Then I heard a wail.
Stan.
I let go of the foot, and Milton crawled off into the darkness. I moved around to the front of the crate and saw most of Stan’s arm severed just above his elbow. I caught bile in my mouth. Stan’s head was bent over. He’d somehow spit out his gag.
“Save Cristina before it’s too late.”
As I threw myself to the right, Cristina screamed with everything she had. Without thinking, I balled up a fist and punched at the glass aquarium. I was sure I had broken bones in my hand, but the glass cracked. I used my other fist and pounded on the aquarium until it shattered. My shoulder hurt like hell, but my hand felt like it had been put through a paper shredder. Cristina cried out as I reached in and tugged on the bamboo sticks. She squealed more.
How could I stop the bamboo from growing? With my vision practically down to nothing, I moved my hand around until I found the heating lamps. My arm was stretched out to its farthest point, and I had no leverage to punch out the glass casing of the lamps. Even then, that might not stop the heat. Using nothing more than my fingers against the intense heat, I followed the trail to the power source, and then I yanked with everything I had. It wouldn’t budge.
More screams from Cristina. The kind that told me she was about to pass out or die. I put my foot up on the frame of the aquarium and rocked backward. The power source popped out of the bottom of the aquarium, and I fell flat on my back.
“My fucking shoulder,” I moaned, rolling to get back to my knees.
Cristina was crying. The bamboo had already penetrated her skin. I had to lift her up. I stumbled over to the contraption and tried to lift her, but I was too weak. She was screaming, looking at me, although I couldn’t quite make out her eyes.
Then a door slammed open.
“Help her, now!”
It was Brook. Two cops ran up next to me, picked up Cristina. I could hear the suction of the bamboo sticks being pulled from her body.
I collapsed, clawing at my eyes.
“Ivy, what can we do?” Brook asked.
“Help Stan.”
“The team is on it. What about you?”
“Water for my eyes.”
A paramedic was at my side in no time. I leaned back, and he cleaned out my eyes with water as a blanket was draped over me. I’d forgotten I was naked. All modesty had been lost hours ago.
“What are all these bites?”
“Snakes. Many of them.”
Someone yelled, “Antidote!” and more people ran in and out of the room. Minutes later, I felt a shot in my arm. “Need to get her to the ER.”
I looked up and saw Brook in between two gurneys, and I said, “Are they okay?”
Stan spoke up. “We’re alive, Ivy. Thanks to you, we’re alive.”
“Milton. Did he get away again?” I asked Brook.
“We got him, Ivy, when he tried to escape. He’s in custody. He will never hurt you or anyone else again.”
“How did you know?”
“Dr. Amaya. You have an angel looking over you.”
I squinted my eyes, wondering who she was talking about. Then I took in a sweet breath and went unconscious.
47
I was lucky. I stayed in the hospital two days for observation to ensure the venom was out of my system. They treated about fifty different wounds, pulled glass from my head and my hand, wrapped my sprained ankle, and gave me some medicine that I’d need to take for the next two weeks. I hated taking pills. My vision was at about eighty percent. The doctors thought I’d probably get most of it back, only if I was diligent in taking the pills. They set my broken clavicle by making me wear a cumbersome bra.
Cristina had a lacerated kidney and would stay in the hospital another week to make sure it continued functioning properly. Her puncture wounds were deep, but other organs were not severely damaged. Before I left the hospital, I went by her room and held her hand. I felt stronger by just feeling her touch. I think she felt the same way.
“What about Stan?” she asked.
“He’s been in ICU the last couple of days, but he’s out now. I’m heading up to see him.”
“Let me know,” she said.
I squeezed her hand, eyeing all of the machines and tubes attached to her. “Are you going to be okay?”
“Nothing keeps me down, you should know that.” She tried shifting in her bed and winced.
I shuffled to my feet, ready to help out in any way I could. “What do you need?”
“I’m good. Really, I’m all right.”
