "Hey, you! Leave 'em alone!" I yell in my thick Chicago accent, my voice quavering as the pile rises, towering over my tiny form. I clench my fists, my already quivering lip quivering stronger. The dark mass steps out of the shadows and into my little circle of light. A tall man is revealed, his platinum hair slicked back, and almond eyes sharp as he crouches down to meet my height, still at least three heads taller than me. I can see his ivory face smeared with bright red fluid. He meets my fearful look with a wide grin.
     "Hello."
     I say nothing.
     "Are you here alone?"
     "My," I gulp, "my parents are waiting for me. Right through there, that shop."
     I point past his shoulder at a small restaurant my parents are extremely far away from.
     "Are they?" He slowly closes his eyes, opening them with a smug look. I nod furiously, trying to keep up the brave front. "You see, I don't believe you, boy. And I don't like liars."
     The man pulls out a knife from his jacket, blood still dripping from its cool surface. He positions the knife on my cheek, tapping it lightly against my skin.
     "Did you... are they alive?" I point at the heap still lying on the pavement. He looks over his shoulder at them and I take off as soon as his eyes leave me. I run as fast as I can, through the alleyway, getting knocked to the ground as a door swings open revealing warm light and the toxic smell of booze. I pick myself back up, but find I'm being assisted by giant hands.
     "Get off me!" I shout, pushing at the hands. They release me as soon as I'm fully standing up, and I look over my shoulder for the bloody man. As I rush forward I bump into a large object, again falling to the ground. I'm lifted up again but this time held in place.
     "Woah, kid. Where're you goin'?" A familiar voice asks, his sentence unsteady and dotted with hiccups. I look up at the sign above me, just barely able to make out the words: The Raucous Rooster.
     "I gotta go, there was someone, someone dead," I mutter trying to push against the mountain-like obstacle.
     "Someone dead? Hey, little man, slow down. Where did you see it? Are you sure?" The man's speech becomes less slurred and more urgent.
     "Yes! In that alley! Lemme go! You need to hide, he'll get you too!" I yell and spin out of his grip, dashing down the sidewalk. As soon as I make it to the crosswalk I feel an arm wrap around me and hoist me from the ground, then before I can let out a single scream, a hand claps over my mouth, the metallic tang of blood meeting my tongue. I squirm and twist and fight, but to no avail. I'm carried into an empty skyscraper, recently put under construction, though the crew is taking the holiday off. I'm slammed up against a wall, again face-to-face with the bloody man.
     "You sneaky little so-and-so. That was real clever, what you just pulled. Well, it would've been if you could've pulled it off. Look at your shoes, what do you see?" He demands. At first I see nothing, then I realize my mistake. My frog boots are still drenched in blood, undoubtedly tracked across the sidewalk.
     "Were... were they dead?" I finally stutter, eyes darting from the ground to his face. I'm pinned to the wall by my shoulder under his claw-like grip, and when I ask my question, it tightens.
     "Yes. Now, I really wish you hadn't confronted me, and I really wish you hadn't just asked me that. I was only planning on killing one person today, and I don't like to kill children," He idles on, drawing the knife again. "Now, I would've called the Exterminator, but he's away on business, and I don't think I have that kind of time."
     I gulp and try to weasel out of his grip, only succeeding in getting a blow to the ribs. We sit in silence for a moment, every time his blade touches my skin I tense up, unable to escape.
     "What was that mark? On the person you killed?" I ask, trying to draw his attention while I look for a way out.
     "Think. I'm sure you know what it is, though I'm impressed you noticed it," He finds a spot on my left shoulder to toy with.
     "A four leaf clover?" I ask, head tilted to the right. The man clicks his tongue while he shakes his head in disappointment. With great gusto, he drives the knife into my shoulder, emitting a mighty wail from my throat.
     "Try again. You know it," He encourages me, taking his hand from the hilt of the knife, but leaving it in my shoulder.
     "Well, it had three leaves, but I just figured you weren't done yet," I grimace, scanning my surroundings. There seems to be only one exit, and that's the same way we came, but unfortunately he stands between me and freedom. This answer obviously displeases him, because I can see his nostrils flare as he grabs the hilt, and drags the blade down to the bottom of my chest.
     "Wrong answer." He snarls, green eyes piercing through mine.
     "I- ow! I don't know!" I cry, gritting my teeth. I almost pass out, but a snapping slap across the face brings me out of it. A deck of cards flashes in my head, my mother shuffling it while my father sits beside me, going over the rules of the game. This one's the Heart, this one the Spade. This is the Diamond, and...
     "Clubs. That was a Club," I answer, head falling to my chest.
