by Regina Doman
For a few moments his commonplace actions were all he was aware of. The larger world of the dark, windy, empty field and night sky above, the barn, the brutal enemy beside him—had all faded into a cloud. But the next instant he was choked up into a headlock. He saw Dr. Murray standing in front of him, holding the coil of brown rope from the barn in her hands.
“Kneel,” Dr. Prosser said.
Freet had said the same thing to him. He hadn’t listened to Freet, and he wasn’t going to listen to her. Wrapping his hands protectively around his ankle, he remained where he was.
Dr. Prosser kicked him in the tailbone, and he fell forward with a groan. She continued to lash out at him, kicking him in the ribs, stomach and ankle over and over, beating him into submission. At last she yanked him upwards onto his knees and pulled the rope under his arms and knotted it tightly in the small of his back. As she wound the rope around his arms and shoulders, he knelt before his God and King and began to breathe out the first prayer Father Raymond had taught him—for a holy death. It didn’t seem like there was much else left for him to do.
24
...And the princess awoke..
.
Hers
They had not heard Alex’s voice for some time, but the heavy sounds of smashing and beating were still going on directly outside the attic door. Every once in a while the door trembled beneath the shock of another blow.
Let the police come, let someone come, Rose prayed, holding onto Kateri’s hands. She could tell her friend was crying, although Kateri, stoic as usual, made no sound. They had lost all sense of what was happening in that terrible clamor.
At last there was the crack of a loud voice that cut through the resounding blows and pounding outside the attic door.
“This is the police. Drop your weapons and come down now.”
There was a long pause, then what sounded like a disentangling of bodies, followed by the slow tramp of footsteps going down. Then murmurs and another pause.
“You too,” the police voice said again.
“I’m sorry, officer, I can’t.” Alex’s voice was a bit winded, but still clear. Kateri exhaled and got to her feet.
“If you don’t come down, you’ll be charged with unlawful entry and trespassing on a medical facility.”
“I understand, but I can’t come down,” Alex returned.
Kateri unlocked and swung open the door and addressed the police in a loud voice. “We are pro-life protestors, and this is a demonstration to protest the abuse of patients in this facility.”
There was some consternation below. Rose had to smile, despite her tension. Kateri was in her element again.
“That’s it, Kateri. Confuse them to death,” Alex panted in a low voice.
The police said after a pause, “I repeat: if you don’t come down now, you risk arrest, and we will be forced to resort to control measures.”
Kateri spoke forcefully. “As part of our protest, we have a patient of this facility up here with us, Miss Rose Brier, whom we charge has been illegally drugged, poisoned, and deliberately misdiagnosed with a coma to cover the facility director’s abuse of patients in collusion with the director and certain staff of Robert Graves Memorial Hospital. We are trying to do what we can to counteract the poison and bring her out of the artificial coma. If you attempt to arrest us, you will place her life in very grave danger and she will almost certainly die.”
There was more quiet consternation downstairs. Rose tried hard not to succumb to the wooziness that was growing around her.
“I take that back,” Alex said. “Maybe this will work.”
“Well, they’re probably not going to rush us,” Paul said. “But I don’t know how Fish will get to us now.”
There seemed to be some intense discussion going on. Then finally the police spoke again, “There’s someone here from Dr. Murray, the director of this facility, who wants to open negotiations with you. Are you willing to speak with her?”
“Probably not,” Alex muttered, and Kateri cut in, “But it will buy us some time.”
“Sure,” Alex said loudly, “What does the good doctor have to say?”
“We are going to allow Ms. Janet Sachs, the receptionist, through the line to the first landing if you promise to remain where you are.”
“I promise,” Alex said.
“We have our guns trained on you,” the police voice continued. “Do not make any sudden movements toward Ms. Sachs or else we will fire.”
“Okay,” said Alex.
Rose could hear strong, confident footsteps on the stairs. Then a clear, earnest, somewhat familiar voice spoke, “Protesters in the attic: Dr. Murray says that she is as concerned about saving lives as you are.”
“Yeah, right,” snorted Kateri.
“Hold on a moment,” Alex murmured in concern. “That’s not the receptionist from downstairs. Who the—?”
“If you believe that Ms. Rose Brier has been misdiagnosed…” continued the young lady.
Kateri gasped. “That’s Donna?”
“Yeah,” Alex breathed. “Almost didn’t recognize her the way she’s done herself up in a white coat with glasses…”
“…we would like to know what it is you want from us so that we can resolve this situation peacefully and get Ms. Brier the medical attention she needs.”
“The antidote to the poison she was given would be great for starters,” said Alex.
“If that’s all you want, then here you go…umh!” And Donna grunted with the apparent effort of throwing something.
A gun shot rang out and almost immediately another police voice shouted, “Hold your fire!”
Rose heard something thump on the steps. There was a rush of footsteps on the stairs, and Rose heard the police saying, “What did you just throw?” and then a shrill, “That’s not our receptionist! Where did she get that ID tag?” “Up against the wall! You’re under arrest.” “You have the right to remain silent…”
The attic door slammed. Rose was initially confused at what had happened, but then Kateri handed something to Paul breathlessly. “It’s the antidote!”
