by Brian Keene
Blushing, Sheila smiled. “Thank you. I never told anybody before. I'm not even sure why I'm admitting it now.”
“That's easy,” Dugan grunted. “It's a case of Stockholm Syndrome.”
“What's that?” Kim asked.
“It's when you bond to your captor—in our case, Tommy. It's sort of a survival strategy for victims in hostage situations. They call it that because of a hostage situation during a bank robbery in Stockholm, Sweden, in 1973. When it was all over, one of the women became engaged to one of her captors, and another hostage started a defense fund for the robbers.”
“That usually takes a while to happen,” Oscar said. “We've only been in here for like an hour or so.”
Through the walls, Sherm was shouting into the telephone.
“We've got plenty of C-4 and we're not afraid to use it. Anybody so much as peeks their head through that door and we'll blow the whole goddamn building up!”
There was another sound too—a muffled, frantic thumping that punctuated his words. I wondered what it was and decided that I didn't want to know. It was probably Sherm roughing Keith up.
Roy spoke up. “Regardless of how much time has passed, I think we can all see who's bad here and who's good. You're not one of the bad guys, Tommy. Not at heart. That much is plain, despite what you may have done so far today. And there is still time for you to make amends.”
“You don't know anything about me, Mr. Kirby.”
“I know that you don't want to see anybody else get hurt. And I know that you love your wife and son and that you want to see them again. That's all I need to know, Tommy.”
“You think I'm stupid? You think I don't know what you're playing? You're just sucking up to me, hoping I'll slip up or go easy on you.”
“No, I'm being genuine.”
“Whatever.”
Dugan stretched his foot out and touched Sharon's shoe with his own. She smiled, and inched closer to him. For a moment, I wished their hands were free, just so he could slide an arm around her and comfort her.
“This is some heavy shit,” Oscar breathed. “I'm supposed to be at work right now. Jeez, I hope I don't get fired. That would suck. I'm already behind on my student loan.”
Kim muttered, “I'm already at work. And I guess I'll miss class tonight too.”
Across the hall, the thumping continued but now Sherm was quiet. It was growing weaker, slower.
We waited.
Finally, the thumping stopped and never started again.
John was fading quickly. I tried hard to take my mind off of it.
“So,” I said to Sheila, “let's recap. You got knocked up and had Benjy. You don't know who his father was. And Benjy can heal people by touching them. Did I get it right?”
“You're making fun of me.”
“No, I'm not. Really. I'm serious.”
“It's insane,” Kim interrupted. “I mean, no offense, Sheila, but we're all under a lot of stress here. Maybe you're just—I don't know, maybe this is how you're dealing with it.”
“That wouldn't explain how he healed me,” Roy interjected.
“It's crazy,” Kim insisted.
“It's not that crazy,” Oscar said. “There are millions of cases of people healing others by the laying on of hands.”
“How do you know that?” Sharon asked.
He shrugged. “I read Fortean Times and Fate magazine. My comic book shop sells them.”
Benjy sang softly, oblivious. I recognized the tune as one T. J. had also sung around the house, something from a Japanese cartoon. I missed my son. At that moment, I would have traded all the money in the bank for another chance to hug him.
“So what else can he do?” I asked Sheila.
“What do you mean?”
“I don't know—can he like turn water into wine and levitate and all that stuff? Part the lake maybe?”
Kim joined in. “And turn one fast-food Kid's Meal into thirty?”
“No. He just heals people; that's all. He can tell when somebody's sick and he makes them better.”
An idea occurred to me.
“Can he—you know, raise the dead?”
“No! Of course not.”
“How did you first find out about his abilities?” Roy inquired.
She paused, collecting her thoughts.
