“While I was on my way home from the grocery store, I got a phone call. It was a man I didn’t know, and he only said one thing.”
“What?”
“Abracadabra. A certain FBI agent used to tell me I should have been a magician.”
“I’m not sure I follow.”
“Dillon disappeared, magically, as Aunt Jenny put it. And she’s right, people don’t vanish out of a high security prison without help.”
“And you think the FBI might be involved?”
“Do you know anyone else who could access prison records and erase them?”
He put his hat back on. “Why would they do that?”
“The shipping business I ran didn’t always attract nice people. But as long as they played by my rules, no guns, no drugs, no people, I helped them move things.” He nodded for me to go on. “They seemed to think my client list would help them arrest some people. I disagreed, and I wouldn’t cooperate and give them the information they wanted.”
“But why would they let Dillon out?” He crossed his arms and gave me a doubtful look.
“Because his psychological profile almost guaranteed he would go after Morgan.”
Sheriff Parks shook his head. “I don’t know. That’s a really far-fetched idea.”
“Is it? You know of any other way Dillon could have walked out?”
“A computer error isn’t impossible. I hate to think that, but it’s happened.”
“What about his records?”
“That I don’t have an answer for.”
“But it’s awfully convenient, don’t you think? And from what I’ve seen, the FBI pulling off something like this wouldn’t be outside the realm of possibilities.”
He smiled a little. “They’d still have to go through channels to get someone out of prison. Especially someone like Dillon. The circumstances would have to be extenuating. There would be documentation. It would take time. And the reason would have to be astronomical. Other than a bad drug habit, he didn’t even have anything to offer the police when questioned. What reason could the FBI come up with to get the channels open to pull him out?”
“Like someone told me once, Homeland Security.”
Sheriff Parks stood straighter. “That doesn’t even make sense.”
“Doesn’t have to. They’re two words that give the FBI a lot of power to go around a lot of things. And trust me, if they thought it would get them what they wanted, then they’d use it.”
“I don’t understand, Grant. If you ran your business like you claim, then why would they exert so many resources? Even the FBI can be held accountable. If it was found out they let a guy go because they knew he’d go after an innocent citizen, the agents involved would wind up in prison.”
It was my turn to smile, and it wasn’t a happy one. “Feds don’t go to prison; they go to country clubs. With fences. But more than likely they’d just lose their jobs and probably get to keep their pension.” The rules had always been different for people like them. I didn’t expect Sheriff Parks to understand. He might have been a good man, but he was still a cop.
You know that old saying about how you shouldn’t talk about the devil? My phone rang.
The number was unknown. I answered it.
“You should have cooperated, Grant.”
“Who is this?” I knew the voice. I’d heard it at least once before.
“There’s a flight leaving for Chicago at eight a.m. Be on it.” The hard edge to his voice clipped his words. It was practically a speech impediment. Special Agent Hines had talked to me the same way the day I sank my barge.
“Be on the plane. Next time, I won’t set loose some punk kid.”
“You son of a bitch…” The line went dead, and I strangled my phone.
“You know who it was.” Parks got in front of me. “Tell me, Grant. Tell me, and I’ll do whatever I can to stop this guy.”
“You don’t have that kind of power.” Because, like he said, he was nothing but a hick cop, a good one maybe, but he followed the rules. Hines wasn’t fucking Goliath to David he was Godzilla.
“And you do?”
I could. I had the money, the resources, and I was a criminal. Maybe it was time I played the part. No wonder people like Lorado left a body count. Seemed like blood was the only thing that got anyone’s attention. Sure as hell got mine.
“Do me a favor. Keep a couple of your boys here at the hospital to keep an eye on Morgan.”
“Are you going somewhere?”
“I have a business meeting I need to attend.”
Parks searched my face. “Grant, what are you going to do?”
Something I should have done a long time ago. Something a good cop like Parks couldn’t let happen because it was his job to serve and protect no matter who the asshole was. “I’m pretty sure my five minutes is up.”
*******
I’d just finished cleaning up the mess I’d made in the waiting room when a nurse came through the back door wearing blue scrubs. Her hair was pulled into a bun and almost the same shade of silver as her eyes.
A wrinkle in her smock hid her name tag, but Jenny said, “How’s he doing, Anne?”
“He’s resting.” She offered me her hand. “I’m Anne Lindle. We’ve never met, but I’ve seen you around town.”
I rarely forgot a face, but right then I doubted I could’ve recognized my own. We shook.
Anne glanced past us to the small group of cops gathered in the corner. Parks was on the phone, probably trying his damnedest to find some grain of evidence the FBI had let Dillon out. Going by the look on his face, he was failing.
“Can we see Morgan now?” I needed to hold him because there was a chance I might not get to again.
“Sure.” Anne led us into the back where nurses and assistances roamed in scrubs and bits of equipment sat against the wall. We passed the beds separated by curtains down a hallway. She stopped at door 42.
Her gaze went to Aunt Jenny then me. “Before we go in, you need to realize we sedated him for the examination.”
I’d almost forgotten.
