Slideways

by Jeffrey Grode

  “I think I forgot how to be funny.” Patsy said. “The implant stole the real me. Locked up my heart inside a glass bottle. Nothing ever touched me, except if I wanted something.”

  They rode listening to the windshield wipers and the thunder.

  “Mom, I think I’ll be okay. But keep the portal watch safe. Right? Jack and Dad need to come home. Ben too.” Patsy kept pressure on her wound. “I need to see him, Mom.”

  Betsy nodded. The steering wheel was sticky with blood. “We will, darling. Together. After we see a doctor. Hang on.” She drove as fast as she could despite the storm.

  Back on Earth, Patrick opened the door to the hospital’s subbasement with a squeal of rusty hinges followed by a loud clank. An aluminum bucket resting against the back of the door had fallen forward, spilling dirty water and a mop to the floor.

  Patrick ushered Ben and his friends inside the morgue, but left the exit door unlocked in case they needed an escape route. The morgue walls were covered with stainless steel drawers, three high where refrigerated bodies awaited retrieval by their families. The green tiled floor sloped to a round drain at the center of the room.

  A man’s body lay on an examination table covered by a white sheet. His bare feet and arm were exposed to the glare of overhead lamps. A white tag hung from his left toe.

  Across the room in a glass enclosed office, a doctor in green scrubs argued on the phone. Patrick heard the man shout, but the closed office door muffled the conversation. He heard one word clearly - “drowned.” The doctor’s free hand gesticulated wildly.

  Patrick motioned the boys and Lori to move left toward the double exit doors, while he approached the corpse. The toe tag read, John Doe 2. His heart clenched when he saw the Terran barcode tattoo on the man’s wrist. Patrick’s fingers shook as he inched back the sheet from the body. Dark brown hair covered the man’s head as his lifeless eyes stared at the ceiling. Patrick sighed and replaced the sheet. Where are you? He refused to believe Albert might be stuffed in one of the refrigerated drawers.

  Patrick rejoined his team near the hall door and peered through a small window. Across the hallway from the morgue, stood the emergency care overflow facility the hospital had built post 9-11. As a member of the Board of Trustees, he’d signed off on the design. The suite of rooms included holding cells for dangerous patients. An armed guard stood just inside the facility door.

  Someone tapped Patrick’s shoulder and he flinched. Turning quickly, he saw— Ben.

  His grandson handed him a white lab coat, which he donned. Brandon also wore a lab coat and held a clipboard. The doctor in the morgue office typed on his computer with his back to his office door.

  Patrick looked back out the window. The hall to the right led to another set of closed double doors. A second guard paced beyond those doors and near the elevators. Patrick stepped back and turned around.

  “Okay. Brandon and I will go across the hall and try to find Albert,” Patrick said softly. “We’ll bring him back here to the morgue, then leave. The rest of you stay here and keep your eyes on the hall. We’ll try to finish within ten minutes. If things go wrong, portal back to the cemetery.” Patrick made eye contact with each of them.

  “Brandon, are you ready?”

  “Yes, sir.” Brandon said, accepting a kiss from Lori.

  Patrick’s eyebrow rose and glanced at Jack. Earth’s Lori is Brandon’s girl. “Okay. Lori, please keep an eye on the doctor over there.”

  She let go of Brandon and nodded.

  “What if he comes out of the office?” Brandon said.

  Lori blinked. “I’ll tell him he’s wanted upstairs by the administrator.”

  “For what?” Jack asked.

  “I’ll tell him I don’t know.” She smirked. “I’m just a volunteer.”

  “Good.” Patrick said. He turned to Brandon. “Let’s do this.”

  John followed Miller through the rain to the main entrance of Holy Rosary Hospital. Miller slowed as they passed through the rotating front door. An FBI agent wearing hair gel and a brown shoulder holster beneath his suitcoat met Miller in the lobby. The agent sized up John, and returned his attention to the SAC.

  “John. Give us a minute,” Miller said.

  John sat on the edge of a brown vinyl sofa in the lobby with his back to Miller. He pulled out his cell and double thumbed a text message. Louis, I’m here @ HOSP. Visit subbasement in 10 min, if U can. May need help. THX J.

