Jess blinked. The middle of a conversation and James just left? Perhaps it was because the imposter ‘James’s didn’t want to get caught up but it was typically Slagel to just go. Hating to admit it, phase one of Jess’s investigation into Jimmy Slagel was going nowhere. But again he did just start and with that in mind, Jess headed after James to the trenches. Literally.
^^^^
Frank hung up. No more than a split second after Ellen mentioned ‘Lodi’, Frank said he was busy and just hung up. Hal laughed at the ridiculous notion at first and then when he saw how serious Ellen was, he simply and bluntly said, ‘no’. Perhaps Hal’s reaction was why she decided to call Frank. Cranky or not from lack of sleep, Hal gave Ellen a different direction to take in approaching Frank but that didn’t work. Even though it was easier than face to face, face to face was best.
Robbie. He looked as if he were in deep contemplation. He didn’t laugh, walk away, or get angry. He stared for a few seconds then he spoke.
“Again?” Robbie asked.
“You heard me,” Ellen told him.
Inhaling loudly and deeply, Robbie gave a tight locked lip look.
“Robbie.”
“Do you even comprehend what you are asking me to do?”
“I know what I’m asking . . .”
“I don’t think you do. I love you, El. I’d go out on any limb for you. For you, not Johnny.”
“But Johnny has . . .”
“A brain tumor?” Robbie chuckled. “You expect me to believe that?”
“Yes.”
‘No.” Robbie shook his head. “After his history here, I cannot even believe you are thinking it’s true. It would be just like Johnny to find some old medical records, pass them off as his own, sucker some guy into riding all the way out here and posting the information under some bogus doctor’s name.”
“A-ha.” Ellen lifted a finger.
“A-ha, what?”
She pulled out a note from her back pocket. “Signed by Sgt. Doyle.”
“Why is Tim writing my father a note?” Robbie looked at only the heading.
“Because your dad wanted to know about Dr. Rayburn. Tim said he was legit and on the up and up. Lodi, according to Tim, would not try to pull the wool over our eyes.”
“Lodi may be, but Johnny would try.”
“What?” Ellen scoffed. “You think he’s just using Dr. Rayburn’s name.”
“He could be. That’s a very real possibility.”
“And so is the fact that Johnny is dying.”
“El . . .”
“He’s family, Robbie,” Ellen pleaded. “He’s family.”
“He shot my father.” Robbie stayed firm. “He shot my brother. He tried to kill Hal. He cost me my arm. Let’s not forget how he made it out to look as if you were not only insane, but hooked on drugs. Didn’t he . . . didn’t he hit you?”
Ellen closed her eyes. “You have to forget . . .”
“No.” Robbie was strong. “I can’t forget. I can’t. And I can’t even consider taking you out there.”
“Even if it’s true? Even if Johnny is sick?”
Robbie stared. “Even then.” He started to walk away.
“If this is true Robbie,” Ellen spoke as Robbie moved, “he can’t be blamed for behavior. Medically, it’s sound.”
Robbie lifted his hands up. “I don’t care.”
“He could be dying, Robbie”
“I’m sorry, El. But . . . I just don’t care.” Turning, Robbie continued on.
Ellen was ready, reeling to call out and try again, but she didn’t. She had little time left in Beginnings before she had to return to Bowman. With her options running out, Ellen had to rethink her course.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Frank couldn’t recall how long it had been, but more than likely not since the early days of Containment. There was a sense of excitement about it and a buzz began in Security waiting on what to do.
Very official with clipboard to take notes in his hand, Frank walked down the hall of Containment with Richie.
“I’m sorry, Frank. I should have called you sooner.”
“No. No problem. I understand.” Frank held the office door open for him.
“Aside from not wanting to get him in trouble, I just wasn’t sure.”
“I understand.”
Richie sat down behind the desk.
“What time did you start?” Frank asked.
“Six am.”
“Did you see him then?”
“No.”
“Did you check?”