I said we’d talk later and walked to the door.
“Ivy?”
I turned halfway—my sore ankle almost buckled underneath me—as I tried to hide the tears bubbling in my eyes.
“Don’t blame yourself for what happened to me and Stan, or even Pearl Griffin.”
Snapshots of what I’d experienced pinged my mind, but what had held my sleep hostage the last two days were the images of my friends who’d suffered, even Pearl Griffin. And the three people on the meat hooks. And the Cooper boys, especially Claude. On and on, the anguish was endless. How did I not figure out that Timothy was actually Milton? The signs were there, but I kept telling myself that his actions—helping rescue Drew Cooper, building TJ’s Funhouse—meant more than any odd gut feeling.
“You can’t control the behavior of a psycho fuckwad. Don’t put that on your shoulders.”
I finally pulled my eyes off the wall and glanced at her. “You sound like Saul from earlier this morning. And Zahera yesterday.”
“For once, I agree with them both, which tells me I might need a psych evaluation.” She smirked, trying to get me out of my funk. But she couldn’t see inside of me. The burden I felt for what had happened. I wasn’t sure I could ever let that go.
“I’ll be fine,” I said, trying to add a layer of manufactured cheerfulness to my voice. “You just get yourself healthy.”
“Can you hand me my phone?” she asked, reaching for the side table until one of her tubes went taut.
“What’s going on?” I gave it to her.
“Skyping in to talk to my school counselor. They have a plan to catch me back up.”
I felt a tingle inside. “You’re following through on school. Wow, that’s awesome, Cristina.”
“One day at time. If they piss me off, then I’m out. But, you know, I think getting my diploma might be a good thing.”
Not expecting this twist at all, a smile crossed my face.
“Don’t get me wrong. I still want to work with you on ECHO business. We will have a business, right? With an office and everything?” She had a lift to her voice. I could see she needed something to look forward to, something other than school.
“I guess so. It’s just hard to see myself diving back in right now.” I sighed, as the mere thought made me exhausted.
“If I have a steady job, I was thinking of finally getting a small apartment. You know, stop moving around so much.”
“Are you bribing me?”
She smiled in her Cristina way, then put the phone to her ear. “It’s ringing.” She pointed at the phone. “Oh hey, Mrs. Lewis. Can you hold on?”
She put her hand over the phone. “Forgot to tell you that Leo called me. He asked how I was doing and said it would be cool if we could hang out some time.” Her smile couldn’t get any wider.
“Are you looking for my permission? You know how I feel.” I winked at her.
“I know, be careful of the Hollywood hunks. But he’s different. I just know it.”
I would let her figure out that part. I waved and walked out of the room, then took an elevator up two floors. I padded down a long hallway until I reached Stan’s room. I started to knock, but I heard voices inside.
“You sonofabitch, you better not push me or I’m going to come up there and kick your ass.”
It was Stan.
I pushed the door open. Two people in white coats were standing at his bedside, but he was on his phone, using
his left hand to hold it to his ear. His eyes were red. He gave me a quick nod. I tried not to stare at the stub hanging off his right shoulder covered in white bandages.
He finished up his call. “That was cousin Nick,” he said, leaning over to set his phone on the table. He nearly lost his balance. The woman on my side of the bed moved quickly to keep him from falling.
“I’m okay. Don’t treat me like I’m a freak.”
I tried to change the subject. “How’s Nick?”
Stan looked up at me, shaking his head. “He was riding my ass.”
“About?”
“He challenged me to start working out, lose a bunch of weight, and then join him in running in the Boston Marathon next spring.”
“Wow, I think that’s a great—”
“Are you fucking kidding me? I can’t wipe my ass right now. If I tried to jog, I’d probably lose my balance and fall to the ground. I might need to carry one of those whistles. Help me, help, I can’t get up,” he said, doing his best to sound like an old lady.