Rose heard him untying something and breathing a sigh of relief.
“I told you she was a good actress! How much you want to bet she’s been hiding out here for a while, waiting for a chance to get through?” Kateri said.
Rose heard Paul opening the plastic on a syringe. “I think we can do this,” he said. “I just hope this works. Okay, ratchet up those prayers a few more notches.”
HIS
“More fun this way,” Dr. Prosser remarked, throwing down one of the file boxes onto the pile. “We’re making our own crematorium, eh?” Trussed like a piece of pounded meat, Fish lay on his side on the dirt floor, watching Dr. Prosser’s final preparations. She had finished tying him up by knotting the last twist around his broken ankle, and had left three feet of rope attached to it. This odd action made him suspicious and he observed her next movements warily. Apparently, she had another game in mind for him, and he doubted it was a pleasant one.
Now she was piling some of the file boxes on one end of the fallen ladder, and stacking hay, sticks, and brush around it. Then she took a can of gasoline and soaked the pile. She doused the rest of the ladder as well, a move he found particularly troubling.
Dr. Murray stood to one side, watching as well. Apparently, she had run out of things to do, but didn’t seem to be able to make herself leave. She had taken another call from the nursing home, and Fish had strained to hear the conversation. He heard her angrily saying, “No, I did not send a message. The girl must be an imposter. What was it she gave them?” Then she cursed. “My cell phone just died.”
“Where’s your comatose girl?”
“Still locked in her room so far as I can tell,” Dr. Murray said, biting her nails and staring at the ground near Fish.
“Then we can finish up here,” Dr. Prosser said carelessly. “Move out of the way.”
Something told Fish that Donn
a had succeeded in her mission, and a good deal of the pressure within him had released. Now if only the antidote would work...God, help Rose.
Not that it would help him much, at this point. And while You’re at it, give me strength... Dr. Prosser crossed over to him, gasoline can in hand. He hunched his shoulders as she dumped the contents of the can on him, from his head to his feet, soaking his clothes and stinging his skin. Nauseated, he shook his head and tried to ignore the acrid smell and fumes rising around him. Then he clamped his mouth down on his tongue as she grabbed the rope attached to his ankle, and pulled it towards the pile of brush on the ladder. With some apparent anticipation, she wound the end of the rope around the ending rung of the ladder and knotted it, so that he was tethered to it. He saw what she was doing, and felt himself go cold.
Now she struck a match, and the gasoline lit with a hushed foomp! Soon the pile on the far end of the ladder was burning.
She turned away and doused a hay bale with the last of the gasoline. Then she began tugging the bale towards the ladder with both hands. With a great effort she lifted it and landed the hay bale squarely in the middle of the fire, then she fell back hurriedly to the far end of the barn.
The explosion of the gas, so close to him, made him reflexively jerk his legs away, and he yelled as his ankle exploded into simultaneous pain. Cutting off his cry, he tried to get further away from the burning ladder, but his bound leg held him closer to the pile than was safe. The only thing he could do was to throw himself on his stomach to keep his gas-soaked front from catching a spark, twisting his ankle mercilessly as he did so. Dr. Murray, who had been watching and biting the knuckles of her fist, ducked her head and turned away. Dr. Prosser grabbed her shoulders and hurried her colleague out of the barn. Through his agony, he could hear her laughing at his torture. The doors to the barn slammed shut.
Controlling his emotion, he turned back to see what was going on. He couldn’t help watching with some fascination, as the flames of the burning bale began to wrap their way in earnest around the rungs of the ladder he was tied to. The gasoline hadn’t caused the entire thing to start burning instantly, but he had no doubt that it was speeding up the process. He was close enough and soaked enough with the fluid that if a spark hit him, his final inferno would probably commence immediately. He licked his dried lips and prayed again. Rose. Strength. God. Please.
Hers
Paul probed Rose’s arm carefully with the needle and found the vein. “I hope this doesn’t hurt too much,” he said softly. She could barely feel anything through the diffusing waters, and shook her head. Her vision was still dark, and a cloud of heaviness was over her mind. Hearing under such tension while being unable to sense anything further was wearying her, and she was afraid of losing consciousness soon. She fought to keep herself as close to the surface as she could.
“Before I lay down my arms and come quietly, can I ask you this: where are our friends?” Alex was calling down the stairwell to the police. “Before you got here, two of our friends were stunned by security and taken away. Where are they now?”
There was some discussion, and then someone—Rose guessed a security guard—called up, “We don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Oh yes you do. Leroy Robinson and James Kelly,” Alex said. “I warn you, if you don’t bring them out and release them to the police, there’s going to be a conflagration of lawsuits by their parents against this facility and the police department like you won’t believe.”
“James is here,” Donna spoke up suddenly from below. “I saw him being carried downstairs by a doctor and a male nurse. He was handcuffed and unconscious.”
