by David Jobe
Eleanor blushed but nodded. “He actually came over last night.” She didn’t need to say who. Ever since the detective had started finding himself called to the hospital, the whole third floor was abuzz with the idea of her and him becoming a couple.
Erica clapped her hands together in delight. “Took him long enough. Was starting to think those white hairs of his weren’t just for show.” She gave a playful giggle.
“How are our people?” Had she felt this flushed without the conversation, she would have checked herself into the hospital.
“Did he stay the night?” She elbowed Eleanor in the ribs.
“Most of it,” she said, then felt the heat rise again.
“Sinner.” Erica joked under her voice. Then, aloud she said, “good for you. You deserve it.”
“Our people?” Eleanor reminded.
Erica nodded, “Everyone is tucked in for the most part. Mr. Standerstalls BP is well over the limit, but the doc switched his meds and he seems to be calming down a bit. I checked on him at the top of the hour, so might be good to swing in after you settle in. But the fun patient is your boyfriend’s pet project.”
“Mr. Patton?”
“None other.” She stopped and put a hand on Eleanor’s shoulder. Then she leaned in as if to impart a secret. “I saw his foot move.”
“Can’t be.”
“I saw it clear as day. Twitched once, then did it again when I started to doubt myself. That kid is on the mend.” She gave a huge smile that lit up her face. “Power of Jesus, I tell you.”
“You been praying over him?” Eleanor frowned. It wasn’t that she didn’t believe, only that some people took exception to being prayed for.
“Not where as he could hear me. Just at my desk. I mean, they nicknamed him after an angel. That says to me that Jesus might take part in his recovery.”
“Might be.” Eleanor nodded. “Doctor did say his chances at walking again were slim to none. Though, I bet the same doctor would have said that flying wasn’t possible either. Speaking of, you seen him flying, or at least floating?”
Erica shook her head. “Nope. I did see him straining so hard I thought for sure he would crap himself.” She clasped a hand over her mouth in surprise. “Oh good Lord preserve my tongue so that it won’t waggle as much,” she said through her hand.
Eleanor laughed. “It’s okay.”
“Is not!” Still said from behind her hand.
“Fine, do three hail mary's and a hall pass.”
Erica giggled. “I’m not Catholic and those two don’t go together.”
“Don’t you have something you should be attending to?”
Erica dropped her hand and smiled. “Oh sure, girl gets herself some carnal time and now she’s too busy to chat with us. The devil’s got you.” She wagged a finger, but her eyes held the same old mischief. With that, she handed over the tablet and headed toward the break room.
Eleanor watched her go, marveling at the weird woman. Eleanor had known many religious people over the years, but none that could make talking about Jesus as entertaining as that woman.
Something down the nearby hall caught Eleanor’s eye. A quick movement of blue. She turned down the hallway and could see nothing. They had dimmed the lights as night settled in, so the hallway had adopted that almost creepy vibe you see in late night movies. It had taken years for Eleanor to be able to walk the halls at night without expecting some ghoul to jump out at her. Now she felt as if she were back there again on that first night, jumping at shadows.
The hallway she peered down went about twenty yards before it t-boned into another hallway. To the left were the last three rooms of that area, and to the right, the hallway stretched out toward the other side of the wing and the double doors to the waiting area and elevators. From the direction of the elevators, a rather large teddy bear strolled into view, arms outstretched before it. The thing had to have been about half as tall as Eleanor, and its steps were exaggerated much like a German soldier goose stepping. Its big fluffy head bobbed with each measured step as the thing seemed intent on not dropping whatever it was that it held. The distance between Eleanor and the bear made identifying what the bear held impossible. In fact, the distance made Eleanor doubt what she was seeing. She remembered that she had seen teenage girls walking around in onesies that had hoods of animals. This could be what she saw, but something in her gut screamed that it wasn’t.
Something in her gut also told her that whatever it was, it did not belong in the hospital, and that whatever it was about, would not bode well. It was only after the marching bear vanished toward the left stretch of hallway that Eleanor realized that one of the rooms in that corner belonged to none other than the once flying Mr. Patton.
