My Keeper My Dying Heart

In the heavy, gasoline-scented air of the highway-adjacent service station, I stood in my grease-stained blue coveralls. My head was bowed, fingers blindly tracing the step-by-step instructions I had painstakingly written in black Sharpie on my left cuff.

Suddenly, a flawlessly dressed couple walked toward me. The sharp, rhythmic click-clack of the womans stilettos against the oil-slicked concrete cut through the ambient hum of the highway.

She stopped right in front of me. She looked down, her gaze sweeping over me with a sneer that didn't bother hiding its venom.

"Hudson. You were so damn capable five years ago when you tried to kill me for the insurance payout," she said, her voice sharp enough to draw blood.

I froze. The woman staring at me was a total stranger. She called me "Hudson," which I knew was my name, but the things she was saying meant absolutely nothing to me.

My memory is a bucket with a hole in the bottom. It can't hold onto anything. I survive solely on the faded ink tattooed on my forearm, a stack of Polaroid pictures in my chest pocket, and a battered leather journal filled with frantic handwriting.

"Its actually pathetic. You orchestrated this massive scheme, and you walked away with absolutely nothing." When I didn't react, she pressed closer to the man beside her, wrapping her manicured hand around his arm.

The man looked refined. Expensive peacoat, wire-rimmed glasses. He looked like an Ivy League academic.

"What, Mr. Taft? Are we playing the amnesia card to dodge the consequences?" the woman scoffed, a cold, hollow sound. "I have to admit, the acting is Oscar-worthy."

I stared at her, my mind a brilliant, blinding blank. Habit took over. It was the only thing I had left.

"Ma'am, do you need premium or regular?" I asked mechanically.

"Fill it," she snapped, her eyes burning into mine. "Every last drop. Don't you dare spill a single ounce."

I nodded. I looked down at my cuff, following the Sharpie guide, step by step, to begin the fueling process.

The truth is, I have a rare, aggressive form of rapid neurocognitive decline. I can't remember much of anything anymore. That includes the girlfriend from five years agothe one this woman claimed I had tried to murder by pulling the plug on her ventilator.

Id written in my journal that a brilliant young doctor doing his rounds had saved her life that night. Not long after, she married him.

Looking at the couple standing under the harsh fluorescent lights of the gas canopy, I figured they must be them.

"Keep the nozzle steady. Don't drip on my husband's shoes."

The womans icy voice floated above my head.

I looked down at the bespoke Italian leather oxfords near my work boots and carefully angled the nozzle away.

"Yes, ma'am."

I checked the guide on my sleeve one more time, unscrewed the gas cap, and inserted the nozzle.

The digital numbers on the pump began to blur and spin.

"Jo, why are you even wasting your breath on him?"

The man holding her spoke in a soft, cultured voice dripping with disgust.

"Look at the state of him. He smells like an oil spill. He's going to ruin your coat."

Jocelyn St. James let out a low, breathy laugh.

"Tim, you're always too soft-hearted."

"Some people never change. Five years later, he's still poor, but his pathetic little tricks to get a woman's attention have hit a new rock bottom."

Every word she spoke felt like a poisoned needle, but I didn't understand the context.

I only knew my job was to pump the gas.

"Ma'am, what make is the vehicle?"

I looked up to ask. Different high-end cars sometimes required a manual override on the vapor recovery system.

Jocelyns face instantly darkened. Storm clouds gathering.

"Why the hell are you asking me that?"

Tim chuckled, a patronizing sound.

"Mr. Taft, this custom McLaren was commissioned in the exact shade of midnight blue you used to obsess over. Its a one-of-one in the world."

"Don't tell me your little act includes forgetting that, too?"

I looked at him, completely lost.

"I don't know you."

"Jo, look. He's doing it again."

Tim shook his head with theatrical pity, resting his chin on Jocelyns shoulder.

"Hes so committed to the bit, I almost believe him."

Jocelyns eyes were glacial.

She reached into her designer bag, pulled out a matte black Centurion card, and tossed it onto the dirty concrete at my feet.

"When you're done pumping, clean my rims."

"Wipe them with your sleeve."

My breath hitched.

On my left cuff, in thick black ink, were the steps I needed to survive my shift.

If I wiped the rims with it, the oil would erase the words. I would forget how to do my job.

