by Edwin Dasso
“To hell with my language—tell me what’s happening!”
“I-I don’t know…”
“I’m coming home!”
“No! You stay there. This may all be nothing. No sense in you missing your classes.”
“But, Hank—”
“I said no! You’ll be safer there.”
“What do you mean, ‘safer’?”
Hank cringed and scrunched up his shoulders. Why the hell do you have to be so smart? “Forget I said that. I didn’t mean it that way.”
Rustling sounds came over the phone.
“What’re you doing? Hank asked.
“Duh. I’m getting up and getting dressed so I can come home.”
“Amanda! Goddammit! Listen to me for a change!”
“You don’t need to yell at me!”
“I’m sorry, but sometimes, I do. Listen to me. I’ll find him. I always do. Right?”
“Well…yeah.”
“And I will this time—by myself! Understood? I’ll call you as soon as I find him.” Hank hated misleading or lying to Amanda, but… “I’m sure it’s nothing. He probably just forgot to tell us about some plans he had.”
“Bullshit again, Hank! You don’t believe that any more than I do.”
“Is your language always like this in the morning?”
“Stop trying to change the subject.”
“Look, Amanda, let me nose around a couple of hours, and I’ll call you with an update. Would you agree to that at least?”
Amanda didn’t answer for several seconds. “I don’t like it, but…I’ll give you two hours.”
“Good girl.”
“But that’s all! You don’t call me in two hours with good news, I’m coming home.”
Hank rolled his shoulders around, trying to work the kinks out of his tense neck muscles. He blew out a long breath. “Okay. Deal. I’ll talk to you in a couple hours.”
“You’d better—and it better be with good news.”
“I’m sure it will be. Gotta go. Bye.”
Hank threw his phone onto his bed and rushed toward the bathroom.
“Dammit, Jack. Where are you…and what the hell are you up to this time?”
25
Jack slowly opened one eye and gazed at his surroundings, unable to make out any details in the murk. He was lying on his side on hard, lumpy ground, the chill penetrating his thin jacket and cooling his skin. He shivered and wrapped his arms around himself, trying to find warmth any way he could. He rolled to his hands and knees and crawled until he bumped into a wall, the stink of rotting vegetation and musty dirt wafting into his nose. He ran his fingers over the rough, frosty surface and worked his way around the entire perimeter.
I’d swear I’m in a big hole…but how did I get here? Even as he asked himself, a haunting memory tickled at the fringes of his mind. He’d hiked for hours through the mountain forest to get to the isolated camp but had only a cloudy memory of what happened after he climbed through the barbed wire fence surrounding the compound. He remembered getting dizzy and falling and now…this. He clambered up from his knees and looked up at the rim of the hole. Something seemed so…familiar. He slapped a hand against the wall, the frozen dirt stinging his palm.
“Dammit! Where am I?” he yelled then paced around the edge of the pit, trying to warm himself.
Suddenly, a bright beam of light shined down from above, blinding him. He used his hands to shade his eyes as he peered up.
“I thought I heard you,” a man stated from above. A few small stones crumbled from the edge where he stood and tinkled down the side of the pit before hitting the bottom. “So, you’ve finally slept it off, eh?”
“Slept what off? Where the hell am I?” Jack jammed a finger up at the man. “And who the hell are you?”
“So many questions.” The man above chuckled. “But I don’t have time to give you answers right now—it’s cold out here.”
There was a loud puff followed by a prick in Jack’s shoulder. He threw his hand up to the stinging and wrapped his fingertips around the feathers of a dart. He yanked it free and threw it aside.
“Why the hell are you…doing…this…?” Jack’s head was swimming. The pit spun around him, and he fell to his knees then flopped back against the wall. After a few seconds, he could no longer hold his head up, and it lolled onto his chest.
“All in good time, Bass. All in good time.”
Jack plopped over, his face smacking against the firm ground. His eyelids fluttered a few times before his mind was overtaken by blackness.