“He has a guard. It must be a teen or something.” She remembered that Lanton had given the kid a detail and had renewed it after the one kid was shot out front of the courthouse. “Surely the kid is safe.” She resolved to check on him in a few, but first, she had to make sure that Mr. Standerstalls was doing okay with his new meds. Hallucinating goose stepping bears would be no excuse for a patient flat lining on her watch. As she walked, she found herself humming.
“The bear went over the mountain, to see what he could see.”
But despite her cheerful humming, something itched at the back of her mind. Like in a dream where you knew something bad was coming, but you couldn’t remember what it was.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
The Guest
Doctor Jesuit Patton sat in a large white room adorned with several banks of television monitors. He sat in a brown leather chair that cost the small sum of a minimum wage worker's yearly salary. Before him sat a black marble desk that was cleaned at the least twice a day. On the monitors across from him, one single image had been set up on freeze frame. It was the image of his son, just as the sniper shot him through the gut. The video it had been taken from had been one of those high-resolution cameras that the common public now had access to, and the frame showed the spray of blood as the bullet exited. He studied the look of sheer pain and horror that sat stretched across his son’s face with clinical interest. “Icarus, seconds before the fall,” he told and empty room. “That moment when your childish ideologies are met with the vicious nature of reality.”
Someone knocked on the door. Judging by the slender figure he could see through the opaque bulletproof glass, he guessed it was his assistant, Doctor Vivian Pendergrost. He tapped a recessed button on his desk. The door unlocked and slid open to reveal his assistant. She wore a tight fitting white dress that had all the charm of corporate America. It hugged her athletic figure in all the socially acceptable areas, yet left enough so as to play at not being distracting. He knew that she wore it for him, and she took each day as a challenge to try to distract him. Not because she wanted him to falter or fail, but theirs had always been a game of control.
Vivian sauntered in, holding a metallic tablet whose screen whirled and danced with evolving readouts. “The twins have returned.”
Straight to business. Jesuit liked that. “And complications?” He rose from his seat, smoothing out the silk white suit that he wore.
Vivian bit her lip, which Jesuit knew was the forbearer of bad news. “One of the samples was missing a component.’ She smiled, though it came across as being weak. “Sarah Givens was not whole when they grabbed her and I don’t mean the arm that was removed when she was terminated. That was recovered as per your wishes. It looks like someone removed the subjects good hand post mortem. No indication of why, but the cut indicates the procedure was done by a professional.”
Jesuit scratched his chin. “That would be a large sample if they intended to do tests. We should probably send someone out to check on the reason.”
Vivian bit her lip. “Actually, sir. I already did that. Subject 6 was already in the field gathering the sample from the CDC, so I had him stop by the morgue to discover the reason for the missing limb.”
Jesuit made a small nois
e in the back of his throat. “And now Subject 6 is MIA?”
Vivian nodded.
“Let me guess. The M.E. there is a good looking female?”
Another nod.
Jesuit shook his head. “This is the price we pay for using test subjects from prisons. If he doesn’t report in within the next 24 hours, activate his termination protocols. I assume the Twins were able to collect Subject 16, otherwise, you would have led with that.”
She nodded again, this time a smile on her pretty face. “He’s set up in lab 4. Would you like to go there now?”
Jesuit answered by walking toward the door. Vivian fell into step beside him. “Sir. Should we just send out the Twins after Hipnosloth?”
Jesuit rubbed the bridge of his nose as he walked. “Please don’t use that ridiculous nickname he gave himself. Subject 6 will suffice. And no, if he is off the reservation, he has gone to ground to enact his sick game. It took six police departments four years to catch him, and that was sheer luck and before he had his new talent. We won’t find him before he comes waltzing back in. Plus, the Twins have a limited viability window. I doubt they can work with the set of complicated instructions a manhunt of that type would entail, nor are they particularly useful in situations where outright killing is forbidden. They just don’t understand the concept of capture. I have the genetic markers needed from him. If he starts on another spree, we fry him and start anew. I will not have one man’s lack of self-control spiral this whole operation out of control.”