  A strong hand dug into John’s shoulder. He hid his phone against his chest, turned, and saw Miller’s red face.

  “The goddamned DOD moved the test forward to 10:15,” Miller said. We have forty-five minutes. Let’s go.” Miller jogged after his escort to the stairwell. John followed. He felt the remote detonation walkie-talkie dig into his right leg as he raced down the steps to the subbasement.

  Chapter 45

  Patrick and Brandon left the hospital’s morgue and spared a quick look down the hallway to the right. Patrick hurried across the hall before the guard turned his way. When he reached for the door to the overflow facility, he saw something he hadn’t anticipated. The door required a card key to enter.

  “Try this, Dr. McDugan,” Brandon said, flashing a hospital identification card. “Found it hanging in the locker with the lab coat.”

  “Nice work.” Patrick swiped the card.

  The lock clicked green and they entered the secure suite. Inside, the guard stood up from his chair. Six feet tall and broad shouldered, he wore a gray uniform with a silver Security Officer badge.

  “Good morning,” the officer said. “Can I help you?”

  “Yes, of course. I’m Dr. McDugan from the hospital admin office, and this is my assistant.” Patrick rapped his knuckles on the clipboard. “I understand one of our patients may have drowned while under our care. Is that true?”

  The officer took half a step back and raised both hands shoulder high. “Ahh . . . look, that’s got nothing to do with me. Some Feds questioned the prisoners this morning. I just watch the door.”

  “Were they FBI?”

  “No sir. Had DOD creds, but fishy though.” The officer scrunched his nose.

  “Why?”

  “Too bad ass. Made me wait outside. I heard screaming.” The guard narrowed his eyes. “Could I see your creds?”

  Patrick folded his arms. “The Board of Trustees will hear about this, and some people will lose their jobs unless you cooperate fully. Do you understand?”

  “Yes, sir.” The officer stood at attention.

  “Good. Your name?” Patrick raised an eyebrow.

  “Luke Pritchett.” The officer’s eyes shifted between Patrick and Brandon.

  “Officer Pritchett, how many prisoners do you have left here?”

  “Four,” Pritchett said, eyes front.

  “Please show me the room where the man died.”

  “Cell one.” Pritchett tugged the key ring at his waist and walked past the reception desk. He opened a locked door on his right and stepped into a hallway lined with eight private holding cells.

  The officer walked to the last cell, entered the room, and flicked the wall switch. Yellow light bore down upon an empty metal cot and a chair bolted to the damp concrete floor. The room smelled of sweat and excrement. When Pritchett turned around, he saw Patrick’s thirty-eight pointed at him.

  “Aww, c’mon.” The man’s face fell. “I need this job. Y’hear?”

  Patrick relieved Officer Pritchett of his forty-five, keys, radio, cell phone, and freedom as he locked the security guard in cell one.

  Moving back down the hall, Patrick peeked through each of the reinforced cell windows, and found cells two, three, and four occupied with strangers. As he peered into cell five, his chest tightened. He pressed his forehead against the glass and took a deep breath.

  The fourth prisoner laid on a hospital gurney with eyes staring at the ceiling. Patrick held his breath. Please God. After a moment, Albert blinked his eyes and Patrick exhaled.


  Brandon unlocked the door and waited in the hallway as Patrick entered the cell.

  Albert’s eyebrows rose. “Patrick. Good God, I thought I might die in here.” Albert, pale, fragile, and too thin, offered his right hand with some effort.

  Patrick squeezed Albert’s hand. “Glad we found you breathin’, you crusty old coot.”

  Albert grinned. “I must look as bad as you by now. Where have you been?”

  “CSD kidnapped me and took me to Terra. They wanted you and the portal watch, but got nothin’ from me. I just got back to Earth today.” Patrick placed Albert’s hand back on the gurney. He picked up a cup of water on a nearby tray and held it to Albert’s cracked lips.

  Albert sipped. “Thanks. Did you find the watch I left for you?”

  “Yes, and the chip. Thank you.”

  “Good.” Albert tried to sit, but collapsed back onto the gurney.

  “Are you in pain?” Patrick asked.

  “Yes.” Albert winced. “Bullet went straight through my left shoulder, but broke my clavicle on the way through.”