“Mr. Radowski,” the man in the white coat adjusted his brass glasses, “we’ve talked about how maintaining a positive attitude is half the battle.”
Stan smacked his lips. “First off, people call my dad Mr. Radowski. I’m Stan. Secondly…” I followed his eyes to a box of chocolates on a table. “Get me those, will ya?”
The man put his hand inside his lab coat pockets and looked at me. “Can you help us? He’s not exactly cooperating.”
The woman next to me stepped back, and I saw three different types of prosthetic arms sitting on a chair. “We tried explaining the pros and cons of each type of prosthetic.”
“I’m right here,” Stan said, waving his good arm. “And there are no pros.”
The woman shrugged. “The doctor said you can start trying on these prosthetic options today. And then we can begin physical therapy.”
Stan looked off and grunted something.
“You can live a productive life. Many people do.”
He didn’t respond. She signaled to the man, and they started walking out. “We know this isn’t easy, Stan. We’ll come back later after lunch.”
The door shut, and then he turned to me. “Have you had their lunch? It must have rat poison in it. It’s disgusting.”
I stood there, unsure if I should agree with him—the food was awful—or sympathize. I just tried to not break down.
He looked around, then locked his gaze on me. “I’m being selfish, Ivy. How are you doing?”
“No you’re not. You wouldn’t be here if—” I clipped my statement short before I got emotional.
He reached out and touched my arm, his eyes full of compassion.
“I only lost my arm. You’ve been dealing with his shit, his father’s shit for years. It’s just that your suffering isn’t noticeable, so everyone thinks you’re doing fine, or at least getting by.”
“Stan, if I could give my arm to you, I would.”
“I know you would. That’s the type of person you are. And you’d do the same thing for hundreds of others, mostly kids.” His smile made a cameo appearance. He looked out the window, then turned back to me. “None of us can predict what the next day brings. I could have walked by a construction site and something fell on me.”
We just stared at each other for a moment as voices of nurses yelling at each other passed outside the door and then faded away. During those few seconds, I realized that if I continued with my current attitude, I’d only bring everyone down with me. And that was the last thing I wanted for Cristina and Stan.
“I think Nick’s right.”
His eyes bulged. “What?”
With hands on my hips, I said, “You need to have a long-term goal. Something you haven’t done before. Training to run in the Boston Marathon is perfect. We’ll all support you.”
“Ivy, in case you haven’t noticed, I won’t be able to tie my own shoes.”
“They’ll teach you.”
“Do you really want me to continue? I could name off a hundred other things I can’t do. I know because I counted them while I stared at the ceiling last night. Then again, I’ll have plenty of time to contemplate more inadequacies. The department will never take me back, so my wife will have to go to work, and who knows about insurance. My son will think I’m a freak.”
“Shut the hell up.”
I flipped around to see Brook at the door. She walked in, found the chair with the three arm prostheses sitting there. “The DC is dropping by this afternoon, so you might want to take a shower.”
He held up his nub. “I can’t get the stitches wet. They’ll just have to smell me. Is he going to give me a gold medal, then give me a desk job? I’ll get a lot done. Yeah, a one-handed typist. Woo-hoo!”
“Listen, Stan. I didn’t want to spoil the news, but the brass got together, and between donations from everyone in the department and some extra money the chief found in an unused grant, that money will pay for your prosthesis and physical therapy beyond what insurance doesn’t pick up.”
He inhaled, lifting his belly a few inches, then scratched his stubbly chin. “Why would they want half of a man back?” He sounded like a timid teenager.
I jumped in. “Quit saying that, Stan. You’ll stumble a few times, but all of us will be here to help you, and yes, push you. It’s Boston Marathon or bust, you got it?”
He puffed out a breath while staring at the fake arms. “Boston Marathon or bust.” He repeated the statement as if he were trying to convince himself it was an attainable goal. “Okay. I’ll give it a shot. Can I have my chocolates now?”
Brook and I cracked up, and then I called in an order to Smoothies and Stuff.