"I can't."

I whispered the refusal.

"Excuse me?"

Jocelyn looked at me like I was the punchline to a terrible joke.

"Hudson Taft, what did you just say?"

I looked at the black card in the dirt, then at my sleeve. I planted my feet.

"I can't."

"I can't get my sleeve dirty."

Jocelyns patience snapped.

She lunged forward, her fingers wrapping around my wrist like a steel vice.

She squeezed so hard I thought my bones would splinter.

"Five years, and you still think you can tell me 'I can't'?"

"You didn't say 'I can't' when you pulled the plug on my life support!"

Her scream echoed across the station, turning the heads of the few customers at the pumps.

I winced, pain shooting up my arm. The heavy gas nozzle nearly slipped from my grip.

Just then, a woman in the same blue coveralls sprinted out from the convenience store.

"Let him go!"

She shoved Jocelyn hard, planting herself firmly between me and the wealthy woman.

It was Haley. My sister.

I fumbled in my chest pocket, pulled out my Polaroid camera, and aimed it at her face. Click.

The film whirred out. I stared at the familiar face developing in the square frame, pulled out my pen, and wrote on the back:

Haley Taft. My sister.

Jocelyn looked at Haley, her lip curling in absolute disdain.

"Ah. I wondered who you were clinging to these days. Found yourself a new sugar mama, Hudson?"

"Your taste really does deteriorate by the year. From me, to some street trash, and now you're sleeping with a gas station attendant?"

Haleys face flushed a violent, mottled red.

"Watch your damn mouth!"

"Who the hell do you think you are, talking to my brother like that?"

Tim stepped forward instantly, pulling Jocelyn securely against his side, his chin tilted in arrogance.

"I suggest you watch your tone."

"You are looking at the CEO of St. James Global. This is Jocelyn St. James."

"She is someone you could never afford to cross in a million lifetimes."

Haley pushed me further behind her back.

"I don't care if she's the Queen of England! She doesn't get to bully my brother!"

Jocelyn stared at us, her eyes dead and cold.

"Cute."

"Playing the fierce protector, are we?"

She lifted her footthe one wearing the thousand-dollar shoeand stomped it down hard onto the thick rubber gas hose.

"I'm not going anywhere."

"Let's see how long you can keep him safe."

All the blood drained from Haleys face.

I knew why. She was terrified of losing this job.

It was the only thing keeping a roof over our heads.

I stepped out from behind her and walked up to Jocelyn.

I dropped to my knees on the oily concrete and picked up the black card.

Then, I lifted the hem of my shirt and began to carefully, meticulously polish the spotless silver rims of her hypercar.

Whispers broke out from the onlookers.

I heard the word "pathetic."

I heard someone say "deserves it."

Jocelyn stood above me, a goddess executing judgment, her eyes entirely devoid of warmth.

"Remember this feeling, Hudson."

"We are just getting started."

I finished the last tire, stood up, and held the black card out to her.

"Ma'am. It's done."

She didn't take it.

Tim laughed softly.

"Jo, look how obedient he is. See? He can be trained."

Without warning, Jocelyn slapped my hand. The card clattered to the ground.

"Who told you to use your shirt?"

"I told you to use your sleeve."

She pointed a manicured finger right at my left cuff, the one covered in my jagged handwriting.

"Now. Do it. Use your sleeve."

"Wipe it until the fabric is shredded to pieces."

My body locked up.

The words on that cuff had taken me all night to memorize and write down.

Step 1: Ask the customer what grade of gas.

Step 2: Select the correct nozzle.

Step 3: Punch in the amount.

...Twenty-seven steps in total.

Without them, tomorrow, I wouldn't know how to exist here.

"What? Refusing me again?"

There was a dangerous, thrilling edge to Jocelyn's voice.

"Or is that gibberish on your arm a love letter from your little mechanic friend?"

She reached out, grabbing for my arm.

Haley lunged forward again, placing herself squarely in front of me.

"Enough!"

"What do you want from us?!"

Jocelyn glanced at her, thoroughly bored.

"I am catching up with my ex-fianc. Did anyone invite you to speak?"

"Ex-fianc?"

Haley let out a harsh, disbelieving laugh.

"Is this how rich people catch up? This is abuse!"

Tim chimed in, his voice dripping with faux-sympathy.

