Black Heart (2 page)

They needed a better beginning. I tried to write a prologue a few times, but each and

every time it felt forced and I hated it. I wasn’t going to do it, but my beta readers kept

pushing for a beginning. Deciding that I’d rather just write one instead of getting slapped

around by them cause they’re pretty damn vicious, I sat down and prepared to do just that. I

wrote one. It sucked. I deleted it. Again.

I was just about to write an email to Jodi when I realized why nothing felt right. It’s

because Tristan and Marty already had a beginning to their story. They were the very first

words that I’d ever written. It was their beginning and I decided to use it. The only problem

was that I deleted it years ago.

Or so I thought.

Years ago, when I’d experienced computer problems, I’d saved all my documents to a

memory stick. Crossing my fingers, I hunted down those memory sticks and was amazed

that Marty and Tristan’s original story was still there. The crappiest book ever written, lol.

I copied the prologue and set to work on it. It took me a whole day to fix this thing and

while it doesn’t look like my writing style and there’s a chance that it will throw off a few

readers, I decided to use it.

If you want, you can skip the prologue and it shouldn’t affect the story for you. I put it in

the book because I felt that it deserved its place. They were the first words that I’d ever

written for a book and in a way they gave me my start.

This book is part of a definite eight book series with a possibility of a ninth book. This

story line will continue on. There are no cliffhangers here, well, there shouldn’t be.

On behalf of my children and myself, we hope that you enjoy Marty and Tristan’s story.

Mo shonuachar

Soulmate…..

“I told you that we shouldn’t have brought him here!” the young woman sitting on the

floor cried as she struggled to restrain the young boy in her arms.

“I’m sorry! I know that I should have listened to you, but I’m sick of not being able to go

anywhere or do anything! I’m sick of this!” her husband yelled as he let go of his son’s legs.

Without another word, he stood up and walked over to the window. Once again, leaving her

to deal with their son alone.

Struggling not to lose it, she fought back the tears that she knew wouldn’t help as she

looked down at her son. He’d stopped fighting, but he was still panicking. She knew the

signs well by now. His eyes were squeezed shut and his body was tense.

-
-
-

He was trying to tear away from her, from the house, from everything, but he

couldn’t free himself or even scream for help. His mother had him restrained on the floor

and she was doing everything that she could to keep her hand over his mouth. She didn’t

want his grandmother to hear him, to know that he’d had another “episode” as she liked to

call it. When he felt her hold on him relax, he made his move, too desperate to get out of

the house to care about what happened next.

“Ow! He bit me, Shaun!”

As soon as she released her hold on him, he was up and running down the hall

towards the stairs. He tripped over something, but didn’t dare risk opening his eyes to see

what it was. He used his hands to help guide his way. He fumbled with frames on the table

that he’d seen barely a half an hour ago and was soon moving his hand along the wall.

As soon as he felt the banister he knew that he was almost there. All he needed was to

get down the stairs and out the front door and then he’d be safe. Desperate to get out of the

house, he started to run faster, too fast, down the stairs and tripped. He blindly reached out

to grab onto the banister, but it was too late. He fell down the stairs, hitting what felt like

every step until he landed on what felt like the hardwood floor in the front hall. Keeping his

eyes tightly closed, he stood up on shaky legs and ran as fast as he could, praying that he

was going the right way.

Stumbling forward, his legs suddenly gave out, sending him flying and slamming him

face first into what felt like the thick leg of the mahogany end table that his grandmother

kept by the front closet. He could feel hot liquid stream down his face, but he didn’t care.

He needed to get out of the house. The pain was intense and any attempt to get up was

immediately met with more pain and dizziness. He struggled until the only thing that he

could do was rollover onto his back and pray that his grandmother finally followed through

with her threat and threw him out.

-
-
-

“Oh my God, Tristan!” his mother cried, running down the stairs, taking them two at a

time.

“Julie, is he okay?”

“No, Mom, we need an ambulance! He’s bleeding everywhere!” Julie said, shaking

Tristan’s small shoulders as she tried to wake him up, terrified that he’d finally killed

himself.

“I called them twenty minutes ago when he started to go into hysterics,” her mother said

as she joined her in kneeling over Tristan’s still body. “Honestly, Julie, there is something

wrong with that boy. I told you that I didn’t want him in my house.”

Barely listening to her, Julie pulled her sweater off and placed it beneath Tristan’s head.

A moment later, she reluctantly left his side and quickly made her way to the kitchen. She

grabbed her purse and dumped the contents onto the floor. When she found the small

business card that she’d thrown into her purse a few months ago, she grabbed her mother’s

phone and dialed, praying that the damn doctor would listen to her this time and do

something to help them.

“Dr. Myers, please,” she said as soon as she heard someone answer the phone.

“I’m sorry, but he’s with a patient right now. If you’d like to leave a mess-“

“I don’t care if he is with a patient!” Julie said, cutting the receptionist off. “Tell him

that Tristan McCree has had another panic attack. He’s knocked himself unconscious this

time and we’re taking him to Province Hospital,” she rushed to explain, hanging up before

the receptionist could argue or ask her any questions.

Feeling exhausted, she walked back to Tristan, praying that this would be the last

time that they had to go through something like this. Honestly, she didn’t know how much

more she could handle. Tristan was too much for her. She hadn’t been ready for him seven

years ago when she was barely sixteen years old and discovered that she was pregnant and

she wasn’t ready for him now. She just needed a break. She needed someone to fix him,

or…..