“He was about three months old. We were living in a one-room efficiency apartment down on the square right overtop the old pawnshop. I didn't have anybody else to help me with him—my parents kicked me out when I told them I was pregnant. They said I was a slut and that I'd ruined their precious lives. Anyway, Benjy woke up around midnight and wanted his bottle. I had like one eye open, you know? I wasn't just tired—I was exhausted. I put a glass bowl of water in the microwave to heat it up, so I could warm the bottle in it. Benjy was crying and I wasn't paying attention and the water got too hot and when I went to pull it out, the bowl burned my fingers. Not badly, but it really hurt. I finally got the bottle heated and as I was feeding him, Benjy wrapped his tiny little fingers around my own and the pain went away—just like that.” She snapped her fingers.
“I didn't really think anything more about it at the time. Figured it was just one of those things, you know? But then, when Benjy was three, I saved what little money I could and got him a dog from the animal shelter for his birthday. We named her Sandy, and she was the cutest little beagle that you've ever seen. She was really good with him. Gentle. Benjy pulled on her ears and her tail and Sandy just sat there and let him. You love that dog, don't you, baby?”
He nodded, aware now that he was the subject of conversation.
“A year later, I got a few months behind on the rent. The landlord was a real asshole—wouldn't work with me at all. One morning, in the middle of winter, two sheriff's deputies showed up with an eviction notice. They threw us out in the street while it was snowing. I remember it was so cold and I didn't have any idea where we would go. I was afraid to go back to my parents.”
She paused, her voice choked with emotion.
“The deputies gave us time to pack a bag and that was it. While they had the door open, Sandy got out. I guess she was scared by all the commotion, because she ran out into the middle of the street, something she'd never done before, and got hit by a car. It was horrible—the screech of the car's brakes—and then there was this horrible thump and she was yelping and flopping around on the pavement. I remember thinking that. ‘She looks like a fish on land.' The driver of the car didn't even stop. He—the bastard just kept going. Before I could stop him, Benjy ran toward the curb. I chased after him, afraid the same thing was going to happen to him.”
She took a deep breath, clearly upset.
“When we reached Sandy, I saw right away that there was nothing we could do. Even if we'd had the money for a vet, she was dying and the vet wouldn't have been able to save her. There was blood coming out of her nose and mouth, and her belly—her insides . . . they were sticking . . .”
She shuddered, unable to complete the story.
“I made her feel better,” Benjy picked up where his mother had left off. “I touched Sandy and her insides went back into her tummy and the blood stopped coming out. In a few minutes, she was all better again. I love my Sandy.”
He craned his head up to Sheila.
“Mommy, when will we get to see Sandy? Soon? She's all alone at our apartment, and I bet she's hungry. I bet she has to go potty. I do too.”
“Pretty soon, baby. Pretty soon . . .”
“Don't count on it.”
Sherm stepped back into the vault. I noticed that Keith wasn't with him and I thought again about the thumping sounds.
“Nobody's going anywhere unless they want to leave in a fucking body bag. At least not until the cops give us a way out of here. Then maybe a few of you can go with us. If the kid's got to piss, then make him cross his legs.”
He winked at Kim and she scowled back at him. He stared at each of them in turn.
“So wh
at'd I miss?” he asked me.
“Nothing much. Just chilling out, keeping this pressure on this bullet hole in John's stomach, trying to keep him from bleeding to death.”
He ignored my sarcastic tone.
“What about you?” I asked. “What'd you tell the cops?”
“Made sure they understand who the fuck is in charge around here.”
“And who is in charge?” I asked.
“We are, dog. What's up with that tone in your voice?”
“Just seems like you're the one that's suddenly making all the decisions. That's all I'm saying.”
“Yo, I'm just trying to get us out of here, Tommy. Feel free to jump in anytime.”
“Don't sweat it.” I sighed. “What else did you tell the cops?”
“They're supposed to call back in half an hour for our list of demands. All they know right now is that there's six of us, armed to the teeth, and that we've got a dozen or so hostages.”
“Your math's a little fuzzy, isn't it, son?” Roy asked.
“Shut the fuck up, you old fart. Who asked you? What they don't know won't hurt them.”
“Where's the manager?” I prodded.
“Keith? He's in the other room. Don't worry—he ain't going nowhere. I got him taped up good and tight.”
