Chapter Two – Welcome Home, Drew
The next morning, a very blonde, slim, man wearing a dark, green shirt entered the one-story house. His jeans were holey, and tattoos peeked out from the collar and sleeves of his t-shirt. As he slipped off his gun holster, he noticed that a very silky, expensive, jacket was hanging on the coat rack. Sighing, he readied his gun, and carefully peered around the corner, the hallway was clear. He quietly walked up to the first door in the hallway. Without making a noise, he turned the handle to the door, and popped it open, pointing his gun in the face of Valencia.
"Calm down, Drew. It's just me." Valencia said calmly, smiling at his friend.
"What the hell are you doing here?" Drew snapped, looking around the room and finding a girl in his bed. "And this?" he said, pointing to his bed. "I did not leave this here."
Valencia almost chuckled at Drew's general irritation. "Welcome back-" Valencia began.
"To my own house? Welcome back to my own house? What the hell are you doing here Florintino?" Drew snapped, putting his gun away.
"She needed someplace safe." Valencia answered, sitting back down in his chair.
"I'm not your personal safe-house, Valencia; you can't just invade whenever you feel like it. Plus, she's in my bed, where the hell am I supposed to sleep now?" Drew all but whined.
"There's a couch in the living room, you can sleep there until she's well enough." Valencia offered, causing a big frown to appear on Drew's face.
"That's complete bullshit." Drew snapped, resisting the urge to throw a table. "I leave for you on your dumbass mission, just to come back and not even sleep in my own goddamn bed?" With that, Drew stormed out of the room, kicking at the furniture as he went. Valencia followed behind quietly, his shiny, black, shoes clicking as he walked.
"Drew, it's a big favor for me. I need your help." Valencia looked almost apologetically at his friend.
Drew sighed and looked at the ceiling before speaking again, "How bad was it?" he asked, causing Valencia to run his fingers through his hair.
"She was really hurt, really awful. Deep cuts, lots of bruises, she's still in a coma. I found her out in the trees back behind my house, looked like she'd been thrown off a cliff or something." Valencia said somberly.
"Any ideas on what did this? Or if she's going to live?" Drew asked, jamming his hands into his jean pockets and looking Valencia straight in the eyes.
"No." Valencia all but whispered.
Drew took a deep inhale of breath and closed his eyes. "The point." Was all he said.
"There's just something about her, something not right. Who would do this to her? Why? There's something important about her. There's a reason why she was attacked. I need to know who and why, and I need to stop it." Valencia said as calmly as he could.
"And you have no idea as to who's doing it?" Drew asked again.
"No." Valencia repeated, shaking his head.
"Alright, fine. She can stay for a little while. Not forever." Drew stated before stomping out the front door.
Valencia sighed as he collapsed into the chair, next to the bed. He leaned back and closed his eyes; they burned and watered a little. When he opened them again, there was another set of eyes staring back at him.
Her eyes were green, but looked nothing like emeralds. They were a flat, dull, green, and he couldn't tell if she even registered that he was there. For a couple of moments, they just sat and stared at each other, until she suddenly sneezed. In that second, he reacted, by leaping to his feet and standing directly in front of her. She opened her eyes again and looked up at him, turning her body slightly on the bed to do so.
"Hello, darling," Valencia all but cooed, "What's your name?" he asked more gruffly.
The girl kept staring at him without any emotion. He tried again, in French, then German, Italian, Spanish, Chinese, and Russian. Still, she just blinked at him. "I need to know what hurts the most right now." He stated, reverting back to English. "So that I can help." She inhaled deeply, and winced. He peeled back the comforter, revealing her muddy and ripped dark blue tank top. Calmly, he pulled at the hem of her shirt up to her ribs. A dark purple bruise blossomed from her bellybutton towards her last set of ribs. He sighed to himself, before replacing the blankets over her.
"I'll be right back." He said to her as he half-bowed out of the room. He sauntered into the hallway and across the living room. He stepped down into the kitchen. He rummaged around in one of the cabinets before pulling out the first aid kit he had given Drew when he moved in. There were a dozen small vials containing various liquids. A few syringes sat in the kit, wrapped in plastic. None of the vials were labeled, but he pulled a vial filled with a greenish liquid. After setting the vial on the counter, he opened up a skinny syringe and barely filled it with some of the green liquid. As he walked back to the room, he knocked all the air bubbles out of the syringe. She was asleep when he reentered the room. Quietly, he took her hand, flipped it palm up, and found her vein. He slipped the liquid out of the syringe and into her vein. He just hoped that it would be enough to help her.