"Miss, Jocelyn is simply helping Mr. Taft jog his memory."

"After all, he knows exactly what he did to her for a payout five years ago."

"Jocelyn is being incredibly gracious by giving him a chance to make amends. He should be on his knees thanking her."

"Amends?"

Haley looked at them like they were psychopaths.

"You're torturing him, and you call it making amends?"

Jocelyn was done playing.

She looked past us, locking eyes with the gas station manager who had just scurried out of the office.

"Does your corporate office want to keep its fuel supply contract with my logistics firm?"

The manager's knees practically buckled.

"Ms. St. James! Ms. St. James, please, I am so sorry!"

He bowed and scraped his way over, shooting a lethal glare at Haley.

"You! Apologize to Ms. St. James right now!"

Haleys fists were trembling, her knuckles bone-white.

The manager turned his wrath on me.

"And you, Taft! She asked you to wipe a damn tire! What is wrong with you?"

"Stop wasting her time and do your damn job!"

I looked at the manager's sweaty, subservient face. I looked at the tears of rage gathering in my sister's eyes.

I lowered my head. Slowly, I unrolled my left sleeve.

And then, I sank to my knees.

I took the fabricthe very blueprint of my survivaland pressed it against the cold metal rim of the tire.

Once.

Twice.

Thick, black grime instantly soaked through the blue cotton, blurring the Sharpie ink into meaningless gray smears.

As the ink faded, my memory faded with it.

I forgot what Step Three was.

Then Step Four vanished.

Jocelyn just stood there, watching me with cold satisfaction.

Like she was sitting in the front row of a tragedy she had written herself.

Only when the fabric of my cuff was frayed and torn, the words completely obliterated by grease, did she finally speak.

"That's enough."

I stopped my hand and looked up at her.

Her face was an unreadable mask.

"Hudson. Do you remember what today is? Five years ago today?"

I stared at her blankly and shook my head.

She wasn't surprised. She just smiled. A terrible, broken smile.

"It's the day you agreed to marry me."

"You were crying. You looked at me and said, 'Jocelyn, I will never love another woman as long as I live.'"

"You promised to build a home with me."

With every word she spoke, a spike of pain drove itself deeper into my skull.

Flickers of static-laced memories flashed behind my eyes.

Stained glass. White silk. A diamond catching the light.

"Can't remember?"

Jocelyn leaned down, her fingers gripping my chin, forcing my gaze up to meet hers.

"It's fine. I remember enough for both of us."

"Everything you owe me, Hudson... I'm going to extract it from you. Piece by piece."

She released me, straightening up and smoothing the lapels of her coat.

"Tim. Let's go."

Tim shot me a triumphant smirk, tucked her hand into the crook of his arm, and helped her into the passenger seat.

The black McLaren roared to life, leaving nothing but the smell of exhaust and burnt rubber.

Haley rushed over, pulling me up from the dirty concrete.

"Hudson! Are you okay? Did she hurt you?"

I looked at her, my vision swimming, my mind entirely hollowed out.

"Haley... who am I?"

Her eyes instantly filled with tears.

She threw her arms around me, holding me tight against her chest.

"You're Hudson. You're my little brother. You're my favorite person in the whole world."

I fumbled in my pocket and pulled out the Polaroid I had just taken. The one I hadn't had time to put away safely.

I didn't recognize the face on the film anymore.

The writing on the back had been smeared by the oil on my hands.

I pointed at the picture and asked in a whisper.

"Then... who is she?"

Haley looked at the photo, then at my blank face. The tears spilled over, tracking through the dirt on her cheeks.

"That's me, Hudson."

"We're family."

I nodded slowly, trying to process the concept.

Before I could, the manager marched over and slapped two white envelopes against my chest.

"You're both fired."

"Clean out your lockers and get the hell off my property."

Haley stepped up, furious.

"On what grounds?!"

"On the grounds that you pissed off Jocelyn St. James!"

The manager waved his hand dismissively.

"You're blacklisted. No station in Seattle is going to hire you now."

"Good luck starving on the street."

Haley swayed on her feet.

I reached out to steady her, picking the envelopes up from the ground.

I didn't really understand the politics of what had just happened.

I just knew we didn't have a place to go to tomorrow.

I pulled out my battered journal, flipped to a fresh, crinkled page.