     "Very good. I knew you knew it," He releases his grip slowly, then switches hands, holding me up by my throat now. I kick wildly at him while pulling at his hand, but I just get hit in the head.
     "Let me go! I don't even know your name!" I yell, remembering something from the crime shows Mom watches.
     "Edwin Barnes. But you can call me Ace," His terrifying grin returns and he throws me to the ground with as much force as he can gather. I groan and try to pull myself up, to crawl out of there, but he's on top of me in a flash, stopping my slow departure.
     "Now I do have a reason to kill you. Thank you for that. It would've been eating away at me otherwise," He raises the knife over his head. I raise my arms to protect myself, but instead of aiming for my neck like I thought he would, he plunges it back in the wound he already created, sinking it further into my flesh and carving a chasm in my body.
     "H-Help! Please, someone! He-" I scream, only to have it muffled by a gloved hand. Edwin hushes me, then chuckles.
     "You're a tenacious little fellow, aren't you?" He asks rhetorically. A loud crack sounds from the exit, and both his head and mine are turned to look at the source of the noise. A Goliath of a man stands in the doorway, chest heaving in and out. It takes my brain a few seconds to recognize this man as the one from the bar. I blink a few times, trying to stay awake as blood pours from the gaping hole in my torso and a large laceration on my head. My blood mingles with the dust on the ground, pooling beneath me.
     "Get off of him. I've," He hiccups, "called the cops. They're on their way."
     Edwin's eyes light up as the man hiccups again, then he flicks them down to my small mangled frame, taking in all of my cuts and slowly forming bruises. My lip is split, my nose bloody, and yet I manage to hack up a glob of saliva and blood and spit at him. Edwin's delight gives way to rage and he swiftly raises the knife, readying it over my heart. Before he can harm me further, the large man barrels into Edwin, knocking him off of me and wrestling him in a tough battle. While the man has Edwin distracted I try to get away, but I'm barely able to keep my eyes open. Edwin escapes the struggle and looks between my near lifeless form and the hunkering man standing between us.
     "Go on, fight me again. It's only a matter of time before the cops arrive," The man challenges.
     "And who do you think they'll believe did this to the boy? Me, or the drunk?" Edwin cackles. "And besides, how long do you think he'll last anyway? He's nearly dead, and definitely not worth it."
      The drunken man rages and storms towards Edwin, who merely throws the knife at me. It lands in a crack in the concrete, maybe an inch from my face. I can't even bring myself to be concerned. The large man can though, and he stops in his tracks.
      "Well, I have to thank both of you. I was worried when the boy found me, but not only do I have someone to take the fall, but I have the victim to your heinous crime as well!" Edwin exclaims, giddy as a kid in a candy store. He gives a two fingered salute and strolls out of the place, humming the same tune I did while bounding down the alley. Blood and consciousness ebb from me, my breaths coming out in sharp gasps. I groan with pain, splitting the large man's attention between the door Edwin just left out of and me, trying desperately to get up. The pool of blood is growing steadily, each breath I take sending a spray of it from the small hole in my gut.
      "Oh my God, oh my God. Are you, hic, are you still alive?" He swoops down to my side, picking me up into his arms. I nod weakly, but the rest of my body has gone limp.
      "I should've stopped you, I could've stopped you," He cries, his tears splashing against my cheeks.
     "M-My mom's gonna be s-so... mad," I cough out, blood spurting from my mouth. "She just got this rain jacket for me."
     The man's mouth is slightly ajar, his eyebrows knit in confusion. We both look down to the massive wound, then back at each other.
     "I don't think that's what she's going to be mad about," He says finally, trying to make me laugh. I do and he smiles, sadly.
     "What's... your name?" I wheeze, shivering as a cold wind flashes through the hollow building. The man takes off his giant, fluffy, fleece-lined jacket and wraps me up in it. I try to say thank you, but the words get caught in my throat, so I just look up at him with appreciation.
     "Frank. Frank Cafre," He smiles, shielding me against the wind.
     "Thank you... Frank," I cough and blood speckles my chin.
     "Oh my God. I'm so sorry," He frowns. "I told the police the building, they should-"
     "Get your hands up! In the air!" A voice behind us cries. We both turn our heads to find it and see a young police officer pointing his gun at Frank.
     "Wait, no, I didn't-" Frank starts, his speech still slurred. The officer looks down and sees my face peeking out of the bundle of clothes and repeats his commands with greater urgency. Frank shoots his hands up, forgetting that he's the only thing keeping me from the cold ground. I fall from his arms as soon as they are raised in surrender, and I hear him shout as my head clangs against the concrete, immediately knocking me out.