It’s been two weeks now since Roger’s murder, and since finding out that the man’s heart I have belongs to a murderous corrupt cop from Chicago. Roger’s murder was sloppy, and I thought that the cops would be on me immediately since I could have left the murder weapon in the alley where he was killed. So far there hasn’t been one person to knock on my door to arrest me, and there hasn’t been anything in the news as of late; however, none of it seemed to calm my ever building anxiety.

Recently, I visited my doctor so he can run some tests on my heart. Every so often I have to go in and get numerous tests done to make sure that my body isn’t rejecting the heart. So far, there are no signs of a rejection which pleased my doctor to no end. When I shared the news with my parents, they were ecstatic that I was doing so well, but little do they know the amount of stress I was dealing with.

I was on the verge of gathering all the money I’ve saved, quit my job, and go on the run. I was fairly certain that the cops would have already found my prints at the scene of the crime, and the thought of rotting in jail was not an option for me. Plus, it really isn’t my fault that I had committed the numerous crimes my own hands have committed, but I couldn’t tell anyone that. Although there are numerous studies and implications of things changing within a person after receiving another individual’s heart, I doubt there was anything to this extent. Surely the judge would throw the book at me without hesitation.

So I’ve been stuck in the what do I do mode, and still haven’t come up with a viable answer other than turn myself in or go on the run. Neither seemed like a great option, but what is one to do in this type of situation. I’m just relieved that I haven’t committed another murder.

It’s Friday night, and I have nothing else to do other than order some take-out, and binge watch Stranger Things on Netflix. Over the course of my life, I’ve never had anyone I’d consider a friend outside of my parents, and the doctor I see on a normal basis. Forming relationships outside of that never occurred to me, but only because I didn’t see myself living long. With everything that’s been happening, I’ve decided to keep everyone at an arm’s length away no matter how lonely I’d get.

It was well into the night when I heard a soft knock on my door. With a glance down at my phone, the time showed a little after eleven. Anxiety shot through me as I slowly stalked my way to the door. When I opened it, my heart damn near dropped out of my butt.

She must have been about five foot nine as she stood there staring at me with hazel eyes. Her blonde hair was pulled back in a tight bun, and her leather jacket stuck out a bit as her large breast pressed hard against the tight black t-shirt she was wearing. My eyes traveled down to her waist as I noticed the neatly concealed weapon.

“Hi, how may I help you?” I ask in a shaky voice.

“Agent Brown,” she announced while pulling out her badge. “I was wondering if I could ask you a few questions if you aren’t too busy?”

“Su-sure, would you like to come in?”

“Yes, thank you,” she replied as I moved to the side for her to come in.

With her back to me I was able to admire her shapely backside before she turned around to address me.

“Do you live alone Mr.-”

“Just call me Blake, and yes I do. Would you like anything to drink?”

“Yes, water would be great. Thank you.”

I asked her what it was I could do for her while I grabbed a glass from the kitchen. I tried to sound as normal as possible while speaking with her. As I was filling the glass, I heard her walking around.

“I just wanted to ask you a few questions about Roger Dawdle. I’m aware that you volunteered at the homeless shelter he used to visit.”

“Yes, I did. Is there anything wrong?” I asked, but I very well knew what she was leading up to.

“He’s dead. A few weeks ago we found his body in an alley not too far off from the homeless shelter. Do you know anything about it?”

“I didn’t know he was dead. I just assumed he got tired of coming to the shelter since I haven’t seen him there the last couple of times I’ve been there. What happened?”

“He was murdered, and we’re looking to see if anyone held any grudges against the guy. You wouldn’t happen to know would you? I know he liked to pick on some of the people at the homeless shelter. Rumor is he wasn’t a well-liked guy.”

I walked back into my living room to hand her the glass of water before replying. She was standing near an oak bookcase my parents bought me as a gift. She held a silver picture frame with me and my surgeon smiling after my transplant.

“He wasn’t liked at all. He was kind of an ass, so it could be anyone at the shelter if I’m honest. I remember seeing him threaten Gloria at one point in time.”

“You mean the homeless woman that was found dead near there?”

“Yes. Not sure what it was about, but it didn’t look pretty.”

“Hmm. Interesting. Is there anything else you can tell me about the situation?” she inquired.

I shook my head no, “That’s all I can really say. I’ve served Gloria a few times while at the shelter. She seemed pretty nice and quiet. I heard Roger may have hit on her, and she turned him down.”

“And what about you? Did you have any problems with Roger? Anything that would make you angry with him?”

I thought carefully before answering. I didn’t want her to think I was somehow involved in either of the matters with Gloria and Roger.


She seemed satisfied with my answer, but I couldn’t help but remain nervous. There has to be a reason she showed up here in the middle of the night to question me. And although I find it normal for a cop to look around someone’s apartment, I couldn’t shake that she knew something she wasn’t telling.

After answering a few more questions, she quickly finished her glass and said her goodbyes. Before completely exiting, she turned back towards me with a card in her hand.

“This is my card where you can contact me anytime if you can think of anything else. Also, don’t leave town for a while. I may need to follow up on some things you may be able to answer.”

And with that she was gone.


“Hi, this is Agent Clarissa Brown with the FBI. I want you to send someone to keep an eye on Mr. Griffin for a while. He doesn’t seem like he knows much, but his nervousness seemed kind of odd to me,” said Agent Brown to the person on the other end of her phone.

“Well you’re a beautiful woman, Brown. He could have just saw a pretty woman questioning him. He seems to be a bit of a recluse, I’m sure he hasn’t had many women stopping by,” replied the voice.

“He doesn’t seem like the type. Not with a story like his. Anyway, I managed to get something from his hardwood floors I noticed. Almost like blood. I want to get it to the lab as soon as possible. I’ll let you know what I find.”

“Sounds good. Let me know what you find.”

Previously: A Bad Heart: Part 6