With my clicking pen, I carefully wrote:

Today, a woman named Jocelyn St. James made me lose my job.

I closed the book and looked up at my sister.

"Haley. What does 'starving' mean?"

We moved into a smaller, darker basement apartment on the outskirts of the city.

There were no windows. The air constantly tasted of damp concrete and mildew.

Haley walked miles every day, hitting every garage and gas station in the county, but the manager had been right. No one would touch her.

She ended up taking day laborhauling bricks at construction sites or sorting heavy crates at the docks.

Every night, she came home practically paralyzed with exhaustion.

And me? I couldn't even get hired to sweep floors.

Without the guide on my sleeve, I couldn't even do basic subtraction to hand back change.

So, I stayed in the dark room. I spent hours staring at my journal and the polaroids, chanting the facts over and over, trying to anchor myself and my sister to my fading brain.

One afternoon, Haley came home before the sun went down.

Her face was flushed, her eyes bright, and she was carrying a small white bakery box.

"Hudson! Look what I got!"

She popped the lid. Inside was a tiny, perfect vanilla cupcake.

Written in red icing on top were the words: Happy Birthday.

"Birthday?"

I stared at her, genuinely confused.

"Its your birthday today, you idiot," Haley said, affectionately ruffling my hair.

"You're twenty-five."

She reached into her worn jacket pocket and pulled out a small object wrapped in newspaper.

"I didn't have much cash, but I got you this."

I peeled back the paper. It was a sleek, silver digital voice recorder.

"What does it do?" I asked, turning it over in my hands.

"Let me show you."

She guided my thumb over the buttons. "This is record. This is stop. This is play."

"From now on, when something happens that you really need to remember, just speak into it."

"It's faster than writing. When you forget, you just hit play."

I lifted it to my mouth, pressed the red button, and spoke.

"Haley Taft is my sister."

I hit play.

My own voice, clear and steady, echoed in the damp room.

A massive smile broke across my face.

"Thank you, Haley."

Watching me smile, her eyes watered again.

"Don't thank me, kid. You're my brother."

That night, we split the cupcake down the middle.

I swear, the cheap vanilla frosting was the sweetest thing I had ever tasted in my life.

The next morning, I was sitting on my cot, practicing with the recorder.

Suddenly, the flimsy door to our basement was kicked off its hinges.

Three men in tailored black suits stormed into the room. The one in front was Jocelyns executive assistant.

"Mr. Taft. My boss would like a word."

It wasn't a request.

Instinctively, I shoved the voice recorder behind my back.

"I don't want to go."

"That really wasn't an option."

The assistant smirked, flicking his wrist.

The two muscle-bound suits grabbed my arms and hauled me out.

I was thrown into the back of a black SUV and driven to a place that felt like another planet.

It was a sprawling, glass-and-steel mansion overlooking Lake Washington.

Jocelyn sat on a white leather sofa in the center of the cavernous living room. Tim was curled into her side, a glass of champagne in his hand.

When she saw me dragged in, a cruel, razor-thin smile touched her lips.

"Hudson. It's been a while."

I stared at her, every muscle in my body tight.

"What do you want?"

"To give you an opportunity to make some real money."

She pointed elegantly toward the far wall. There was a massive, floor-to-ceiling decorative water tank, meant for exotic fish, but currently empty save for the deep, crystal-clear water.

"Do you see the bottom of the tank?"

"There's a ring down there. The engagement ring I was going to give you five years ago."

"You jump in, you swim down, and you bring it to me. I'll write you a check for one hundred thousand dollars right now."

I stared at the deep, shimmering water. A cold sweat broke out over my entire body.

I couldn't swim.

My journal clearly stated: You are terrified of deep water.

"What's wrong? Scared?"

Tim practically purred the words.

"Mr. Taft, you were bold enough to try and murder Jocelyn for her money. Surely a little swim isn't too frightening?"

"Or is a hundred grand just pocket change to a high roller like you?"

Jocelyn swirled the red wine in her glass, her eyes locked on my trembling hands.

"A million, then."

"You jump in, you get the ring, and a million dollars is yours."

"With a million dollars, you and your sister will never have to rot in that moldy basement ever again."

My breath caught. She knew where we lived.

She was watching us.

My grip tightened on the voice recorder hidden in my pocket.

