Heartbeat

Gears in my heart churn, forcing it to beat once more. A symphony of platinum, titanium, and tin-coated mechanisms tick internally. The system repairs my injured organ, reviving me. I slowly open my eyes. The world around me is a vague concept that struggles to form coherently in my mind.

I’m sitting at the desk in my study. My research papers are strewn about the desk haphazardly. Stacks of unread books sit on the edges of the desk. I think I was researching the amulet. No, that’s not right. I already got the amulet. I was researching the strange death of Celeste Lucilius. There is a hard thud and suddenly I’m conscious of the rest of the room.

Two shadowy supernatural figures stand on opposite ends of the room. No, not supernatural, just humans wearing black clothes and ski masks. They are too preoccupied with tearing through my shelves of antiquities and books to notice my awakened form. The man on the left is short and chubby. He moves with care, respecting the objects before gently setting them on the ground. On the other hand, the man on the right is tall but keeps his thin frame hunched down.

So, were these the culprits of my latest death? Their timing is too convenient. Showing up days after I killed S.

My breath catches in my swollen throat, causing me to shudder at the raggedness. The two figures catch my movement and stop what they’re doing to face me.

“I told you the poison wouldn’t work. In the third journal he released, he was poisoned by a booby trap, and it didn’t faze him. He probably has built-in antivenom glands,” the shorter man’s voice is boyish and scared.

“Don’t believe everything you read lad. You sound like a little fanboy, it’s pathetic,” the thin man has the voice of an aged smoker.

I look at the short man, “If you kill the other one, I’ll spare you.”

The thin man pulls out a revolver, a Smith and Wesson .38 special with a black handle. “Oh, shut up. I’ll just do this the old-fashioned way.”

Well, I figured that was a long shot. He fires the gun. My eye gives way to the bullet barreling into my skull.

Pistons embedded in my head push and pull. Grey matter rearranges itself until the bullet falls out with a wet, squishy noise. They pump faster and faster until the gap in my head is mostly filled. I look up with my good eye at the two in the doorway. Silicon-mold grows, forming a temporary new skin over the hole. I keep my breath quiet this time.

The round fanboy speaks quickly, “Where else could it be? I knew we shouldn’t have killed him. This whole job has been bad news from the start, Leonard. He’s a national hero, this won’t go unnoticed. Plus, how are we supposed to find the amulet now?”

So they weren’t here to avenge S or to cover up Celeste. It all circles back to that cursed amulet.

Leonard places a thin hand on the other’s shoulder, “It’s alright Charles. We’ll dispose of the body, and everyone will think he’s on some new great adventure. Let’s go search upstairs. It can’t be that hard to find.”

The two leave the room, Leonard first and Charles soon after.

I wait until I hear the familiar creaking of my wooden staircase. Now that I am fully alone, I try to regain control of my body. It’s been a long time since I was killed twice in a row.

My fingers twitch. The poison from before still has me mostly paralyzed.

Come on.

I will my hand to move an inch, but it refuses.

Just a little more.

They twitch again. Then it happens. My mind and body become one again, and I can finally move my arm freely.

Preferably, I’ll kill Leonard first-He seems more experienced, ruthless, and cold. Revenge for my eye may play a subconscious part in that decision. Charles will have to die too, but it should be easier. This whole ordeal is a much needed break from the reading I’ve been slogging through all month.

I must stop them before they find the amulet. Not many people in the world know of its existence, and how these two found out is a mystery to me—one I intend to solve soon.

I open the top drawer of my desk, but my gun is gone. The 1911 was a gift from my father. Rage builds inside me, burning my face.

My hands dig around the whirlwind of debris left scattered on the floor from the intruders. I pull it out: an ancient curved sword with alien runes scrawled along the blade. Not as effective as a gun, but it should be able to deal with these two buffoons.

Before I leave, I scribble down what I know on a piece of scrap paper: two or more intruders, their names, and their physical descriptions. If somehow they stop me this should be enough for Laine to figure out what happened or how to track them.

Saliva builds in my mouth as I creep up the staircase. At the top, I carefully skip the creaky step. It’s high time I build up a set of defenses or traps in this house. Two voices chatter from the master bedroom where the amulet is hidden. I eavesdrop at the door, staying out of sight.

“I found something!” Charles yells, his voice has an American accent, rural midwestern or perhaps southern.

“Let me see,” Leonard’s wheezing voice sounds like new English, somewhere between Maine and Maryland.

A lock clicks.

There is a thump as a small wooden puzzle box hits the rug. These idiots found the amulet and already picked the lock. I might have been underestimating them.

There won’t be a better time to stop them from grabbing it. I turn the corner and lunge towards Leonard. His head jolts up as my blade comes down, chopping off his left hand in one clean stroke.

“IIIIEEEE!” he falls to the ground holding his stump. The amulet falls onto the ground, still clutched by the severed hand.

Before I can land a finishing blow, Charles slams into my side. The blade clatters on the floor as we wrestle. With every maneuver I make, he counters and overpowers. He isn’t an amateur fighter. Time for a new tactic.

I whisper into his ear, “Charles, you’re in way over your head. You may think you know from the books and shows, but what you didn’t account for is that I know you too. Those stories you’ve heard about me aren’t embellished. It’s the opposite. Those stories don’t tell half of what I’m capable of.”

He roars with newfound strength, lifts me off my feet, and throws me. I break through the window with a shatter and start my descent. It seems he isn’t easily deterred by words or intimidation. I hit the ground, and once again my vision goes black.

Grass itches my cheek. Stims have already half fixed my twisted spine. This was going to take a while.

My back deforms and restructures. A broken leg snaps back into place.

Across my driveway, a Ford Explorer speeds away, its license plate number is 9924. A sly grin appears on my face, and I can’t help but laugh. Finally, I have a new purpose.

A new hunt has begun.