"Holy shit, John! Get back in the car, we gotta get you to the hospital!" said Charlie, who had gotten out of the car and come around to me.
"No, no hospital," I murmured, feeling very unwell beyond the nausea. With feeble movements, I pointed to my chest where the wound had been. Something miraculous had happened - though perhaps it was really diabolical. Either way, I didn't want to be in the hospital. Something said I would be kept there and poked and prodded. I also just didn't trust the place. It wasn't safe. I felt like a sick dog; I just wanted to crawl under the house until I died or got better.
"John, we need to get you to the hospital," said Charlie.
"No hospital!" I snapped, but my strength was fading. I felt feverish, a great sweat upon me even though I was beginning to feel so cold. "No hospital," I murmured. "Someplace safe." I don't know what exactly transpired after that, but Charlie's face softening in recognition of my request allowed me to stop desperately holding on. I lapsed into unconsciousness.
What followed was a montage of suffering. Though I was conscious for very little, it rated as one of the most horrible experiences of my life. I had never been that sick, that miserable; life had never been as painful as it had been during that time.
What I remember most was shivering. The coldest of colds, the wettest of sweats. As if I lay dying in the arctic, but the temperature was always within me, never affected by sheets. But this was punctuated by flashes of heat, as if my blood was boiling, my organs ready to burst, as if a chemical fire was roaring within me and ready to erupt through my skin, scorching the bed, and burning down the room. I writhed through consciousness and unconsciousness, drifting in an out of pain and nightmares, hallucinations and possible reality.
I remember the dim room, both familiar and unfamiliar. I remember a slight touch to my hand, slightly wet and cold. When I jerked my hand, I felt a swish of something furry. Another time there was someone in the room, first looking at me, then mopping my brow. It was a woman. I looked at them, trying to discern their identity. Franny? Then her face seemed to shift in the half light. Katie? I blinked my eyes and then strained to look. The woman reached out to mop my brow again. Then her face changed to that of the Seer. I jerked backward, using what fading strength I had to push myself away, crawling up to defensively push against the wall behind the bed. The woman jumped back, startled, and I lost any sense of who they were. Whoever it was paused, trying to think, but then she left the room. I calmed down a minute later and passed out again.
I woke abruptly, my nerves screaming, the hackles on my neck straight up. It was night time, the dim room even dimmer except for a lone Hello Kitty night light. Something was wrong. There was some danger. Next to the bed was one of those completely black figures that I had seen in that dark place. Black fluid seemed to wash over it slowly. It stared down at me, unmoving, unspeaking. Even its sightless gaze seemed to be painful, that stare more aggressive than any words it could have spoken. I didn't know where it came from. I looked down to the floor from which it rose, trying to stare through the dimness. Its black form seemed to collect into a slim black tube, which stretched up onto the bed, then under the sheets. I ripped the sheet away, seeing that the dark tendril stretched up my body, across my chest, up my throat. With horror I realized the blackness went into my mouth and down my throat. I writhed and screamed, my consciousness breaking again. I don't remember what happened after that, only awaking again, still shivering, still sick.
The woman came back, mopping my brow and trying to get me drink water. I couldn't tell if it was Franny or Katie, the face flipping back and forth every time I tried to look closely. The water was helping to soothe me, giving a brief respite from all I had experienced. "Thank you..." I rasped, my voice far weaker than I realized.
"Of course, John," she said, her voice surprised and taken aback.
"You're the best," I slurred, my tongue feeling like some alien slug that had taken up residence in my mouth. My moment of wakefulness was fading fast. My mind was spinning off random feelings. I remembered the kiss with Katie outside Bellingham, the feeling of pain and relief at having been out of there. "I... love... you..." I said in pausing, heaving breaths.
"What?" said the woman. But I knew this only as the last memory before I drifted off into unconsciousness again.