  Patrick slid Pritchett’s forty-five under Albert’s blanket. “Let’s get you home.” He disconnected the monitor and IV.

  “Yes. Send me home, along with the CSD agents imprisoned here. None of us are safe.”

  Patrick nodded. “I’m not sure I can help them.”

  “You must,” Albert said. “Your agents tortured them. If they stay here, they’ll all be killed. They may be on the wrong side now, but I can’t in good conscience leave them behind. Send us all back home to Terra. They were just following orders.”

  Patrick shook his head. “Even so, they shed blood.”

  Albert wet his lips. “We’re both responsible for the blood and what comes next. I wanted to create something fantastic and be remembered long after I’m gone. I proved teleportation was possible.” He sighed. “What did you expect from all this, Patrick?”

  “Me? To break the veil of death and find me departed wife. I wanted to speak with anyone, even God, if they could help me find her.”

  “Did you meet my wife?” Albert tilted his head.

  Patrick swallowed. “Yes. A wonderful lady.” He cleared his throat. “She’s well and wants you home.”

  Albert narrowed his eyes. “Good. You came close to your goal.”

  “But I didn’t find me wife.” Patrick frowned. “I found yours.”

  Finding it difficult to meet Albert’s eyes, Patrick moved behind Albert’s gurney and pushed it feet first out of the cell and into the hallway.

  Albert groaned.

  Four men blocked the corridor. Chrissakes. A stocky FBI agent pressed Brandon against the wall with a gun to his back. A taller agent pointed a thirty-eight at him, while John stood in the middle with a sick look on his face.

  “FBI. Stop right where you are,” said the tall agent. “Put your hands on your head.”

  Patrick and the gurney lurched to a stop. He thought about pulling his weapon, but raised his hands slowly instead.

  The stocky agent holstered his gun, handcuffed Brandon, and spun him to the floor.

  The tall agent grimaced. “You’re all under arrest.”

  Patrick’s shoulders sagged. What now?

  Ben scanned the hallway and inside the morgue. GranPat hadn’t yet returned. Instead, he saw two FBI agents and his father enter the secure room across the hall. Ben recognized the tall FBI agent as the one who’d pointed a gun at him yesterday through the portal. Dad looked nervous.

  Unsure what to do next, Ben watched them go inside. As the secure door swung back, a tall thin man snuck up and caught the door before it locked. He wore a hospital wristband. I know him.

  Ben motioned for Jack to follow him into the hallway. “Louis,” Ben called in a low voice. His second cousin turned toward him

  “Ben? What are you doing down here?” Louis noticed Jack and his eyes widened. “Holy Shit. Jack?”

  Ben shook his head. “No. He just looks like my brother.”

  “But —”

  “Later,” Ben said. “My father and grandfather are both in there. The FBI too, but they may not be on our side today.”

  “I’m listening.” Louis frowned at Jack and then turned back toward Ben.

  “Will you help us, even if it means rescuing them from FBI custody? I’ll explain later, but if you help us, I promise we’ll be saving lives.”

  Louis was silent for a moment then nodded. “I have your Dad’s back. But I don’t have a weapon.”

  “Take this.” Jack passed his revolver to Louis while shielding the exchange with his body. “It’s loaded, and the safety’s on.”

  “Thanks.” Louis felt the weight of the thirty-two. “Stay behind me.” He opened the door and they stepped inside.

  Betsy sat in the emergency waiting room on Terra, while the doctor treated Patsy behind closed doors. Three small children played with solar powered toys in the corner as a baby cried in her mother’s lap. A dark man in a bloody running suit rocked slowly with his face in his hands.

  She stared at the statue of the Madonna in the gift shop window and whispered a prayer for Patsy, Jack, Patrick, and Albert. Betsy offered another to the Green Apostle, as she rested her hand on the portal watch. Please, let this cause no harm.

  Tired of waiting, she crossed the room and interrupted the busy receptionist, who directed her back toward Patsy. As she passed the nurse’s station, a man’s voice spilled from her daughter’s room. Betsy stood outside the closed curtain and listened.

  “Leave me alone,” Patsy said. “I’m not feeling well,”

  “Mrs. Fuller, you promised to help us. Have you forgotten about the reward?”