He stalked around the vault like a caged animal.
“I'm hungry. Kim, you ladies got an employee refrigerator or something like that?”
“No. We go out during our lunch breaks. All we have is a watercooler.”
“Shit. It figures.” He pulled out his smokes, shook one out of the pack, and snapped his lighter open. The click echoed in the silence. He inhaled, tapping his foot nervously. Then he snapped the lighter shut. Then open again. Then shut. He repeated it over and over, seeming mesmerized. All the time, his restless twitching increased.
“I tell you, it's the work of the Devil,” Martha spoke up. “Satan is among us. Just as the pastor at my church said he would be. The Imp is alive and well and his acolytes walk our very streets. They hold us in bondage. These are the end times.”
“Be quiet,” Sharon admonished her. “We don't need that kind of talk right now. It's not doing anybody any good, so just be quiet.”
“I will not be quiet! These men, that boy—they are evil. Their unholy influence is spreading amongst you. Already you are tainted. It will all end in blood. Only blood can wash it clean, just as it did in the Old Testament. The blood of the innocent is required. The blood of the lamb.”
“I think I liked you better when you were just saying ‘Oh my,'” I groaned.
“What the hell's she calling the kid evil for, Tommy?” Sherm asked. “You and me I can see. We're the bad guys, the bank robbers. But why the kid? What's up with that?”
“I don't know. She's fucking snapped, man.”
I held my breath, waiting to see if the others would give away Benjy's secret, but they didn't. I could tell that Sheila was relieved too.
“Mister?” Benjy looked up at Sherm. “Mister, you're sick. You know that, right? It's in your head, like bees. The darkness. The monster people are inside it and they're eating at you.”
“The Devil,” Martha squawked. “The Devil is in his head. All of them. They're name is Legion for they are many, and they gnash and bite with their sharp little teeth and claws . . .”
Dugan, Sharon, Sheila, Kim, and I all told her to shut up at the same time. Sherm began to fidget again.
“How's Carpet Dick? And why is fat boy half-naked? And why does the kid think I have a beehive in my head?”
“John's—not good. He's alive, that's about it. Oscar's shirt is what's keeping him from bleeding to death, and I'm about to need another one.”
“Well then, Kim can donate hers.”
“Fuck you,” she spat.
“You keep offering, baby, and I'm gonna take you up on that. Besides, what are you worried about? You got a bra on, right? Or maybe, on second thought, you better donate that too.”
“It will take your friend a while to die,” Dugan said. “A gut shot is painful as hell, which is why he's passed out, but unless he goes into circulatory shock or if there's a lot of internal bleeding, then there's still time to get him to a hospital. His own shit will eventually poison him to death, but it takes a while. If circulatory shock sets in, or if he loses much more blood, he's probably going to slip into a coma. You need to get him some help before that happens. At least let some paramedics come in here and work on him. If he goes into a coma, chances are that he won't come back out.”
I shifted my grip on the bloody shirt. My hands were beginning to cramp up.
“Did you ask the cops to get an ambulance for him?”
“Nope. You think they'll really do it?”
“Jesus Christ, dude—it's worth a shot. He's fucking dying, Sherm. Tell them we've got a wounded hostage or something. Then they can take John to the hospital, and maybe they won't even find out he was with us.”
“Oh get real, Tommy. What the fuck have you been smoking? They'll tag him as one of the robbers as soon as he wakes up. You really think that idiot could hold up under questioning? They'd sniff him out in a second; and then he'll drop dime on us.”
“What does it matter if he gives us up, Sherm? Huh? They've already got us surrounded. Everybody in here already knows our names. Let's do like Dugan said. Have some paramedics come in here.”
“Yeah right. And what do we do when they turn out not to be paramedics but fucking SWAT commandos, huh? You want that on your head? That's just asking to be captured.”
“They wouldn't be that stupid, Sherm. They know there would be a bloodbath if they tried something like that. We've got to do something, man. This is my fucking gig, goddamn it. I'm in charge.”