“Yep. Always do. I do a visual bed scan. He wasn’t in bed.”
“That was at six.”
“Yes.”
“So . . .” Frank looked at his watch. “It’s eight-fifteen now. That means he’s been gone . . .” He closed his eyes. “At least . . .” Frank lifted fingers.
“Two hours and fifteen minutes.”
“Thanks.” Frank winked and wrote down. “Why did you wait so long to call?”
“Like I said, I didn’t want to get him in trouble. I thought maybe he was in the bathroom.”
“For two hours?”
Richie shrugged. “They had veggie stew last night.’
Knowingly, Frank nodded. “Any idea how he escaped?”
“Chester believed through the floor hatch.”
Frank wrote down. “Chester . . . floor . . . hatch.” He dotted the period. “Why does Chester think this?”
“He said he was hit in the head and he saw him going down the hatch.”
“We have assault and an injury.”
“Two.”
“Two?” Frank asked. “Who else got hurt in the escape?”
“Herb. Herb said he got hurt when he tried to stop him from taking the serving fork from the kitchen.”
“Man.” Frank shook his head. “I suppose you didn’t go down the hatch?”
“Frank, in his state of mind, who knew what he would do?”
“True. Ok. Hold on.” Frank lifted his radio. “Units on call. We have an escape from Containment. Highly dangerous situation. Resident is armed so proceed with caution. Do no,. I repeat, do not shoot. Just apprehend. Suspect is . . . about . . .” Frank thought. “He’s little. Blonde hair, needs a cut. Name . . . Dean Hayes. Thanks. Ten bonus Danny Dollars for bringing him in within the hour.”
Richie sat back relieved. “Thanks, Frank.”
“Not a problem.” Franks stood. As soon as he did, his phone rang. “Man, that was fast. Bet me they have him.” He lifted the phone. “Yeah.”
Exasperated, Hal’s voice seeped through. “Frank. Tell me again, once again, is Ellen in Beginnings?”
“Fuck. Hal. No. How many fuckin times do have to tell you?”
“Well then big brother, we have a problem.”
^^^^
From his stack of requisitions and daily reports, Joe’s head cocked when he heard Frank’s voice over the radio say, “Amend that last call. We now have a hostage situation on hand.’
Joe slid his half square glasses down the bridge of his nose and listened to the transmissions, watching the radio as if it were some sort of television.
“Idiots.” Joe shook his head.
How did it happen? When did it get to that point? He overheard the details of how Ellen was believed to be in New Bowman and how Hal had everyone searching for her. At the same time, Dean mysteriously disappeared and that was after hitting Chester on the head, shoving Herb, and verbally frightening several other residents.
It was bad.
Or so it was projected.
Hal sent a troop of men out on horseback.
In Beginnings, back and forth transmissions flowed across the airwaves. Security men reporting, “I’m heading there. I’m heading there. Nothing here, Frank. Keep looking.’
Joe knew. He knew where Dean was and he had just seen Ellen. She had dodged out of site, heading up to where Joe knew Robbie was working a watch. But he saw her and so did Robbie for that mat
ter. If that was the case, why was Robbie joining in to help the search.
The order was given that if the missing duo was not discovered on the property in one hour, the next tactical maneuver would be an air and ground search outside the sanctity walls. Joe reached for the radio.
He stopped.
“Morons,” murmured from Joe. He could have ended it all, snapped out and corrected them, but he knew all would be fine. It was just a search, a very good drill for the men, not to mention a superb way to boast the sprits and give everyone some fun. It was winter in Beginnings and since not much ever happened during winter in Beginnings. Joe let them go and returned to work.
^^^^
With his arms crossed, Johnny peered at the x-ray on the light board. “It’s definitely a fracture.”
“Hmm.” Lars raised his glasses. “I don’t see it.”
“That’s because you’re concentrating on the ulna and radius. That’s a common mistake when dealing with the symptoms, but it’s a boxer fracture.” Johnny pointed. “Check out the fifth metacarpal. It’s not only displaced, it is fractured.”