  “Listen to me, Agent Vargas. CSD contacted me for help. I didn’t do anything wrong.”

  “You won’t get a nickel unless you cooperate.”

  “Don’t care. Just want my son back.”

  “Where is he?” Vargas asked.

  “With Patrick,” she murmured. “Go away. I’m sleepy.”

  “Mrs. Fuller. . . Patsy,” Vargas said with an oily tone. “Where’s Patrick?”

  “He left. Went to find my father.” Her eyes closed.

  “And Ben?”

  “Ben?” Patsy’s eyes fluttered open. “Haven’t seen him for a long time. Can you help me find him?”

  “You know he’s not really your son. Just another imposter. A fugitive. Help us find him and the reward will be very generous.”

  “Just leave me alone.”

  “Tell me where he’s hiding.” Vargas demanded. “Now!”

  “Take your hands off me!” The alarm buzzed at the nurse’s station down the hall. “Help me,” Patsy called. “There’s a strange man in my room!”

  Betsy wanted to rush in and help her daughter, but she had to protect the portal watch. A floor nurse ran past with a security guard in tow. Betsy melted backward into the darkness of a vacant room. Security removed a sputtering Agent Vargas from the area.

  Betsy entered her daughter’s examination room. The window offered a view of the cemetery below. “Hi, Sweetheart. How are you feeling?” She placed her palm on Patsy’s forehead.

  “Tired. Groggy. Glad you’re back.” Patsy swallowed. “This man. He wanted—”

  “Tell me later, Hon. Try to rest now.”

  Patsy’s eyes watered. She seemed softer, and sadder, and more human.

  The experimental implant, designed to lessen Patsy’s grief over Ben’s death, had instead buried her memories and protected her from both sorrow and joy. Though the device had been recalled a year later due to side effects, Patsy had refused to have it removed. She’d become comfortable with her armor and hard edges . . . until now.

  The doctor arrived and re-examined Patsy. “Time and the IV will help you recover from the blood loss. As for the outdated implant, good riddance, but there are safer ways to extract them. You might feel like you’re on an emotional coaster-roller, up one minute and down the next. I’d like to keep you under observati
on for a few days.”

  “Thanks, Doctor,” Patsy said, “but I don’t want to be bothered by that man again.”

  “I’m really sorry for the intrusion. He was out of bounds. Next time he’ll need to speak with me first.”

  “Can we move her to a different room?” Betsy asked.

  “Yes. Since she’ll be admitted, we can move her to a private room in the north wing. You’ll have a nice view of the park. Okay?”

  “Thanks.” Patsy closed her eyes. “I could use some rest.”

  Chapter 46

  Ben and Jack followed Louis into the secure area beneath Holy Rosary Hospital. Both Dad and GranPat were somewhere inside, and Ben hoped they would convince the FBI to stop the test.

  Searching for his father, Ben’s eyes moved past the vacant reception desk, an office with a yellow defibrillator, and three unoccupied hospital beds. Where are they?

  Louis raised his finger to his lips and then moved forward toward an open door on the right past the reception desk.

  Jack and Ben shadowed Louis.

  “You’re all under arrest,” bellowed a deep voice beyond the open door.

  Louis, gun in hand, snuck into the small corridor with Jack.

  As Ben followed, he saw his father and two FBI agents facing GranPat and a pale Albert on a gurney. The tall agent pointed a gun at GranPat. Brandon sat handcuffed on the floor.

  Louis stepped forward and pressed his gun into the tall man’s back. “Drop the gun.”

  Jack jammed his knuckle into the other agent’s back. “Hands on your head.”

  The young agent turned and dove with his arms extended toward Jack’s legs.

  Jack sidestepped the tackle like a quarterback dodging a lineman, grabbed the back of the agent’s jacket, and propelled him to the floor at Ben’s feet.

  As the agent fell, Ben saw a holstered gun under the jacket. Whoa. He dove chest down on top of prone agent’s back, spun so he faced the same direction, and wrestled the agent’s arms into immobility. The agent fought to buck him off, but Ben held tight.

  “Okay, okay,” the tall agent said in deep voice. Ben heard something metallic hit floor. “Goddammit, John. You set me up.”