“Onward they march never turning back. Their sights are made. Their minds meld as they go to find that place of hell that he created for us to dwell. It’s in book one, page thirty-three line six. The Poet,” Kevin said.
“I know. I know that already,” Finneaus said, frantically searching the book. “You didn’t have to prompt me I knew it. You didn’t give me enough time. It’s not fair.”
“Is this that place of hell?” Kevin asked. “Is that what you think? Because I think that’s taking it out of context.”
“This is not a debate, and I don’t really care what you think.” Finneaus said. “How do they do it? How do they know the future? Do they have a secret room where they go to meet God? They must get it from God. He’s the only one who knows that sort of stuff. How does he talk to them? See there it is,” he pointed at a page in the book. “I had it all along I didn’t need you then, and I don’t need you now.”
“Harvest time is around the corner. Everyone comes for a day of feasting, and prayer at the little brown church in the vale.” Finneaus started to sing. “Oh come to the church in the wildwood oh come to the church in the dale. No spot is so dear to my childhood than the little brown church in vale.” He hummed a little longer, and then pulled a cell phone from the desk drawer. With great care he pushed the power button, and placed the phone down gently beside the keyboard.
“The front of the church is very deceiving. It is much bigger than it looks. You see, the front part is the chapel, but the back is a gym that’s where the party’s at. Down the side—the part you can’t see—that’s the kiddie’s classroom area. I had to cheat and use five for this one,” he looked at Kevin and shrugged his shoulders. “I know what you’re thinking but I had to.” He pointed at the church’s image. “You see if I set only four charges I could get the entire gym, classroom area and most of the chapel, but not the front. I had to be able to take the front down too. It makes better TV, and a more complete job. I also thought, I thought, Finn this’ll get them talking about you for sure. You know since I changed the pattern and all. So you can see I had no other choice.” He giggled and typed on the keyboard. “It’ll all be going down in the morning. They start gathering at nine, and by ten they will be stuffing their pig faces just in time to have their happy bellies blown to bits. I’m hoping for at least four-fifty. It’d be great to hit nine hundred ninety before I blow up the ten of us, but I don’t think that will be the case.”
“They know who you are. There is no need for more bombs,” Kevin said. “You’ve completed your mission.”
“This is not a mission,” Finneaus said. “This is a major discovery. We have the cure. The research isn’t finished until you have the cure in the palm of your hand.” He leaned back in the chair, and his giggle grew into a full-blown crazy laugh. His whole body shook while he picked up the guns. “You don’t get the joke, but I do. They are waiting for me. It’s my turn and I’ve got check, maybe even checkmate. It all depends on the attendance. It was low at the school and museum. Now, I need a big number. I’ll play their game.” Finneaus shook the guns wildly in his hands. Suddenly, I heard a loud POP as the gun pointed at Kevin discharged. Finneaus was in a panic, running from room to room, and then back with us throwing towels at me.
“Cover it up. Jeepers! Jeepers creepers the devils reapers! Look what you’ve done you little shit,” he ran out of the room screaming. “You’re a good for nothing waste of space. Look what you’ve done now, stupid shit boy. What good are you? What good are you?” He returned quickly with a bucket of water.
“Mother fucker,” Kevin screamed. “You fucking shot my mother fucking foot mother fucker. What the fuck is wrong with you!”
“Can’t do nothing right, can’t never could do nothing. Just a waste of time and space,” Finneaus rambled as he paced around the room careful not to look at the blood flowing from the hole in Kevin’s shoe and foot. “Shush, shush don’t yell.”
“Don’t tell me to shush you crazy mother fucker,” Kevin yelled. “Damn you.”
“The neighbors! Oh no! Oh no! Busy bodies every one of them.” He looked out the one window in the room, which was covered with a heavy dark curtain. “Oh! Oh! There they come. Oh! Oh!” He ran to the front door area. I heard a series of beeps followed by a door opening. Kevin started to scream. I looked at him, confused for a fraction of a second, and then joined in. We both screamed so loudly we didn’t hear it when Finneaus came back into the room, tape in hand. He covered our mouths tightly with the duct tape never looking down at the blood. “Cover it I said.” Finneaus turned away quickly, doubled over and began to gag. “Cover it good so I can’t see the red.” Scream again, and I’ll blow us all up.”
I scooted closer to Kevin’s foot. The shoe was blown apart in the center of the laces and blood was gushing from the hole. I tried to gently pull the shoe off with my fingers, but Kevin cried out in pain with every tug. He pushed me aside, put his right toe under the left shoe heal and flipped the shoe off in one quick move. The shoe flew across the room and the bullet rolled out. He cried through the tape and began to turn pale.