26
Jack slowly opened an eye as he lay on his side. Pain pounded in his head like he was coming off a bad hangover. He ran his fingers over the satiny sheets, then his eyes flew open, and he bolted upright, his gaze flying around the room. He looked at his bed, ran his hand over the duvet and pillows. Feels real. He squeezed his eyes closed tightly then opened them quickly, again canvassing the room. He rubbed his temples then rested his head in his hands.
“It was a dream,” he croaked. “Just another nightmare.”
He blew out a long breath then sat with his feet dangling over the side of the bed. Time to get up. Maybe Hank’s already got some coffee brewing. He closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. Then it might be time to talk with Dolion about starting that antipsychotic medication he was mentioning. He shook his head slowly. Maybe he’s right—maybe I am schizo.
“I’m so damned tired of this shit…”
He flung his hand to his shoulder, scratching at the sting. “Damn mosquitoes!”
I’ll go see him as soon as I get up. Then maybe a nice, long drive in the mountains might do me some good. He soon flopped over onto the warmth of his sheets and drifted off.
27
Hank sat on the bench of the booth at his favorite coffee shop, running a finger back and forth over the edge of the well-worn wooden table. He liked it here—the food was good and inexpensive, but, more importantly, the coffee was strong and refills were free. He’d been here for over twenty-four hours, following leads and racking his brain about what to do. Fortunately, he’d gotten Amanda to give him more than the two hours they’d initially agreed upon. He was speaking with the medical director and head nurse at the ER where Jack worked an occasional weekend shift.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Greene,” Dr. Loren Whitfield said. “Neither of us can recall Jack saying anything about a planned trip. Sorry.”
Hank hunched his shoulders and blew out a long sigh. “Okay…thanks.”
“I hope he gets back soon, though. I think he’s supposed to appear before the board this week about reinstating his privileges. We’re hoping he can start working again soon.”
“And it’s not like Dr. Bass to not be punctual,” the nurse chimed in. “I-I hope everything is okay…”
Hank pushed his empty plate away.
“I’m sure it is,” he responded. “He probably went up in the mountains to do some fishing and forgot to tell me.” Hank chuckled half-heartedly. “Thanks for your time. Bye.”
Hank disconnected then rubbed at the back of his neck as he looked up at the ceiling. I’m running out of ideas about what to do. Where to look. He sighed and drained his coffee cup. He put an index finger to his chin, recalling the challenges he’d had in locating Jack when they’d traveled to Turkey, and Jack had been kidnapped by a terrorist cell.
Hank shook his head. “Why do I get the feeling it’s not going to be any easier this time?”
Maybe it’s time for me to call the cops about a missing person? He twisted to find the waitress then held his coffee cup up and pointed at it. She smiled and nodded. Maybe another dose of caffeine might jolt his brain enough to give him some new ideas. I sure hope Cameron has some luck with that trace on Jack’s phone GPS.
The waitress filled his cup to the brim. “There you go, Hank.”
He smiled at her. “Thanks, Agnes.” He took a sip of the steamy brew then set the mug on the tabletop and crossed his arms o
ver his chest. “Dammit, Jack! You never make it easy for me, do you?”
28
Jack awoke with a start, throwing a forearm over his eyes to block the blinding fluorescent light. When did I put such bright lights in my bedroom? He blinked several times as his eyes adjusted. Damn, my shoulder hurts! He put out a hand and pushed himself upright, rubbing his shoulder. Wait—something else wasn’t right. This wasn’t a soft, warm bed. The surface he sat on was hard. The coldness of it soaked into his fingertips. He gazed slowly around the room then clambered to his hands and knees and blinked as he surveyed the chamber again.
He shook his head hard. “This isn’t my bedroom.”
