Fallen Angel

Chapter 2

“Where the fuck are you, man?” a gruff voice boomed through Marshall’s cell phone.

“The hospital.”

“You hurt?”

“Nah—”

“Then what the fuck?”

“Curtis, it’s a long story,” he sighed.

“You better tell it, ‘cause there some mad people over here!”

“I found a half-dead woman on the side of the road.”

“Oh, shit!  Whatcha’ still doin’ at the hospital, though?”

“I wanna be here when she wakes up—”

“Do you know her or somethin’?”

“I can’t explain it…but I feel like I oughta be here.  I might be savin’ someone’s life, you know!”

Curtis laughed.  “Yeah, maybe.  I’ll run it by Dre, but hurry your ass back.  We got a concert in like, three hours, and you’re half the show!”

 ~*~

Marshall groaned.  He wanted to stay at the hospital—he wanted to be the first to know any changes in her status, whether she even survived through the first set of intensive operations…

“What the fuck am I saying?  Blow off my career for some bitch I don’t know?”

He felt like smacking himself for how absolutely out of character he was acting; hell, he could have sworn that he felt his conscience make an appearance when he knew he’d lost it years ago.

Angrily, he jumped up from the chair with the intention of walking straight out of the hospital.  His face was set—he felt his feet try and betray him by attempting to plant themselves and grow roots in the damned waiting room—but before he got more than five feet, he was leaning over the nurses’ station.

“Here’s my pager and cell phone number.  Please have the doctor call me if anything changes—even if it’s just that she’s done with a surgery…”

“Of course, sir.  Will you be back later?”

“If I can,” Marshall replied quickly, feeling as if the words leaving his mouth weren’t his at all.

 ~*~

“I’m such a fuckin’ pussy,” he grumbled.  “Shit!  How am I gonna get to the venue if my damn car is on some cliff?” he yelled as he remembered he’d ridden over in the ambulance.

Frustrated, he quickly dialed several numbers for taxi service.  As soon as the yellow car rolled up, he jumped into the backseat, gave brief instructions, and thanked lady luck for an out-of-loop elderly driver who had no idea who he was, except that he had the money to pay his way.

Marshall’s heart leapt involuntarily when he heard the shrill sound of his cell phone.  He snatched it, and flipped it open, only to find himself disappointed with his caller.

“Where the fuck are you?”

“Dre, I’m on my way.  Didn’t Curtis give you the run down?”

“Yeah, boy, but we gotta concert with paying customers!”

“I’m coming, I swear.  I couldn’t just…leave her there!” Marshall felt as if he’d hit an all time lame as even his excuse sounded unbelievable to his own ears.

“I don’t care what happened, just be here in fifteen!”

“Yes, sir,” Marshall mumbled after he’d hung up.

“You’re here, thank god!” Dre yelled and jogged over to meet his protégé.

“It’s been a hellish day, so don’t even start—”

“I’m not, ‘cause we don’t have time to lose.”

“Do I have time for sound check?”

“We already did it without you—you’re just gonna have to hope it all works fine when you’re out there.”

“I don’t have patience for any more shit—” His tirade was interrupted by the ring of his cell phone.  “Yeah?”

“Hello, is this Mr. Mathers?”

“Yes, who’s this?”

“Your Jane Doe has finished her first set of surgeries.  She’s still unconscious, but her vitals have gotten a bit better.”

“That’s good news, doc.  Do you think she’s gonna to wake up tonight?”  

“Doubtful.  Even if she could, she’s so heavily sedated that she’ll probably sleep through the night.”

“I’ll try and stop by later tonight.  I have a previous engagement that I can’t break, but after it’s over, I’ll try and come by.”

“Commendable thing you’re doing, Mr. Mathers.  I’m sure she will thank you the moment she wakes up.”

“We’ll see,” Marshall murmured.  “Thanks for the update, doc.  I gotta get going.  Later.”

Dre gave him a pointed look.  “Your saved victim?”

“Don’t give me shit right now—”

“You can’t be distracted—”

“They’d never notice.  I won’t be once I get out there, anyway.”

“I don’t get why you’re so damned worked up over some anonymous chick’s broken bone!”

“Maybe if you saw her, you’d react differently.  She was just…Dre, it was a mess.  I’ve never seen so much fuckin’ blood…”

“What happened?” Dre raised his eyebrow.

“I don’t know.  It looks like someone tried to beat her to death.”

“She’s alive, though.”

“Barely.”

“So, you saved her.  Damn, Marsh, now you’re a regular ol’ saint!”

“Stop that.  I just…feel responsible for her.  I don’t know.  Hell, I want to smack myself just thinking about it.”

“Must be your old age.  That feelin’ of responsibility and shit is kickin’ in.  Ain’t Hailie enough?”

“You’re older, man!”

“So?  You’re like a kid.  I don’t need anymore responsibility, I gotta enough trouble keepin’ you and Curtis in line.”

“Very funny,” Marshall grinned.  “Come with me after the show—to the hospital.  You can see for yourself.”

“Fine,” Dre conceded.  “I’ll go with you, but only so I can drag you back before you set up camp by her damn bedside.”

“Shut up!”

Dre laughed.

~*~

Marshall stared at himself in the mirror in his dressing room.  Trying to clear his head, he shook it vigorously, blurring his reflection and successfully dizzying himself in the process.

“God damn.  Forget her.”

He growled in frustration; he couldn’t stop seeing her bloody body laying helplessly on the pavement.  The image was still so haunting and tore at his soul; he was having trouble bending his mind around the completely surreal chain of events of the day.

Swearing once more, he hurled a shoe at the wall in an attempt to exert his stress.  Hearing the signal for the show to begin, he jogged towards the stage.

~*~

“You gon’ be okay?” Dre asked in a whisper.

“Yeah, I’ll be fine,” Marshall replied confidently and shook his head slightly.

He found his mind clear—no image, no lingering scenes of the afternoon drama; he felt the bass hit the floor and his feet absorb the rhythm.

After all, he was a performer; he could get his act together—he could forget reality for just a few hours.

Couldn’t he?

Chapter3

Author: zines@aol.com

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These stories are for entertainment purposes only.  They are completely fictitious, and the authors mean no harm to EMINEM, his family, friends, or anyone else that may have been depicted as a 'real life' character.  No money was made on the fiction here, either directly or indirectly, i.e. paid advertising. In other words - it's just a bunch of shit we wrote for fun. Please don't take it seriously.