A Tattoo and a Piercing

By John de Sousa

“Is this gonna hurt?” A wet bead crept down my neck. I wiped it off. Smeared it across my T-shirt.

“No more than a broken heart.” Magnus gave a boisterous laugh.

I forced a smile. Scary-lookin’ dude. He could do more than hurt me.

The bald behemoth winked, then sat next to me, a mountain of muscle under a tattoo forest of skulls, apparitions, and strumpets. “First time, right?”

“Total virgin.” I drew a shaky breath.

“You chose the right place, my friend. We aim to please.” Magnus held up the design. “Cupid with a bow, on your right arm?”

“Yes.” I jiggled a nod. “But… n-no arrow in his hand.”

Magnus pointed to the paper. “Just like you said, bud. Gotcha covered.”

“Okay.” I swallowed a lump. “And on the left—”

“Heart with an arrow, right?”

I bit my lip. “Mm… Could you put the arrow behind the heart, as if on the ground?”

“Like he missed?” Magnus narrowed one eye.

“No.” I moistened my lips. “Like… it went completely through.”

“That shouldn’t be too hard. But then the heart—”

“Would have a hole. An empty hole.”

“Okay.”

“With blood.” I stared at Magnus for a moment, then lowered my gaze to the floor. “Lots of blood,” I whispered. More sweat, now from my forehead, dripped into my right eye. How could I be so hot when the cold winter winds were nearly howling outside?

Magnus handed me a paper towel. “Wow, bud. That’s one seriously broken heart. She must ‘a really wrecked ya.”

I brought my gaze back to Magnus. “It’s not my heart. It’s… hers. The Cupid in the tattoo, that’s actually me.”

Magnus paused, an alcohol swab in his fingers. “Arrow through the heart? Lots of blood?” His eyes searched my face. “Look, bud. I ain’t no priest. Can’t keep no secrets. But if there’s something you need to talk about—”

“Oh! No, no.” I held up my palms. “I didn’t um, shoot her.” My thoughts careened at the accusation. That wasn’t supposed to happen. A wrong turn. I scanned the walls. The dark images on display leered their jaded disbelief. “It’s just, um… a m-metaphor.”

Magnus wrinkled his nose. “A metaphor?”

“Like a word picture, but… ” I squeezed my temples. “I just wanted to pierce her heart with affection. To get below the surface to where she hides her love.”

Magnus narrowed his gaze once more, studying me.

“My intentions were pure.” I drew a deep breath to steady my pulse. “But she said I tried too hard. She said I was obsessed. That I was suffocating her. It’s like I pulled the bow too far, and instead of lodging deep”—my voice cracked—“the arrow went right through.”

The skin-artist’s face grew as dark as his tats. He snapped the swab into pieces.

Did he doubt my story? “You do believe me, right?”

Magnus rubbed his thumb across his nose like a professional fighter. Fatal Regret was freshly inked across his hand. “Explain. Now.”

I wiped my palms on my jeans. “I went to her house on Valentine’s Day.” I slumped at my own words. “I brought her a diamond ring. But… she threw me out. Said she was going back to her old boyfriend.”

“What’d you do?” That rumbling voice sent tremors through me.

“I pleaded with her. I told her don’t do this! But she refused to listen.” Adrenaline pushed my heart into a sprint. “She mocked me. Called me a freak and hurled the ring at me. I was furious. Livid! I wanted her to feel my anguish. Feel my rage!” I fixed my eyes on Magnus’s face. “Ulrika was my one true love and she crushed my heart in her hands!”

I started as Magnus shot to his feet and hammered the table with his fist. “Ulrika?” he shouted. “Ulrika Eklund?”

I felt my eyes go wide as I leaned back away from the giant.

“So it’s you,” Magnus snarled.

“M-Me? What about me? What are you talking—”

“You’re the maggot-faced snot she’d been sleeping with.”

My heart turned to icy terror as the monster towered over me. Magnus held up his fist. “Why’d you come here, maggot? To taunt me? To threaten me? You thinkin’ of goin’ to the police?”

“Th-The p-p-police?” My jaw trembled so hard I could barely get out the words. “What in the world are you ranting about?”

Magnus hurled the work table across the floor. “How did you know I shot her with that arrow? How did you know it went right through her heart? You been followin’ me around? Spyin’ on me?”

“What? No!” I steadied myself. Glanced at the front door, then back. “You… You shot her?”

Magnus leaned in, his face a molten mass of fury. “Cut the crap, you lying sack of puke! There’s no way you could’ve known all that unless you were there. And don’t give me that metaphor garbage!”

“You mean she’s d-d-dead? She’s actually dead?”

“Don’t play games with me! Cause you’re about to join her.” Magnus pulled a massive blade from the leather scabbard on his belt. It gleamed from the studio lighting above.

Rivers of sweat poured down my face as I pressed backward into the chair cushion.

Magnus held the blade up to my throat, pushing the tip against my skin. “I may not have my bow and arrows, but trust me, this bad boy’ll do the job.”

The front door slammed open with a burst of cold wind. “City Police!” Three men in plainclothes barreled in, guns drawn. “Drop the knife,” shouted the first. “On the floor! Now!”

Magnus cursed as he ditched the knife and dropped down.

“About time you got here,” I said. “I was about to get a new piercing.”

“Well, detective,” the cop replied, “with a performance like that, you should get an Oscar.”

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

John de Sousa writes supernatural thrillers, combining wide-eyed suspense with white-knuckled action. His stories dwell in that realm where the dark realities of this world collide with the heart-melting power of God.

A retired pastor on the Eastern Shore of Maryland, John also enjoys playing music on a variety of instruments, especially guitars from the local factory on Kent Island. He and his wife, Missy, have two lovely daughters and eight grandchildren.

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