"I won't do it."

Jocelyns amusement vanished. The air in the room went freezing cold.

"Hudson. Don't push your luck."

"I'm giving you a choice. You go in the water, or I have my men drag your sister here, and I make her go in the water."

My heart slammed against my ribs.

"Don't touch her!"

"Then be a good boy."

Jocelyn set her wine glass down with a sharp clink. She stood up and walked slowly toward me.

"I'm going to ask you one last time. Are you going in, or is she?"

I looked into her dead, beautiful eyes. I looked back at the towering tank of water.

I didn't have a choice.

My legs felt like lead as I walked toward the glass. I nudged off my worn sneakers.

Ice-cold panic had already gripped my lungs.

Just as I braced my hands on the edge to pull myself up

"Ah!"

Tim let out a high-pitched gasp.

"My watch!"

He pointed frantically at the surface of the water, his face twisted in horror.

"Jo, my watch just slipped off! It fell in!"

"That was my grandfather's! Its the only thing I have left of him!"

Jocelyn immediately pulled him into her arms, stroking his hair.

"Shh, it's okay. I'll have the staff drain the tank."

"No!"

Tim shook his head, actual tears in his eyes.

"The mechanism is too delicate! The pressure from the drain pull will destroy it! It has to be retrieved by hand!"

He turned to look at me, his eyes wide and pleading.

"Mr. Taft, please! You're such a strong swimmer. Could you please bring it up for me?"

"If you do... I'll... I'll beg you on my knees!"

He actually made a show of bending his knees to drop to the floor.

Jocelyn caught him by the shoulders, pulling him back up.

"Tim, stop it! Have some dignity!"

She looked at him with profound tenderness, and then turned her gaze to me. It was like a switch flipping from summer to absolute winter.

"Hudson. Theres been a change of plans."

"Now, you are going to dive down and retrieve Tristan's watch, too."

"If you come up missing either the ring or the watch, I will have my security break one of your sister's legs."

I stood on the edge of the massive glass tank, my hands entirely numb.

Two items.

A ring. A watch.

I could only hold my breath long enough to grab one at a time.

"Why are you just standing there?"

Jocelyns voice sounded like it was echoing up from hell.

"Are you trying to calculate which one is worth more so you can negotiate a better payout?"

Tim leaned heavily against her, his voice a tragic whisper.

"Jo, don't force him."

"My watch doesn't matter. Let it rot at the bottom."

"Mr. Taft obviously cares more about the diamond. He's always been about the money."

His words acted like gasoline on an open flame.

"Hudson. I changed my mind again."

"You will bring up Tristan's watch first."

"The ring... you don't get the ring anymore."

She was doing this on purpose.

She wanted to watch me sacrifice the last physical tether between us just to appease her current lover.

I took a jagged, desperate breath. I closed my eyes.

And I let myself fall into the freezing water.

The shock of the cold was an instant physical assault.

I couldn't swim.

I was sinking like a stone.

The pressure crushed against my eardrums. My lungs screamed.

I thrashed wildly, my arms and legs kicking at the empty water, but I was only sinking deeper.

Through the distorted, bubbling glass, I saw the two of them standing in the living room.

Jocelyn stood perfectly still, a statue of ice.

Tim had a small, triumphant smirk playing on his lips.

They were just watching me. Like scientists observing an insect drowning in a jar.

Black spots danced in the corners of my vision. My consciousness was fraying.

Just as my body surrendered, convinced I was going to die on the tiled bottom of this tank...

A tiny red light blinked in my pocket.

With the absolute last ounce of my strength, my thumb jammed against the fabric of my pants, hitting the play button.

Through the muffled, rushing sound of the water, Haleys voice crackled out.

You're Hudson. You're my little brother. You're my favorite person in the whole world.

Haley.

I have a sister.

I can't leave her alone.

Pure, primal survival instinct injected a surge of adrenaline into my dying muscles.

I kicked off the bottom with everything I had. My hand swept across the tiles.

My fingers brushed against cold metal.

It was the ring.

I didn't even look for the watch.

I closed my fist around the band and kicked upward, thrashing blindly toward the light.

Splash!

I broke the surface.

I dragged myself over the edge of the tank and collapsed onto the marble floor, coughing up pool water, gasping so hard my chest tore with pain.