When the fever broke and I crested the worst part of my illness, I felt like I had slept for a year. No shivers, no sweat, and any nightmares I had were familiar animals - I could deal with those. I had something resembling rest, even if I was still in and out of consciousness.
On the first day I felt something near wellness, I looked around the room. It was a bedroom, but it wasn't mine. It was a room like mine, almost the same dimensions, but the bed was unfamiliar. For one, this bedroom had way more pillows than I would have had; a fact that made me think this was a woman's bedroom. That was supported by the Hello Kitty night light as well as a few of the other decor choices.
I wasn't left with much time to wonder as soon after the door opened to reveal Franny carrying a bowl of soup on a serving tray. She nearly dropped it in the shock of seeing me awake and lucid. Once she remembered herself, she excitedly brought me the tray. Then after she quizzed me on my condition, she caught me up on everything that she knew since I had gotten sick. I remember specifically that she called it "gotten sick". She had no idea where the blood on my clothes had come from, but she never mentioned anything about me being stabbed.
Charlie had been true to his word. Since I had explicitly said no to a hospital, Charlie had driven me back to Austin. He had tried to bring me to my apartment, but upon arriving, he couldn't find my key. That's when Franny opened the door. Charlie had explained that I was sick but also hiding out. Of course Franny had offered up her own home and to play nursemaid. She said she didn't believe that I was actually in danger, but she did notice when looking through the blinds that the same young blonde girl she had seen previously had come to my door a few times. I knew who she meant immediately - The Seer. That made me tense, but Franny said the Seer had left without ever even bothering to look at Franny's door.
"How long have I been here?" Based on my lapses of consciousness, I bet it had been a few days. Enough for the case to grow cold and Sally to wonder where I was.
Franny winced. "Two weeks."
"Two weeks?" I said in shock.
"Yeah," she said hesitantly. "Your phone was ringing, but I put it on silent. Your friend - Charlie - said not to tell anyone you were here."
"Two weeks... damn..." I said, just trying to get a handle on the time.
"Don't think too much about it," she said. "Rest, save your strength. Eat soup."
"I've been away from things for so long, I want to get back out there."
"Which is why you're staying here," she said. "You're going to run out there and then wear yourself out."
I'll spare you the rest of this conversation where I whined like a child and protested vehemently. Let's just say that she convinced me to rest one more day. Part of that was blackmail: she had my phone and wouldn't give it to me. She said that if I rested another day, she'd give it back. I had flashbacks of the movie Misery but decided since I wasn't tied down, this was just a benign-but-similar situation.
The next day Franny gave me my phone and a change of clothes from my apartment. She still said she didn't recommend getting out of bed, but she realized at this point she couldn't stop me. I thanked her very much for nursing me back to health. Then I carefully opened the front door to her apartment. There was no one outside as far as I could see. I glanced at the lamp outside my apartment, looking for another figure of Hornswaggle. I found none and so decided it was safe. I stepped out into the landing and then quickly unlocked my apartment, stepping inside.
Mr. Smith meowed loudly in greeting, then requested food. I know Franny had been taking care of him, but I figured he deserved some extra food. Once he was fed, I sat down on the couch and checked my phone. Lots of texts from Sally and some calls fro
m Morty. I guess that's a sign of the generation gap. I also had a single call and message from Charlie. The timestamp said it was soon after he had left me at Franny's. I listened to that first. His voice was grim, but he explained I should call him as soon as I was well. No other information.
The texts from Sally were of the same nature: WHERE ARE YOU? ARE YOU OKAY? After a few days it's, I'M HERE AT WORK BUT YOU'RE NOT. I'LL KEEP THE PLACE RUNNING AS LONG AS I CAN. PLEASE LET ME KNOW YOU'RE OKAY. The rest of the messages kept that tone. I hated worrying her. I sent her a text back: I AM OKAY. HAD SOME TROUBLE, BUT OKAY NOW. THINGS ARE STILL NOT SAFE. YOU DON'T NEED TO COME INTO WORK. WILL STILL PAY YOU.