Anne patted my arm. “Don’t worry, everything came back clean. He’s just bruised up and has a cut on his arm.”
Jenny’s exhale was almost a sob, and tension I didn’t know existed bled out of me.
“But there are some concerns.” Ann put her hand on the door.
“Like what?”
“Morgan’s not responding to questions.”
Jenny said, “But you sedated him.”
“Not enough to make him incoherent.”
“What are you trying to say?”
Anne let go of the door. “I’m not qualified to—”
Jenny gathered up both the other woman’s hands and held them. “Honey, we went to school together. You sat behind Lori in Mr. Seigle’s math class. You tutored me in English Lit. You were there when Lori brought Morgan home as a baby, and you were there when those plastic surgeons in Maysville put him back together.” Jenny held the woman’s gaze. “You know Morgan. Now I need you to tell me what you think. Not as a nurse, but as my friend. As Lori’s friend and Morgan’s.”
A tear escaped down Anne’s cheek, and she whisked away with a sweep of her thumb. “Morgan’s suffered a trauma, but his situation is complicated because of the autism. I think he has a good chance of coming back, but it could be days or weeks or…”
Never.
The unspoken word hung in the air between us.
I had to swallow several times before I could get my voice to work. “Please open the door.”
She hesitated again.
“Please.”
“Just keep in mind a lot could change over the next twenty-four hours.”
The shift from fluorescents to near darkness left me blind. Then slowly the soft light over the hospital bed revealed Morgan, lying on his side. There was an IV in the back of one hand. The other lay on his pillow near his face, flexing as if dreaming about the tics it liked to display.
“Hey.” Morgan’s empty gaze wandered upward. I touched his cheek, his shoulder, his arm. A high-pitched whimper ticked out of his throat, and he stared into the light.
All I could do was stand there. I understood then what Anne had been trying to say. “He’ll get better right?”
Her eyes conveyed a million I’m sorrys. “There’s no set rule when it comes to regression. Or autism in general. Morgan is very unique in his ability to adapt and manage himself. Most people with as severe a diagnosis aren’t as lucky. They might be able to acquire basic skills, but they don’t excel like he did.”
“But he came back before.”
“Yes, he did.”
“Then it’s possible.” My vision blurred.
“The specialist will be able to give you a better idea.”
Tears burned a path down my cheeks.
She put her hand on my arm. “But if anyone can do it, it’s him.”
It was just a grain of hope, but it was something. “Um.” I wiped my eyes. “Would you two mind if…”
“You take all the time you need.” Aunt Jenny tossed a thumb over her shoulder. “Anne and I will go get some coffee. I’ll be in the cafeteria if you need me.”
The door shut, and we were alone. Morgan arched his neck as if he was trying to follow something I couldn’t see. I pulled a chair over. The bed rail didn’t want to cooperate, and it wound up cockeyed, but low enough for me to sit and put my elbows on the edge of the mattress.
Morgan’s wayward hand reached upward toward the light. I took it. There was only a second or two where he resisted, then his grip tightened and untightened over and over again.
“You probably already know this, but I bought you a ring. I should have given it to you weeks ago but…”
He blinked several times in a row and his gaze slid away.
I scooted closer. “I wasn’t sure how you’d take it. You know, me asking—” My voice cracked, and I cleared my throat. “Morgan Kade, it would be the greatest honor in the world if you would marry me.” He fell still for a moment, but any hope I had he might actually respond withered when he returned to watching that far-off place where the light held him prisoner and I had no ability to reach him.
I kissed his knuckles, his palm, I pressed his hand against my cheek. “I’m so sorry. I never meant for you to get hurt. I never thought—” Could I say that? Could I really say I never imagined he might get hurt, really hurt, or killed? What if Jeff hadn’t lied? What if the people in business had decided to take me out? Why? Who knows? To make a statement? To make sure I never got back in business? I knew they didn’t need a reason. But logic told me I wasn’t worth the expense of getting the job done. After the long silence from the FBI, I’d assumed my secrets weren’t worth the taxpayer’s dollars either.
Now I knew differently. I had something that, for whatever reason, Hines had crossed the line between the good guys and the criminals. He’d become one of the monsters, and monsters didn’t work on logic.
“I was selfish, and I don’t deserve you. But I love you more than anything in this world.”
Could he even hear me?
I took the box out of my pocket. “I’ve got to make a trip, but I’m going to leave this here with Aunt Jenny. When I get back, if you’ll let me, I’ll put it on your finger.”
And what if I made it back to Durstrand and Morgan was still like this? A sob burst out of my chest, and I buried the tears in the blanket on his bed.
I should have cooperated and given the FBI what they wanted, but I didn’t and now Morgan was paying for it. Unfair wasn’t even a big enough word. My conscience held me accountable, even if my gut told me it wouldn’t have mattered what I’d done. Hines wanted something I had, and obviously he would do anything to get it. Hurt anyone. Even kill them.
And his reasons had to be personal because Sheriff Parks was right about one thing; Hines was taking a huge risk and stretching his reach to its breaking point.
After a while, I was empty of tears even though my heart continued to bleed.
