Killer Genius
Page 30
Georgie grabbed the booklet and began writing frantically, tears still rolling down his cheeks. He handed it back, desperately pointing to the same sentence over and over.
'I killed them.'
Sam looked up from the notebook. "Yes, you did, but you told me you didn't want to build the bomb." Georgie had never had the chance to answer whether or not he wanted to plant the bomb, but that was a formality; Sam was certain he knew the answer already. "Why did you set off the bomb, Georgie?"
Georgie took the pad back and began to write again. He had to stop halfway through to catch his breath, and by the time he was scratching down the last word, his monitor had began beeping.
"Georgie, you have to calm down. You have to breathe." Sam put a hand on Georgie's shoulder but tried to avoid anything that might recreate the sensation of being held down. "Georgie, it's okay. It's okay, shh, you need to take a deep breath—"
"Sorry, Detective—" Dr. Royce was suddenly there, pushing Sam aside to get to the oxygen. "—we're gonna have to sedate."
"I understand." Sam stepped back to get out of the way, looking down at his hands as he realized he had taken the pad back at some point during the altercation. He looked at the written answer just as Georgie slumped back into the sheets, breathing heavily and staring at the ceiling with once again vacant eyes.
Dr. Royce stepped away from the bed, leaving Georgie in the capable hands of a nurse Sam, quite honestly, hadn't even noticed up to that point. "Do you know what it was that triggered him?"
Sam frowned. "He was upset from the moment he saw me, but… I asked him why he made the bomb." He handed over the notebook without another word.
Words weren't really necessary.
Dr. Royce looked at the tablet for a moment and then handed it back. "I will get those psych evals underway, and we'll update you as frequently as we can."
"I would appreciate that." Sam took the notebook back, never once letting his eyes stray from the young man—the incredibly young, barely an adult, scared and vulnerable and confused man—on the bed.
We're going to make this right.
As right as they could. Much of the damage North Forest Hospital had done was irreversible—Georgie and his silent cries were a painful reminder of that—but whatever they could do, they would.
Sam heaved a sigh and pulled his phone from his pocket, flipping it open and dialing Darren. He didn't even know what he was going to say, he just needed to tell someone. He needed someone to be disgusted and angry with him, he needed to hear someone say they were going to find a way to fix things.
"Hey, I was just going to call you." Darren sounded tired but, somehow, energetic, and he was certainly more positive than Sam. "DHS called me five minutes ago. She's making some progress on warrants, going floor by floor. There's a lot of balking on the secret basement and some of the floors containing research related to national security, but we're getting there, and Chief Donaldson is offering the full assistance of Organized Crime."
That was good. That was great. That was a wonderful update, and Sam was happy. He was, truly, and he would be even more elated when it sank in that they were finally going to get some answers—get some justice—and fix the problem they had let grow under their noses.
"Sam?"
"I asked him why he did it."
God bless Darren, who didn't need to ask who Sam was talking about or comment on his lack of enthusiasm over the update. Bless Darren, who simply asked, "What did he say?"
Sam looked at the notepad in his hand for a moment and cleared his throat. "He couldn't say anything. He's completely mute. North Forest Hospital took his vocal chords."
"You're kidding."
"No." Sam cleared his throat again. "He wrote something, though."
Darren waited for a moment, and then he pressed. "What did he write?"
Sam raised his eyes to Georgie for a moment, and then shifted his eyes back to the notepad. He looked at the chicken scratch, the words scrawled in haste, tears dotting the paper in between the curls and corners of ink, making it run.
"'I didn't want to lose my eyes.'"
EPILOGUE
“So, all that fighting with Indie? That was all part of your plan?” Denny was staring at Sam.
“I’m afraid so,” Sam said. “I couldn’t tell anybody, because I was afraid I might slip. Based on everything Indie and I could learn about NFH, there was something sinister going on. It was only by contracting with them for Eric that I was able to find a way in. Considering how thorough they could be at eliminating people who gave them problems, I was about to put Indie and the kids at risk. That meant I had to keep them at arm’s length throughout the investigation.”
Denny shook his head. “And what about Eric?” he asked. “What’s going to happen to him, now?”
Sam grinned. “Eric isn’t going anywhere,” he said. “I’m afraid the team is going to have to become accustomed to having him around. Ron and Jeff have already arranged an apartment for him, one of the special apartments upstairs. Melanie is probably going to be in the other one, at least for a while. She’s been requested by some of Harry’s old friends in D.C.”
“What about the rest of the consultants? Are any of them going to go free?”
“Most of them are, but under varying levels of supervision. Most of them never really had any criminal intent, they were just too smart for their own good. Those that simply can’t be trusted are being sent to a special facility for the criminally insane. It looks like a prison on the outside, but it’s more like a nursing home on the inside.”
“Yeah, are you sure about that, mate?” Denny asked. “Seems to me, one prison is pretty much like another.”
Sam’s eyes glinted. “Well, all I can say is that we’ll have to pay attention. Since Eric is close to a couple of the people who are going there, that gives us a reason to drop in once in a while and check it out.”
* * *
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