Next I listened to the messages from Morty. Or rather, I listened to the first few seconds of each before deleting them. I got the gist of what he was saying. At first he was telling me what he heard about the case, and later he was worried. I deleted the messages and then gave him a call.
"John?" His voice was surprised.
"What, no poetry?"
"I didn't have anything ready... I was worried I wouldn't hear from you again, so I picked up immediately rather than get a poem. Where have you been?"
"Sick and laying low," I said.
"Laying low?"
"Let's say my safety is in question."
"You're in danger? From who? Have you called the cops?"
I had a fleeting laugh. Cops couldn't help me, and even if they could, I already had one on my side. "Don't worry about it, I'll handle it. I don't want you involved anyway."
"Okay, for the moment, I'll trust you on this tough guy stuff. Have you heard my messages?"
"I glossed over them," I said.
"Meredith's father killed the case," said Morty. "Well, she did, but by convincing her father. Officially you have been fired with extreme prejudice. I'm still apologizing for recommending you, though I still don't have any details. Honestly I wouldn't normally care, since he's kind of a prick, but I need him to help on something soon, so I'm spending the time pretending to be nice. Messing up the case was a little inopportune for me. So what did you do to piss her off? It's not like you to screw up."
"It's grief," I said with a tired sigh. "That's all it is. Her friend ended up dead before I could save him. I found him, but he died soon after - violently. I was the one to tell her the next morning and we argued. She blames me for not doing more."
"Could you have done more?"
I paused, considering the situation in my head, as I have many times since that night. I winced considering the outcomes of any other possibility. What could I have really done? And would he have been better off if I hadn't found him? Maybe, but maybe not. If I could find him, so could someone else. "No, I don't think so. Not... not in any way I was prepared for."
"How do you mean?"
"Morty, this case just wasn't what I thought it was... not what any of us thought it was."
"So what was it, exactly? Drugs? Organized crime?"
"Right now I don't think you'd believe me," I said.
He paused before answering, perhaps deciding whether to address that claim directly. He decided not to. "And the danger you're in, is it related to the case?"
"Yes... well, part of it."
"John, drop the case," said Morty. "Walk away. You're not getting paid anymore. I have a check for your per diems, obviously no completion fee, but it's something. Take it and stop. This is not worth the danger."
"At this point, I just can't do that, Morty... not even if I wanted to, I think."
"John, we've been friends a while. No bullshit tough guy stuff, okay? This doesn't sound good."
"I know, Morty, I know." My hand involuntarily went to the scar on my chest, then slowly went down to my stomach that still was just two shades from nauseous, remembering the dreams of blackness. "If I were trying to be tough, I'd say I needed to see this through, which I feel, but it's not why I'm doing this. I would stop if that were the only reason; I'm scared. But in all honesty... I don't think I can walk away. They won't leave me alone."
"John, this is serious stuff. Call the police."
"The police are involved," I said. "Sort of. Morty, I - well, I won't say I know what I'm doing, but I'll say I'm doing my best. Anymore than that I won't say. I don't want you involved - not you, not Sally, not Franny."
"You should still -"
"I know! I know. Whatever you're going to say, I know. I am well aware of how serious this is. I've had two weeks to discover that. Morty, I know. I'm not going to say not to worry about me, I'm just saying I'm doing my best and you can't help me. That's how it's got to be."
"This sounds like the tough guy act."
"It's the act of someone who is deep in shit and doesn't want to bring the people he cares about with him, because there's nothing they can do. Maybe in a week, everything will be great, and we can share a drink in whatever fine restaurant you want to pay for, laughing about this. But for now, I need you to back off and let me figure this out."
"John, I..." Pause. "I understand. I don't like it, but I understand. Never let it be said that Mortimer J Rosen does not care about his true friends."
"It's only the people who think they're his true friends that need to worry," I said with amusement.