Morgan whimpered, and I looked up. His wandering hand drifted from his temple to my face. He tapped a path down my cheek to my lip. For a moment, his touch lingered, then he withdrew again.
“I’ll be back soon.” I wiped my eyes and stood. “As soon as I can. As soon as this is over.” I kissed him on the forehead. “And I don’t care how long I have to wait for you, I’ll do it.”
I could only hope I wouldn’t make a liar out of myself.
*******
Jenny sat with Anne near the coffee machines. A younger woman sat with them. She didn’t carry the air of a nurse, and she lacked the stiffness of an attending doctor. Her clothes, a cross between medical and business suggested she held some other position at the hospital.
When she saw me, she nodded a hello and excused herself, leaving behind a folder in the middle of the table. I grabbed a quick cup of coffee while Anne and Aunt Jenny exchanged good-byes.
As I walked over, Anne gave Aunt Jenny a sad smile, squeezed her hand, then nodded at me. “It was good to get to officially meet you, Grant. I just wish the circumstances had been different.”
Who wouldn’t? We shook, and she left. I sat across the small table from Aunt Jenny who stared at the folder, frowning.
“What’s that?”
“Just some paperwork.”
Just paperwork didn’t normally make people look like they were about to cry. Definitely not people like Aunt Jenny. She held up her empty Styrofoam cup. “You mind?”
“Go ahead.”
While she prepped herself a new cup of joe, I stared at the folder. I had no right prying into anyone’s business but found my hand inching closer.
“Go ahead.” Aunt Jenny returned. “You can look.”
“What is it?” I pulled it over.
“It’s an information packet on Walnut Cove.”
It sounded like a vacation spot, but when I flipped aside the cover, I realized it was anything but. A shiny brochure showed the faces of disabled individuals, and several pieces of paper listed questions. Another sheet stated patient’s rights. A few more made a contract for admittance.
I stared at Aunt Jenny, and for the first time, she dropped her gaze. “It’s a just in case thing, Grant. I’m not signing anything.”
“And why the hell would you need a ‘just in case’ thing.”
“I think you know why.”
“He’ll be all right.”
She nodded. “I pray you’re right. But if he isn’t, he’s going to need round-the-clock care.”
“Who says?”
The precision with which she lowered her cup to the table, off to the side, was done with a robotic movement screaming of untapped anger. “If Morgan has regressed—”
“You don’t know that. Anne said herself, it would be a while.”
Aunt Jenny turned her cup one way then the next. It reminded me so much of something Morgan might do. It never occurred to me his reasons for rearranging his plate might be to get his temper under control. But unlike Morgan, Aunt Jenny wore her intentions loud and clear in her expression.
“I know what Anne said. And I know his chances are good. But if, God forbid, he doesn’t come back, he’s going to need someone to take care of him.”
“Then I’ll do it.”
“Grant.”
“I love him. I want to marry him.” I took the box out of my pocket and pushed it over to her. “I promised him as soon as I get back I’ll put that on his finger.”
“You’re thirty-six years old, Grant. If Morgan doesn’t come back, you will be spending the prime of your life caring for someone who is not the person you fell in love with.”
“Bullshit.”
Her mouth screwed up. “Grant, you have no idea h
ow combative he can be. He could hurt you or himself.”
“I’ve lived with Morgan for almost six months. I think I know him pretty well.”
“You know the Morgan who isn’t trapped inside his head. You don’t know this Morgan. I do. I know what Lori went through. I know the hell it can be to work with someone as severely autistic as him.”
“Hell?” How could she think of using that word to describe Morgan?
“Yes. Hell. Because most days it’s a one-sided job, one that’s lonely and stressful. You lose your friends, your family, your life. The person you care for is the center of your world.”
“Because you love them.”
“Yes. But also because the rest of the world isn’t ready for them. I told you, Morgan lost friends, people who he thought he could count on. When he came back home after Dillon, the people who promised they would visit every day did, once or twice, and then never again.
“Seeing someone you love, so distant and lost that they fight you even to go to the toilet, it’s an ugly reality even the people who loved him couldn’t deal with.” She scrubbed a hand over her face.
“You’re talking about yourself, aren’t you?” The guilt in her eyes was all the answer I needed.
“I was among the herd, yes. I thought Lori had lost her mind when she brought him home as a baby, and I was definitely convinced she lost it when she brought him home a full grown man, trapped back in the prison he’d been born to.”
“But she helped Morgan excel, then she brought him back when he regressed,” I said. “If she can love him enough to make it happen, why can’t I?”
“Because love has nothing to do with it. If it did, every autistic child on this planet would excel like Morgan. The truth is, most don’t. Every instance of autism is different, and Morgan is a very rare case among a whole lotta other cases.”
“So you’re just writing him off.” I slapped the folder closed and shoved it at her. “You’re just going to lock him up somewhere so you won’t have to deal with him?”
“You listen here, Mr. Grant Kessler, don’t think I didn’t see how you looked at him when you walked in there. Don’t think I didn’t see the fear you felt. The revulsion.”
In The Absence Of Light Page 33