“Understood, Sir.”
The door to Lab 4 slid open with the most hushed of noises. Beyond a wide circular room waited, with two surgeons in attendance. “Good Evening, Sir.” They said in unison.
“Give me an update on our guest.” He went to stand by the patient’s table. A white cloth covered all but the head.
“Heartbeat was one beat per minute when the subject arrived. It has increased to two beats per minute,” said one surgeon.
Jesuit looked down at the man. “How can you be alive?”
“We have visually noticed regeneration around the wounds. It is our belief that the subject is in a sort of self-induced slowed state to facilitate his recovery,” said the other.
“You shouldn’t be able to do any of that,” Jesuit told the comatose subject.
“Given his metabolic rate and increase in heartbeat, we believe he will revive himself from his coma in just a few days.”
“I hope it’s three days exactly,” Jesuit patted the man’s shoulder. “That would amuse me to no end. I don’t envy the hell I have in store for you, but you will endure, of that, I have no doubt. You are an anomaly among anomalies and I will find out why.”
“Your orders? What would you like to us to do first with Bulletproof?” It was the taller leaner surgeon that asked. Jesuit marked that in his mind.
“First, no longer use that name, or the name he had before he got here. He is Subject 16 now. First, you set up a nutrients IV for him if you can. Then I suggest you find the strongest thing you can to strap him down.” He turned to walk out, motioning for Vivian to walk with him.
“I have another assignment for you to oversee. With our new guest on the mend, I would like to set up a surprise for him.” A malicious grin stretched across his face.
“Of course, sir. Should I task one of the viable subjects?”
Jesuit shook his head. “No, use the military team to gather what I need.”
“Understood, sir. Speaking of, our eyes on the general are indicating that he might be pushing up his own timeline. He is already currying favors to oust you as the head of this operation. He is using the incident with your son as the foundation for his claim.”
Jesuit nodded. “I suspected as much would happen. The man is a bore and predictable to a fault. Let me see where he is at exactly and I will respond accordingly. The next couple of weeks should be one for the history books.”
Chapter Twenty-Eight
A Trail of Cake Crumbs
“I brought you some cake.”
The soft voice broke through Mac’s sleep. He could feel the owner hovering near, smelling of dirt and some form of berry. Blueberry perhaps. He opened his eyes to see that the tray table that they slid in front of you when you were supposed to eat had been shoved in front of him at a skewed angle. Resting on the corner closest to him sat a small blueberry cupcake, the blue dots poking through thin white icing.
“It’s cake. In a cup. A little paper cup.” The face of a little young girl with brown pigtails edged into view. “I heard you say you wanted cake.” She gave a cheerful smile and nudged the cupcake with the tip of her tiny finger. Mac guessed her age to be maybe six or seven, though he had never been good with ages. She wore a yellow and black sundress that reminded Mac of a bumblebee. In her left arm, she held a stuffed blue bear in a submission hold that would have made a professional wrestler proud.
“Thank you.” The words came out choked, his throat dryer than it had been in awhile. “Any water?”
The little girl turned from left to right, surveying the room, her pigtails dancing around her head. “Um, I think I saw something.” A raised finger before she disappeared from his view. A few seconds later she returned with a large yellow plastic cup that reminded Mac of the old folks home he used to visit. They all seemed to be drinking out of enormous cups like this. The preferred drink had always been tea, sometimes mixed with whiskey, depending upon the old timer in question.
Mac took the cup and found ice water that sent shivers down his spine as he drank it. He thought he remembered that they had left him ice cubes to suck on if he got too hungry. He suspected this was the dying remains of that. “Thank you.” He looked at the girl and then the blue bear in her arms. He looked over at the seat and saw that the larger blue bear was MIA. Perhaps he had imagined it. “Is your name Mary?”