“Okay, man, chill the fuck out, for Christ's sake. I'll ask them to get an ambulance for us when they call back.”
He slid down the wall and took a seat on the floor next to John and me. Then he snubbed his cigarette out and lit up another. At that moment, I don't think I'd ever needed a cigarette so bad. Not even when the doctor diagnosed me with cancer. The secondhand smoke drifted over to me, and I breathed it in, relishing it.
“Yo, can I get one of those?”
“Sure.” He handed me the pack and the lighter. I noticed that it was the silver lighter that he'd stolen from Mac Davis. He glanced around the room again, and sighed.
“Damn, I'm hungry. I could eat Kim up right now.”
Sherm stared at Kim. Kim stared at Oscar. Oscar stared at the floor. Dugan and Sharon stared at each other. Sheila stared at me and I stared at her. Roy stared at all of us and Martha kept her eyes shut tight, whispering prayers to Jesus to save her from the Devil's minions. Benjy stared at John, Sherm, and me, and I wondered what he saw.
We sat in silence for a long time. Sherm finished cleaning out the vault, emptying the cash into his bag. Eventually, through Sheila's timid pleading and my logical prodding, Sherm agreed to let me escort Benjy to the bathroom. Sheila begged to come along with us, but Sherm refused, making her stay behind.
I led Benjy out into the hallway. I actually felt nervous about leaving John and the hostages behind. Keith's office, with his name emblazoned on the door, was directly across the hall from the vault. There were four more closed doors to the right, plus a fire door and a skinnier door at the end of the hall that had to be the janitor's closet. The fourth door had a sign marked RESTROOM.
“How you holding up, little man?”
“I'm okay, Mr. Tommy”— he looked up at me and gave his crotch a squeeze—“but I've got to pee really, really bad.”
I suppressed a smile. “Well then, we better get you taken care of.”
I walked him to the door and pushed it open, making sure there were no windows inside. There weren't, and I breathed a sigh of relief.
“Can you—do this by yourself?”
“Yes. Like I tell Mommy, I'm not a little kid anymore, Mr. Tommy. I'm in kindergarten now, not day care. I'm
a big kid.”
“Kindergarten! I guess you are.” Despite the situation, I stifled a laugh. “Okay, I'll wait for you out here then.”
He went inside and closed the door behind him. A few moments later, I heard the seat go up and then the sound of him peeing into the bowl. I leaned back against the door to the janitor's closet and closed my eyes, letting out a heavy sigh and craving a cigarette. Cracking my neck, I bumped the door with my head.
Inside the closet, something bumped back.
I was instantly alert, my headache forgotten. Raising the pistol, I put my ear to the door. There was a stifled electronic beep, like a cell phone or a video game with the volume turned down low.
In the bathroom, Benjy flushed the toilet. I cursed. The noise drowned out everything else.
Cautiously, I reached for the closet doorknob with one trembling hand. I heard a rush of water as Benjy began washing his hands. He was singing another song from a kid's show, but I didn't recognize this one.
I counted to three and twisted the knob and flung the door open, shoving the handgun forward.
“Freeze motherfucker! Don't you fucking move!”
It was dark inside, but I could make out a shape. It was human and it was alone.
“Don't shoot! Oh Jesus, please don't shoot me.”
“Get the fuck out of there, right now. Come here!”
A middle-aged black man in a blue delivery uniform stumbled out into the hall. Trembling, he waved his hands above his head, clutching a cell phone in one of them.
“Mr. Tommy,” Benjy called from behind the closed door, “what's going on? Is everything okay?”
“Benjy, you stay in there, buddy. It's okay. Just don't come out yet.”
Down the hall, I heard Sheila yelp inside the vault and Sherm telling her to shut up.
The black man's lip quivered. A patch over his left pocket said LUCAS and over the right was another that said DROVERS WATER.
“Who the fuck are you, man? How'd you get in there? What were you doing in the closet? Answer me!”
“I-I'm Lucas. I'm the d-deliveryman.”