"What did you pull up?"

Jocelyns voice was devoid of humanity.

My hand was trembling violently. Slowly, I uncurled my fingers.

The diamond ring sat in my palm, catching the harsh track lighting above.

Tristans face contorted in fury.

"Hudson! What the hell is wrong with you?"

"I begged you to get my grandfather's watch, and you went for the diamond?!"

"You really are a greedy, heartless bastard!"

Jocelyns eyes looked like they wanted to strip the flesh from my bones.

She took slow, deliberate steps toward me, leaned down, and snatched the ring from my palm.

She held it up, stared at it for a second, and then hurled it onto the marble floor.

"You make me sick."

She lifted the heel of her shoe, aiming directly for the diamond, ready to stomp down and shatter the setting.

"No!"

I lunged forward, throwing my upper body over the ring, burying it under my stomach.

Jocelyns heel came downlanding hard between my shoulder blades.

She didn't stomp with her full weight, but the heavy, crushing pressure of her shoe pinning me to the floor made it impossible to breathe.

"You care about it this much?"

She laughed, a hollow, bitter sound.

"You'd literally take a beating for the payout?"

I lay pressed against the cold marble, soaking wet, shivering violently.

I didn't care about the money.

I just felt, deep in my broken brain, that this ring was incredibly important.

I couldn't let her destroy it.

"Jo, let it go."

Tim walked over, placing a gentle hand on her arm, playing the merciful saint.

"If he's that desperate for cash, let him keep the scraps."

"Besides, you love me now."

"That ring means absolutely nothing. It's garbage."

Slowly, Jocelyn lifted her foot off my back.

"You're right."

"There's no point in fighting with trash over trash."

She turned, sliding her arm around Tristan's waist.

"Let's go upstairs. He's ruining the aesthetic."

They walked away like two untouchable gods who had just handed down a sentence, leaving me completely alone in the massive room.

I pushed myself up onto my knees. My fingers traced the marble until I found the ring.

I held it up to the light.

There was an engraving on the inside of the band.

I squinted, trying to focus my blurry vision.

V.C & H.E? No.

J.S & H.T.

Jocelyn St. James and Hudson Taft.

Suddenly, my brain felt like it was being pierced by a thousand white-hot needles.

A violent, agonizing pressure built behind my eyes.

Shattered glass fragments of memory violently forced their way into my consciousness.

"Hudson, marry me."

"I love you, Jocelyn."

"Pull it... it hurts so much..."

"Hudson! Don't you dare!"

"Help me..."

"No..."

"AGH!"

I grabbed my head, a raw, animalistic scream ripping from my throat.

My body seized. I collapsed onto the floor, my limbs thrashing uncontrollably as a grand mal seizure took hold. My vision narrowed into a dark tunnel.

My lungs paralyzed. I forgot how to breathe.

Just as the darkness was about to pull me under completely...

The heavy oak doors of the mansion burst open.

Haley rushed into the room like a bat out of hell, dragging a man in a white doctors coat behind her.

"Hudson!"

When she saw me seizing on the wet marble, her eyes went wide with pure terror.

The doctor sprinted over, dropping his bag and instantly beginning emergency protocol, forcing my airway open.

Jocelyn and Tim, having heard the scream from the stairs, had rushed back down.

When Jocelyn saw the chaos on the floor, she froze for a split second, before her face hardened into a sneer.

"A new performance, Hudson?"

"Faking a seizure now?"

"The lengths you'll go to keep my attention are honestly pathetic."

Haley launched herself across the room. Her fist connected with Jocelyns cheekbone with a sickening crack.

"Shut your fucking mouth!"

Haleys eyes were bloodshot. She looked like a cornered wolf, her voice completely shredded by grief and rage.

"He isn't acting!"

"He is sick!"

Jocelyn stumbled back, touching her bruising cheek. Her eyes narrowed into slits of pure hatred.

"Of course he's sick. Greed is a disease!"

"No!"

Haley screamed, her voice breaking into a gut-wrenching sob.

"He has a neurological disease! The doctor is right here!"

She pointed a shaking finger at the man currently trying to keep me from swallowing my tongue.

"He has Rapid Progressive Neurocognitive Decline! His brain is literally dying, you stupid, arrogant bitch!"

"What the hell did you just do to him?!"