Eckhart: A Fictional Narrative

“Sure, Peter,” Swan said as she shared another gaze with Eckhart, who actually managed to not look stone-faced. “But, for now you know what everyone’s favorite time is.” “Yeah, sure,” I accented as I began rolling up my sleeve. Anything to get them out the door. Swan pulled from her satchel a blood drawing kit, and as she readied the needle to be plunged in my arm she suddenly paused. “Peter, have you been having blood drawn?” “Yeah, by you every two weeks remember?” I joked, but I got no response from Swan. I didn’t expect one from Eckhart. I looked down and there it was what she was talking about. A bruise the size of a quarter marked my arm where that woman from the Alliance drew from me last night. “Peter,

“I have no idea what that’s about. You’re the one who keeps prodding and poking me, filling me with your elixirs, so you tell me what’s up?” It was a pathetic attempt to throw things back on her, but it seemed to work. “You’re right, it’s probably nothing,” Swan said. She then plunged the needle from her kit down into my arm, gathering up her sample. Once she was finished, she packed away my blood away, instructing Agent Eckhart to put it into another bag, one of those resealable ones from my kitchen cabinet. She had him fill that one with ice. It was the first time they had done that, but I didn’t say

“So, is it true?” asked Elliot as he walked up to stand next to Samantha and Freddie. “Did Anna really kill one of Southside’s guys? We saw them carry the body down from the upper level of the factory.” “Yeah, she held the gun, but it wasn’t her fault,” I told them. “She was jumped from behind, struck down by a baseball bat, which caused the gun to fire. I was assaulted by one of Jimmy’s henchmen, too.” “It doesn’t matter,” said Freddie, “they’ll be looking for her now. Jimmy and his goons will never stop until they’ve either destroyed her or have her head in a jar as a trophy.” “Well, that’s why I’m here,” I said. “I’m kind of hoping to prevent that. I need to find her and get her the hell out of Iowa. Do any of you know where she is?” “We don’t know, Peter,” answered Samantha as she shook her head and seemed pensive. “Anna never tells us where she goes and she doesn’t trust safe houses. She says they’re death traps for U.A.C.T.