48
Brook and I talked as she drove me across town. Since Milton’s arrest, in working with Nick at the FBI, they’d continued to gather information about Milton’s life and how he’d pulled off this implausible resurrection. Beyond his four primary accomplices—the woman who kidnapped Billy, Floppy Hair, Muscle Man, and the female sniper, all of whom were now dead—they believed one other person enabled Milton/Timothy to start this sequence of events.
William.
She allowed me to tag along for the arrest.
She parked at a corner gas station where a number of day laborers were waiting to see if they’d get work for the day. William stood in the shade, smoking a cigarette while leaning on a trash bin.
I had my hand on the door handle when Brook reached over and touched my arm. She didn’t say anything, but I could see she had something to share.
“What is it now?”
She got right to it, because that was Brook, I’d learned. “We’ve discovered that Pearl Griffin used to be your foster mom when you were four years old.”
I squinted, trying to process what she’d just said, then trying to recall Pearl all those years ago. Nothing came to mind.
“You were too young to recall, but according to old records, you were taken out of the home when you told a CPS agent that you saw Pearl sniffing something up her nose. They found drugs in her house, and she was convicted of a felony to distribute drugs and served six months of time.”
“That’s why she had it out for me. She blamed me for her going to prison.”
Brook pursed her lips. “As you know, Milton admitted to killing her. He set up the whole scene at her house, paying someone to drug you with that needle prick in your arm at the hospital…all to make you think you’d killed her and would be desperate for help. I thought you’d want to know. To get closure and all.”
Closure. I wasn’t sure what it felt like. Maybe one day I’d be able to sense something different. Right now, I just felt drained of life. But I had to remain strong. For Stan, for Cristina, for the memories of the people who had died.
“I’ve been meaning to ask you, how did you know we were at TJ’s Funhouse?”
“Moreno tried to reach Stan with more information about Jankovich. When Stan never responded, he called me up. I kn
ew Stan had left the Pearl Griffin crime scene, saying he had some urgent personal business to attend to. So, Moreno and I started brainstorming on what Stan could be up to. He mentioned Dr. Amaya had spoken to Stan, so I called up the doctor. That pointed me to the funhouse. Within minutes, I assembled a team and hauled ass over there.
William was just staring at the traffic motoring by, off in another world as we approached. He didn’t flinch when he saw us.
“Heard you were in a scrap,” he said. His watery eyes glanced at me, then went back to the cars whizzing by.
“It was more than a scrap, William. A lot of people died. Stan and Cristina were injured and could have died. And then there was Claude.”
A single tear escaped his eye, clinging to his rubbery skin. “Make a deal with the devil, and the devil will bite you every time.”
“Why did you do it, William?” I asked. “Why would you allow your grandsons to get kidnapped?”
“I wanted them back, dammit. Milton knew I couldn’t live without them.”
I recalled what Brook had told me on the ride over. William’s prison sentence had overlapped with Milton’s. And for a few months, they’d shared a cell.
“Did you guys formulate this plan in Huntsville?”
He chuckled. “You think we’re that smart? Pfft. In prison you’re just trying to survive, hoping you can get out before it changes you forever.”
“And did it? Change you?”
He dropped his cigarette to the ground, snuffed it out with his shoe, then he turned to us. “It would change anyone.”
I opened my lips, but before words came out, he pointed a crooked finger in my face. “Don’t give me that sanctimonious bullshit.” His chin trembled with tension and fury. “I was desperate when Milton found me. I was a lush, my daughter had just gone to prison, my wife had died. He said if we pulled this off, then the state would surely give the grandsons back to me.”
He dropped his finger an instant before I was going to do it for him. “But what happened with Claude? Tell me you didn’t know that he was going to have Claude killed.”
The Ivy Nash Thrillers: Books 4-6: Redemption Thriller Series 10-12 (Redemption Thriller Series Box Set) Page 25