He used the footboard of the bed he was near to slowly pull himself to his feet. As his head rose above the top of the footboard, his gaze shot to the bank of buzzing, beeping monitors hanging on the wall above the head of the bed. A ventilator sat beside the bed, its bellows cycling methodically with a soft hissing. His gaze followed the tubing connecting the machine to the person lying in the bed. The blankets covering their chest slowly rose and fell in coordination with the sound of the ventilator. A towel covered the person’s face, but long tufts of wavy hair stuck out from under it. Why is her face covered?
The ventilator suddenly stopped, and shrill alarms pierced the quiet. He hauled himself fully erect and leaned on the footboard, staring at the flat line on the ECG monitor. The volume of the alarms increased until his ears hurt. He threw his hands over his ears, shaking his head. I’ve got to do something! His mind jumped into clinical emergency mode.
He vaulted around the bed, his gaze flying to the bright-red emergency cart next to him. He yanked open a drawer, searching for the resuscitation drugs he’d need. His eyebrows shot up as he looked into the first drawer. Empty! He growled then wrenched open the next drawer. He slapped a palm against his forehead.
“What the hell kinda ICU is this?”
He hurriedly rifled through all the drawers, finding each empty.
“Nurse! I need some help!”
He spun to the bed and threw the blankets aside then jumped onto the mattress next to the patient. He rested one hand on top of the other and pressed them together before placing them over the patient’s lower sternum. He jammed his hands down on her chest then threw the towel off her face so he could assess her circulatory status. He yanked his hands back and stared at her face, shaking his head slowly. He slid off the edge of the bed and stood flat-footed, his heart pounding. No! I-it can’t be! His throat locked closed. He strained to take in a breath, finally dragging air in with a rasp. He threw his head back.
“Nurse! Somebody get in here! I need help!”
Jack jumped back on the bed and again started CPR, Janice’s body bouncing on the bed as he mashed down repeatedly on her chest. Her flesh felt cold…stiffened with death. Tears rolled down his cheeks and landed on her hospital gown, the wet patch growing larger with each minute. His gaze shot toward the door, and he curled his lips back in a snarl.
“What the hell kinda place is this?” he yelled. “I said I need help!”
Jack’s eyes shot open. He rolled to the side and flicked on a light then threw the sodden sheets aside. He scooted to the edge of the mattress and sat up, his feet on the floor at the side of his bed. He leaned his elbows on his knees and stared down at his feet, running his fingers through his sweat-soaked hair.
“These damned nightmares are getting worse!” he mumbled. “I-I just don’t know how much more of this I can take…”
He slapped at a sting on his shoulder.
“Damn mosquitoes! I need to figure out how they keep getting in here.”
He fell back onto the bed, his eyelids flickering. Jack was tired. Ready to sleep…forever. He curled into a fetal position, soon dozing off.
29
Hank had been driving in a grid pattern around town for hours, hoping to stumble onto Jack or, at the very least, Jack’s car. When his phone rang, he stabbed at the “accept call” button on his car display screen as soon as he noticed that it was Cameron calling. Hank checked his mirrors and pulled onto the shoulder of the road.
“Good news?”
“Well…yes and no.”
Hank smacked a palm against his forehead. “Wes told me it might be hard to get a straight answer from you sometimes. Can you just give me the details of what you found?”
There was silence for several seconds. “Uh…sure. It looks like he went to a shopping center in your town. He seems to have been there for a couple of hours, then someone turned off his phone.”
“Dammit,” Hank growled. “So, you couldn’t trace him after that?”
Cameron chuckled. “I didn’t say that. Even with a cellphone turned off it can be tracked.”
“Oh, yeah—I forgot that. So, where is he?”
“I don’t know. Just because I traced his phone doesn’t necessarily mean it’s him.”
Hank huffed. “Okay—qualifier noted. Where’s his cellphone, then?”
“It headed southwest from your town and has now been in the same location for over twenty-four hours.”
“Where? Tell me where!”
“Uh, well, I’m not sure this is going to make any sense to you…”
Hank snorted. “This is Jack Bass you’re talking about—I’m used to things about him not making sense.”
“Uh, okay then. I did a Google satellite view of the GPS location from his phone_”
“And?”