Lars smiled. “Excellent.”
“Am I right?”
“Yes. Now . . . treatment.”
“For something like this, it doesn’t take much. Rest the limb, cast perhaps, but with discipline, a brace will work.”
“Good.” Lars took down the x-ray. “That is precisely what I saw and did. Now . . . next.”
“Am I doing good?”
“Eight for nine,” Lars stated. “You missed the easiest one.”
“But my diagnosis was good. You have to give me that.”
“Yes, if we were in Beginnings,” Lars said smugly. “Unfortunately, we here in Lodi haven’t an agent called ‘D-poison’.”
“I was confused. It just that it was pretty epidemic, stomach cramps, burning and stuff, right after Dean used the bunny poison for the first time.”
“In Lodi this man suffered from an ulcer,” Lars said.
“But my treatment was good, right?”
“You have been staying within the limits of what Lodi has. Yes. Next.” He handed Johnny a folder. “This man checked into the clinic, delirious. In fact, pretty close to dementia.”
Johnny opened the folder.
“Shaking. Dry heaves. Seeing things. Fever.”
“Definitely would do a complete blood work up . . .” Johnny’s voice trailed.
“What?” Lars asked.
“Where’s his social pattern?”
“Third sheet, why?”
“Well, he has no family history of senility. This occurred in the winter so heat or sun stroke is out. I would venture . . . ah-ha.” Johnny smiled. “I’d ask him how long it has been since he had a drink. With a social admittance of three drinks per day, at his body weight, he can easily have slipped into alcoholism. Toxin levels would be low, but I’d still say tremens.”
“And you are correct.”
“Yes.” Johnny clenched his fist.
“Treatment.”
“Hospitalization for few days, just to be on the safe side, and encourage him not to drink.”
“Good boy.”
“Hey, I like this form of learning.”
Lars crinkled his face. “Keeps you on your toes, doesn’t it? Next . . .” Lars raised a film to the board. “Physically fit male No ailments. No symptoms. Routine check up and cat scan. However, interviews with those closest to him show a pattern of behavior changes. Anger. Outburst. Loss of memory.”
“Brain tumor?”
“Take a look.” Lars flicked on the light.
“Tumor.” Johnny peered. “Looks fibroid cystic. Modula oblongata which would explain behavior. No pain?”
“None.”
“Well . . . that would be right. I mean, the patient would suffer eventually from total functional breakdown when the tumor suffocates the brain. Of course it would be predicted that he’d go through a really bad episode of memory loss, bad behavior and so forth. Its position and shape tells me this is a rapidly growing tumor. It’s partially fluid-filled but heavy.” Johnny went into thought
“Treatment?”
Johnny exhaled. “Logically, it would be to remove it. The tumor isn’t in a position to be easily drained but can be biopsied, plus . . .” Johnny’s finger ran across the scan. “It looks masticated, but not malignant in texture. Biopsy would tell. Is this guy dead?”
“No. Not yet.”
“Well then . . . Removal would be foremost, but we’re in Lodi. Can you remove a brain tumor?”
Lars ran his finger over his chin. “Unfortunately, no.”
“I’ve seen a few. I could learn.”
“Say that’s not an option.”
“Well . . . you could try steroid therapy to shrink the tumor, and then radiate. But . . . you guys don’t have a viable means of radiation.”
“Our version of steroids would fail to touch this.”
“Beginnings steroids may work. I could see if I could recreate.”
Lars snapped his fingers. “That would be a great idea. When you can you start?”
“Immediately. Ideally removal would be best. Steroids will only prolong, not solve.”
“I know this. Johnny . . .” Lars took a breath. “You seem very versed in this.”
“I am. Dr. Dean taught me well.”
After cringing Lars continued, “So you have a good grip what’s going on with this patient?”
“Oh, sure.”
“He doesn’t know. How would you . . . how would you tell him?”