She just needed something.

Tristan was still unconscious when the ambulance arrived. The Paramedics bandaged his

head and stabilized his spine and were starting to load him onto a backboard when Julie

realized that Shaun hadn’t come downstairs.

“I’ll be back in a minute. I just want to tell my husband that we’re going now. Please

don’t leave without me,” Julie explained in a rush as she ran upstairs.

She found Shaun sitting on the floor with his back against the wall. “Hun, I have to

go. Can you drive the car to Province Hospital? I’m going to ride with Tristan,” she

explained quickly before turning around to leave, hoping to avoid another argument. “I’ll

see you there soon.”

“No,” was his reply.

She quickly turned around and walked back up the stairs so that she didn’t have to yell.

“You can’t go with us. They’ll only allow one of us to go with him. Baby, you have to drive

there or I won’t have any way to get home.”

“I said no, because I’m not going. I’m done. He’s wrecking our lives. We can’t go

anywhere with him! We’re stuck in our house when we’re not busting our asses off to pay

all the medical bills he makes for us. For Christ’s sake, this is the first time we’ve came to

your mother’s house in three years! I’m sick of this. He needs more help than we can give

him. He needs to be in a psychiatric hospital! The doctors have been telling us that for three

years now. You won’t do it, because you think it will make you a bad mother and right now

I don’t fucking care! He needs help!”

“I don’t need this right now!” she screamed at him, almost pleading with him to just do

it, to free them from this nightmare that Tristan brought into their lives.

Sighing heavily, Shaun got to his feet and went to her. “I’ll go this one last time, but only

to make sure that he gets the help he needs and then I’m done. I can’t be his father

anymore.”

Julie bit her lip as she looked away, hating herself for wanting nothing more than to walk

away from Tristan and pretend that he’d never existed. Shaun was right. Something was

wrong with Tristan, had always been wrong with him. She didn’t want to admit that her six-

year-old son was disturbed, but maybe now she didn’t have a choice.

“Ma’am, we need to go!” one of the EMTs yelled.

Shaun cupped her chin and raised her gaze to his. He brushed her blonde hair out of her

face and kissed her forehead. She couldn’t say anything to him. She just wanted to wrap

her arms around him and pretend that only the two of them existed.

“Julie, he’s coming to!” her mother yelled, destroying all her hopes that she could forget

this was happening.

Nodding, she stepped away from Shaun and slowly made her way back downstairs.

-
-
-

“Alright, on my count, one…two…three,” Tom counted off for his partner as they

picked up the backboard holding the little boy. Without a word, they carried the child out of

the house.

Tom watched as the little boy slowly opened his eyes. When he looked around, Tom

assumed that the little boy was looking for his mother. As soon as the little boy’s gaze

landed on the house, the violent tremors began.

“Whoa! Tom, hold up I think the kid is seizing,” Jeff said. In a well-practiced move, they

placed the backboard on the ground and re-checked the little boy’s vitals.

“He’s having another panic attack,” the boy’s mother said flatly, sounding exhausted as

she stood by them, making no moves to comfort the boy as he started to scream.

Tom looked at his partner and then back at the boy’s mother, pissed that she wasn’t

helping. The kid needed his mother and she was just standing there, looking like she didn’t

care. “Ma’am, it’s kind of chilly out here. Why don’t you wait in the ambulance and stay

warm?”

With a slight nod, she walked over to the ambulance and climbed in the back. Shaking

his head in disgust, Tom finished looking the little boy over, making sure that they hadn’t

missed anything.

When he was done, he nodded towards the boy and without a word they picked up the

backboard and headed towards the ambulance. They found his mother sitting on the tech

bench. When they strapped the backboard to the stretcher, she finally looked at her son.

She gave the boy what looked like a forced smile.

Tom watched as the little boy looked up at his mother and started to return her forced

smile when an expression of pure terror spread over his face. In seconds, he was screaming,

his eyes were squeezed shut, and he was tearing at the safety restraints that secured him to

the board. He was just about free when Tom managed to grab a hold of him and restrain

him on the board. “Jeff, get back here now!”

Tom tried to hold Tristan’s arms down, but he could barely manage it. He was shocked

at how strong this six year old kid was. In matter of seconds, the little boy broke free and

lunged for the door. Tom managed to grab the kid before he could jump out of the truck.

He had the kid back on the board when the kid took him by surprise and kicked him in the

groin.

“Get the kid!” Tom yelled when Jeff opened the back doors, in too much pain to move,

never mind wrestle with the kid again.

Jeff barely managed to catch the kid when he jumped out of the ambulance. The boy

was like a rabid animal, kicking and swinging his fists as he struggled to get free.

“Tom, grab the restraints and call the police! I can’t handle this kid!”

Still huddled on the floor of the ambulance, Tom struggled to stand up and when that

didn’t work, he crawled to the front of the ambulance. He grabbed the portable radio.

“Echo 14 in need of police assistance on scene. I repeat, echo 14 in need of police

assistance.” Still gasping for air, he lowered the microphone and waited for a response.

“
Echo 14, sending police assistance to 13 Derry Road. Is that correct
?” dispatch

returned.

“That’s correct.”