“His phone is located at a rest stop on a secondary highway in South Carolina—a Route 178. Just north of a little town called Rocky Bottom. Any idea why he’d be staying there?”
Hank scratched his head. “Not a clue. Has it been stationary, or has he been moving around the local area there?”
“It hasn’t moved that I could tell.” Cameron was silent for a few seconds. “That’s about all I can tell you, Hank. Sorry.”
Hank flashed a quick, tight grin. “That’s a hell of a lot more than I knew five minutes ago. Thanks much, Cameron.” At least I have someplace to look now. A lead. “Bye.”
30
Amanda had given in to Hank’s plea to let him have more than the two hours they’d originally agreed upon to find her father, but she was anxious to hear some news. Some good news. She struggled to focus on studying, and she constantly glanced at her phone, willing it to buzz with a text saying Jack had been found. She sighed and turned her gaze back to her textbook.
Amanda’s phone rang, and she jumped then snatched it off the desk. She peeked at the caller ID. Not Hank. Damn! Maybe it was a police officer with good news about her father. She flipped the textbook closed then pressed her cellphone to her ear.
“Hello?”
“Amanda! I’m so sorry it’s taken me so long to get back to you with an answer to your question. I think I have good news, though. I think I’ve found someone!”
“Frederik?”
“Yes. Sorry…I was so excited with the news, I guess I forgot to say who it was.”
“No problem.” Amanda leaned back against the desk chair. “Are you talking about someone who can help Dad?”
“Yes! And he’s agreed to meet us and hear your story…your concerns about your father. He thinks he may be able to offer a treatment that could help!”
“Really? Oh. Frederik, you’re the best! I can never thank you enough!”
“Aw…just trying to help…”
“When can I see him?”
“Well, I’m at a business meeting in a town not far from you. I flew the guy I’m talking about in last night to connect with him, so he’s staying in a hotel near mine.” He was silent a few seconds. “If you’re free now, I can have him meet us as soon as you get here.”
“That’s great! I’ll grab an Uber and should be able to be there in about an hour. Bye.”
Amanda disconnected then jabbed at the icon on her phone to order an Uber. She threw on some nicer clothes and ran to the curbside to wait for her ride. After about ten minutes, t
he headlights of a Prius blinded her as it pulled over then stopped in front of her. She leaned down and peered into the dim interior at the driver. She opened her Uber icon and glanced at the driver’s picture then tapped on the passenger window and motioned for the driver to lower it. The window slid down, and she looked in at him.
“You called for an Uber…right?”
“Yep.” She slid her phone into her pocket. “Just double-checking.”
The driver scowled then jabbed a finger at her. “You want a ride or not?”
“We’ll give you a ride, honey.”
Amanda spun and straightened, scowling at the three college-age men standing behind her. They smirked as they ran their gazes up and down her body. They swayed on their feet, and the alcohol smell was overwhelming even from several feet away. Amanda pressed her back against the car and slid a hand into her purse, wrapping her fingers around a small can of pepper spray. Just what I need—a bunch of drunk frat boys!
“No, thanks. You guys can go back to your little frat house and just keep partying. I’m good.”
One of the punks rubbed his chin and licked is lips. Amanda rolled her eyes, put her purse strap across her other shoulder balling her fist and shaking it at them.
“I said I’m good!”
One of them stepped to the open window of the car and stuck his head through it.
“Beat it, old man. We’re going to take her with us.” He laughed drunkenly and glanced at Amanda. “Give her a ride she won’t forget.”
“You boys need to leave her alone!” the driver yelled.
The punk leaning into the window produced a switchblade and flicked it open. “I said, beat it!”
“I’m calling the cops!” the driver yelled. The car tore away from the curb, it’s tires squalling.
Amanda’s gaze darted between the guy who had been at the cab and the two others standing on the sidewalk. Dad always said the best defense is a good offense. She stepped toward the one who had stood at the car, batting her eyelashes.