Johnny whistled, folded his arms, and looked at the scan. “Bluntly. I’d say, you have a fibroid cystic brain tumor. Its position is deadly. It requires removal. Unfortunately, we cannot offer that, but we are hoping and working on other options.”
“Good.” Lars nodded. “Johnny?”
“Yeah?”
“You have a fibroid cystic brain tumor. Its position is deadly and . . .”
“What?” Johnny laughed “Lars.”
“I’m not joking, Johnny. This man is you.”
Johnny stumbled back. “You’re serious.”
“Very much.”
Johnny took a long blink.
“Your behavior patterns and you not remembering why and when you did things tipped me off. I ran the scan.”
“But you also made me run five miles.”
“Well that was just to throw you off.”
“Oh my God!” Johnny gasped. “This was a hell of a way to tell me.”
“I wasn’t going to tell you at all,” Lars said. “So I figured, if you were knowledgeable and knew what could and couldn’t be done, then you’d know. If not, we’d move on.”
“The steroids from when I was shot . . .”
“Shrunk the tumor. Hence why you have your memory back and why you feel remorse.”
“There’s nothing we can do, is there?” Johnny asked.
“Well, didn’t you say you could try to recreate the steroid?”
“I can try.” Sadly, yet maturely, Johnny looked at Lars. “I’m dying Lars, aren’t I?”
“Unless we create a miracle.” Exhaling Lars nodded once. “I’m afraid, Johnny . . . you are.”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
It had been officially fourteen hours since Jess saw the name “James Slagel’. He could actually say he felt every single second of the fourteen hours because Jess spent the time thinking, weighing possibilities, and waiting for a chance to hear James either slip up or say something that confirmed.
Yet nothing.
It was like a title to a song or actors name that sat on the tip of the tongue but wouldn’t come out, the type of thing that a person couldn’t stop thinking about until they had it. That was how Jess felt about the James situation. It gnawed at him. Even through his tedious facade of questioning men in a search for the defector camp, Jess’s mind was never far, nor was his physically being far from James. They were on the same beach.
Despite the fact th
at the odds weighed against it, internally and gut instinctively, Jess felt it was Jimmy Slagel but he could not find the evidence to support it. Evidence against it was aplenty. One thing either way was all Jess needed. One thing.
But what?
When Jess thought of the fact that why would the Society go too all that trouble to find and train a Jimmy Slagel imposter just to see if Jess was a traitor or not, logic counteracted that with it could have very easily of been a well laid out plan for Johnny’s sake. As if to say to Johnny, ‘look, you are not alone, here’s another Slagel who believes in the Society.’
James certainly had the look about him, but that could have been easy to find. Whenever Jess probed and hinted to start a conversation about his family, James was evasive or ended the conversation. A normal man, perhaps, would shun talking about his family out of painful memories, but A Slagel? No way. To a Slagel, the best conversation going was a conversation about a Slagel.
It was just about the point in the day that Jess was tired of standing in sand, getting a little too sunburned for his liking, and was promising himself he would just drop the James thing, at least for the day, when it happened.
The one thing.
It was during his questioning of the men while they were digging trenches in the sand that the thought hit Jess. ‘Trenches on a beach’. James had the men digging them ten feet from shore. Every time one good wave washed up, there went their attempts. James would watch with a look of sick enjoyment. How truly demented of an exercise that was, how typically Slagel.
Jess smiled at that thought until . . . he forgot he had asked a man a question. The reply was more than he wanted.
“I really wouldn’t even hear anything about defector talk,” a soldier replied. “My nose is stuck in a book when I’m off duty.”
Quickly, Jess turned his head. “What did you say?”
“I said my nose is always stuck in a book.”
A book.
Jess shot a look at James,. That was it. Jimmy wasn’t typically Slagel. Jimmy was the Slagel who always was reading a book. Even Robbie stated while they were being held for shoplifting, Jimmy was more worried about what the store manager was reading rather than the consequences.
The Next Ten: Beginnings Series Books 11 - 20 Page 344