"No comment," said Morty with a smile I could hear. "Take care of yourself, John. I need to buy you that drink."
"And a dinner to go with it," I said.
Next I called Charlie. His voice was tired and only a little surprised to hear from me.
"It's good you're well," he said. Neutral, distant, guarded.
"Thanks to you," I said. "I do appreciate that."
"Yeah, well, just another day in shit town," he said. Now his tone was bitter, cynical.
"Huh? What's going on? Have you been attacked by Hornswaggle?" They shouldn't know anything about him, but maybe they tailed him. Something was off from his voice. Had my near death affected him so much?
"No," he said with a sullen voice. "But he's partially the cause. Remember the hospital? I'm paying for that."
"What do you mean?"
"Murder," he said. "Jennifer was killed and the police were all over that place."
"But we didn't kill anyone, there's no way they could get us..."
"That is true, but as terrible it was that Jennifer died, that's not the problem. Remember how they had our names and knew I was an APD officer? And then how we charged out of the place after a mysterious death?"
"I guess that was very suspicious..."
"Oh yeah," he said. "So of course they called APD to find out what I was doing there or if I even was an actual officer. And that's how they found out I wasn't there officially. Of course, the bigger deal was that APD, and more specifically, my boss, found out I had suggested I was an officer and made it sound like there might be an investigation."
"Okay, that sounds really bad."
"Yeah, it's fucking terrible, John. I've been put on administrative leave while they figure it out. I can't work my own damn job. All I can do is sit at home. I hate that crap. I want to work."
"Are they going to arrest you? Are they going to arrest me? For the murder or... for anything?"
"Probably not. There's no real evidence we did anything. When it comes to facts and evidence, that we happened to be there was coincidental. A huge and suspicious-looking coincidence, but there's nothing to get us on. No murder weapon - hell, they aren't even sure how she was killed. But no evidence we could have done that. At best, they might want us on conspiracy to commit murder, since it could be argued that we got Jennifer out of the secure part of the hospital. But they'd need to charge someone with an actual murder first, and then they might have a chance of showing our involvement. A very big if."
"And they'll never actually find any worthwhile evidence about Jennifer's murderer," I said sadly.
"Not unless the cameras stayed on when the lights went out, which I doubt."
"I feel bad."
"For which part?"
"All of it,
I guess..." I said. "That our being there lead to her death. For not staying around... Of course I was kind of half dead." Or all the way dead, I said in my head. "And I guess for your trouble. What's happened with that?"
"Mostly they're pissed I suggested this was related to police business with the doctor. Like super pissed off. My boss is really not happy with that - I got yelled at for a while. Luckily, they care more about how I presented myself. They don't think I was involved in the crime. For them, the murder is just coincidental to department politics."
"Shit, I somehow feel that this is all my fault."
"Maybe it is, but not completely." He meant it to be reassuring, but that still stung. But had I really expected him to clear me of guilt? I said nothing and he continued. "It's also my fault for pursuing this. Sure, this one went really bad, but I signed up for this, didn't I? I didn't have to tell them I was an officer. Besides, I'm not the one who got stabbed. How the hell did you survive that?"
I frowned, taking a long moment before responding. I felt cold and tense. I didn't really want to think about it. "I really don't know... the only possible explanation would be something that... something I just don't want to think is true."
"I saw the blood and everything," said Charlie, his voice flat. "How did it go away?"
"I know... Let's just not talk about that."
"Really? A man suddenly heals from a stabbing and we don't talk about it? How is that not important? Especially when trying to fight against some supernatural evil?"
I thought of the black place, the dripping fluid, the dark men, and Katie behind them. "The only explanation scares the crap out of me, Charlie. I really don't want to talk about it."
"There's a lot you don't want to talk about, John." His voice was annoyed, bordering on anger. "You told me I needed to trust you. There's stuff you didn't tell me then and stuff I don't know now. I put my trust in you even when I had these concerns. Then things went bad and now I'm on administrative leave."
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