“Why would Dr. Barnes be hiding captured protestors from the police?” Alex yelled. “And why isn’t he here now? Officers, I recommend you find out what happened to them before you have a bigger crime on your hands.”
Paul turned back to Rose. “How are you doing?”
She was sinking down beneath the waters once more, despite all her efforts to remain afloat.
But she couldn’t mistake Dr. Barnes’ voice when he returned. “Officers, I think there’s been some gross manipulation of the facts going on. The young men you referred to attacked our staff and had to be subdued by security, whose headquarters is in the basement. Furthermore, the patient upstairs—formerly one of mine, incidentally—is in grave danger unless she’s rescued immediately. I repeat—a life is in danger if you delay action further.”
Immediately a policeman’s voice rang out, “Drop the sword and come down now!”
“I don’t know how much more I can delay,” Alex said through the door with a sigh she could barely hear. “Make sure this door stays locked, okay?”
I can’t stay conscious— Rose struggled and drifted back into greyness.
After a long pause, she vaguely heard another clamor. “They got Alex,” she dimly heard Paul say.
Kateri asked, “Rose, can you hear me?” Anxiously. And Rose recognized that it was the second or third time she had asked. She was losing contact rapidly. The waters began to churn around her, and she was caught in a whirlpool that spun all sensation away.
With her draining mental energy she fought towards the surface, and a bubble of sound and conversation floated down to her. The rasp of a sword being drawn. And Paul’s voice.
I know what Alex said, but I’m not letting you. They can get me first.
They’ll shoot you!
Maybe not, Paul’s voice reassured her. At least I’ll delay them a moment longer. Every minute counts now for Rose.
HIS
Turning his head, Fish noticed that the fire had jumped across the hay-strewn floor to the far parts of the barn, buoyed on by spilled gasoline, and that some of the bales by the doors of the barn were beginning to smolder. Fortunately, as he was on the ground, he was protected from the worst effects of the smoke, at least for now. And a lot of the smoke was escaping through the gaping hole in the barn roof above him. He heard something crackling in the hayloft, and saw that there were some tiny flames starting there. Probably Dr. Prosser had set the rest of Dan Brier’s file boxes on fire, and now they were starting to ignite the hay bales. If he couldn’t get out of this barn soon, he would be trapped in a blazing hell.
He felt a twinge of remorse for the loss of Rose’s family memorabilia. There was nothing he could do yet except watch the fire creeping down the ladder towards him like a stealthy dragon, while his trapped and broken ankle bleated in pain. He twisted his shoulders to brace himself, seeking rather hopelessly for a way to get untied, but he knew that the only knots were around his chest and down by his feet. He tried again to see if he could move his hands, but Dr. Prosser had crossed them and jammed them into his back pants pockets and then pinned them down at the wrists and fingers, a devious trick that cut off his maneuvering substantially.
His toughest escape yet...he couldn’t restrain a faint laugh. But tied this way, he was as impotent as a mummy in its grave clothes, helpless prey squeezed in the itching coils of a brown serpent.
For a moment, as he watched the flames coming closer, he felt an overwhelming urge to surrender, to lie still and wait for the release of death. To struggle onwards was more agony, and he was so weakened by the pulsing of his leg that he didn’t dare touch a single toe on it, let alone move it.
What use was his life at this point, anyway? If Rose was saved, she would wake in the capable hands of a good man. Paul probably deserved her more than Fish did. Rose would grieve for him, certainly, but she could find a new life with the earnest pre-med student.
Fish felt a tremor of the kiss he had given her on his bleeding lips, his parting gift, which she probably hadn’t even been aware of. There seemed to be a finality to the gesture, a sacrifice. A soothing voice told him that even if he were to escape now, it would only complicate things for himself, for Rose, and for others. It would be far easier to give up now. Surely even God wouldn’t require any further struggle from you...
At last
the fire was reaching the twisted knots that bound him to the ladder. Now or never. With a final prayer and a pre-emptive sob, he gnashed his teeth together, knotted the muscles in his good foot, and wriggled his toes downward, jostling his shattered ankle unbearably as he did so. In the throes of agony, he managed to loop the extra rope that tied him to the ladder around his big toe, squeezed the rest of his toes around the line, and began to exert a steady, strong pull. Simultaneously, he worked himself backwards with what he could muster of his elbows, until the rope was stretched taut. His breath was rapid and caught in moans as he struggled to stay on top of the pain that coursed through his bad foot and up his leg to his spine. The gasoline-soaked hemp lit and began to burn, the flames traveling down the twine eagerly. But as it burned ahead, the cords behind began to disintegrate.
Gasping again and blinking back tears, he continued to pull, seeing the blacked rope untwist itself and curl up, layer after layer, until only a thin strand remained. He gave a final sharp tug, and the rope snapped in two and he inched himself away from the flaming ladder as fast as he could manage, backing himself into the one corner of the barn where nothing was yet burning. He quickly pounded the ground with his feet, stomping on the bit of flame that remained on the end of the rope with his bare skin. After a moment, he realized it was out, and in a mixture of agony and exhaustion that blended so completely he nearly succumbed to unconsciousness.