The little girl shook her head so hard that the ends of her tails whipped the sides of her face. “That’s her.” She pointed at her bear.
“That’s a cool name for a bear.” Mac had never been very good with little kids. “What is your name?”
“I saw you on tv. That’s short for television.” She gave him a wide smile that was a few teeth short of the full set.
“That so? What was I doing?”
“First you flew.” She stuck out her arms and spun in a circle making airplane noises. “Then a mean lady shot you.” She mimicked getting shot in the stomach. “Then you fell.” She dropped out of view at the foot of the bed.
Mac chuckled. “Not my finest hour.”
Her head popped up. “I don’t think it was an hour long. Maybe five minutes.” Her face was the height of seriousness.
“I suppose not. What was your name again?”
“Did you not want the cake?” Her big gray eyes regarded the cupcake with an obvious desire to eat it herself.
Mac smiled. “I’m not sure I could eat that whole thing. They made my stomach very very small. Maybe you could help me eat some of it?”
She smiled wide, reaching out. Just as her hand got close, she trembled and withdrew it. “Is this a test?” Tears welled up in her eyes.
“What? No. Please, have some.” He tore off a piece and held it out to her.
“I don’t want to get hit again.” A tear rolled down her dirty cheek.
“Only thing you are in danger of getting hit by is a piece of this cake.” He held it up like he planned to throw the chunk at her.
“Hey!” She grabbed for it. “That was not easy to get. No wasting it.” She stuffed the piece into her mouth, scrambling away as she did. “That was hard to get. Man in the white dress did not want anyone to have it.”
“Cupcakes are highly sought after.”
“Slot after?” Crumbles dribbled out of her mouth.
“Never mind. What is your name?”
“Will you read a story to me?” She edged closer to his bed, staying by his feet.
“Uh, sure. Do you have a book?”
Sh
e vanished at the foot of the bed, only to pop up next to him like a jack in the box with book in hand. “It’s my favorite.” She handed it to him.
Mac looked the book over. “Monsters Are Ticklish Too” He turned it over in his hands. The cover had been worn so well that the name of the book took some work to decipher. The spine of the book stayed together more by hope than anything physical. “Let’s check this out.” The book’s pages numbered in maybe the twenties and the cover hinted at a great many illustrations. Plus, he reminded himself that he wanted to avoid taking any more pain meds.
The girl scrambled over the edge of the bed and sat herself cross-legged between his feet, bear suffering what came close to being an arm bar wrestling move.
Mac winced in pain as the girl stumbled over his useless legs. “Uh, sure. No use arguing where you sit now.” He suspected it would hurt worse trying to talk her into sitting in the seat. He opened the book and began to read. By the time he finished and the evil Flabasham, King of the Monsters was vanquished, the little girl lay fast asleep at the foot of his bed.
He closed the book and sat it next to the uneaten remains of the cupcake. He felt his hand reach for it but then stopped. He had no idea the kind of damage that food would do to his modified system now, and he felt no desire to risk it over a sweet. He found himself looking at the child, who had curled herself around the small bear protectively. He thought about calling the nurse and seeing if they could find her family, but she said she didn’t want to get hit again. He had no idea who had been hitting her, and what kind of hero would he be if he turned her back over to her abuser? Plus, he reasoned, he had to find out her name so he could thank her properly for her kindness. She looked as if she could use a nap, and he knew that when they moved her, he would be in for pain again.
He opted instead to turn on the overhead television and watch the news. He kept the volume off and turned on the closed caption. The leading story covered a police shooting in which the subject had been killed. The police officer claimed it had been in self-defense but some of the witnesses said that the police officer had acted without real provocation. The trouble had been that the body camera issued had been damaged in the pursuit and there remained no video of the actual incident. They broke to commercial and the first one hocked the latest advance in drone technology. This one had a longer battery life and the blades were 50 percent quieter than the nearest competitor. Perfect for recording little Timmy’s soccer game without drowning out the happy cheers of his family.