I couldn’t stand to see him in pain. It was easier for me to look at his mangled foot than it was his face. I pulled his sock off as gently as I could without being able to bend or maneuver my arms. Kevin laid down trying to breathe through his clogged nose. I held a towel up to his face and let him blow. He put his taped arms up to my face, held my chin in his fingers, forced me to look into his smiling eyes, and then he laughed. He let out a burst of snot blowing laughter. I couldn’t help but laugh with him.
After we had settled down and caught our breath, as best as we could through our noses, I strained to hear Finneaus talking with an older woman outside while tending to Kevin’s foot. They were talking about the gun shot noise and screams but decided it must have been a backfire from the kid’s car down the street. According to the woman, that same kid was arrested last week for drunk driving. The screaming, she was sure, must be some drunken teenagers up to no good.
“Better keep your doors locked,” we heard Finneaus say. “You never know what kind of mischief could be living right next door.” I’d finished wrapping Kevin’s foot with the towels and was wiping the floor when he walked inside.
“That was a close one. We have to be more careful when handling the equipment,” he said, sat in his chair and rolled over to us. “Put the dirties in the water bucket, and put a clean rag over the top so’s I can’t see the red stuff. I’ll bury it outside in the morning.” He rolled over to the desk. I did as I was told.
“We can’t let that happen again, but what do you expect for a know-nothing slob. This place is a pig’s sty. Sun is a going down, but it’s never too late to clean. These floors could use a good scrubbing. How can we possibly perform surgery here? Looks as though there’s been a battle in this room. Crumbs everywhere.” he giggled. “This will not do. No, this will not do. Everything needs some time in the autoclave.” He got up from the chair, went into the kitchen, and returned with spray cleaner and rags, wearing a white doctors coat and surgical mask. He started with the desk, spraying and wiping the surface, the laptop screen, and then the desk legs. He dropped to his knees on the floor and started cleaning the baseboards.
“We’ll have to get the dust mop going on these floors before we use the vacuum. I hope I’ve got enough bleach,” he said and continued to scrub the baseboard. He carefully sprayed and wiped a small section before starting on another. “You can say goodbye to these short nights soon. Time changes in a few weeks, course I don’t guess that matters a hill of beans.” He giggled and started on the next section of baseboard. “We’ve got a little time here while I clean this room. Would you like to know the story of Finneaus Albert? You can have the exclusive.”
Kevin made a grunting sound through the tape across his mouth. I was in awe, watching Finneaus turn from a mad scientist into a crazed gunman shooting Kevin in the foot then into a fit of lunacy at the sight of blood and immediately becom
ing the curious neighbor sharing an evening chat on the street, all within twenty minutes time. Now, he’d turned into the compulsive house cleaner and wanted to award us, his hostages an exclusive interview as if we were roasting marshmallows around a campfire. I wasn’t interested in the story of Finneaus Albert, and Kevin’s patience was making me sick.
Finneaus stopped cleaning. “Well, why didn’t you say something?” He walked over to Kevin, and yanked the tape off his mouth. He turned to me. I closed my eyes, and braced myself as another layer of skin and lips was removed.
“I have to use the bathroom,” I said.
“Hold it,” Finneaus said.
“I have to go too,” Kevin said. “We’ve been sitting here for a long time Finn; it’s only natural to need relief.”
Finneaus was disgusted at the thought of having to clean up after us if he didn’t allow us to do our business. “I guess you’ve got a point.” He picked up the bucket with the bloodied rags inside, and went into the kitchen. We heard him open the sliding door to the outside.
“Are you ok?” I asked.
“I’m good, just a little pain in my foot—and my stuff,” he looked down at his groin. “I might not ever be the same, but other than that I’m good.”
“Should I loosen the wraps?”
“No. You did a good job on those thanks.”
“I’m tired of holding my tongue,” I said. “I’m going to tell him. I can show him how I write, and tell him that the crew demanded he let us go.” I checked Kevin’s foot and it was hot. “I’ve got to get you out of here and to a doctor right away or your foot’s going to get infected.”
“I’m fine, I’ve lived through worse than this. Don’t tell him. We can do this without him knowing.” Finneaus came back into the house with an empty bucket. “Bedpan,” he said and left the room, but not before informing us that we had five minutes and he would be listening. “Don’t do any number two’s, that’s too messy. Don’t piss on the floor,” he yelled from the kitchen.
“How do you think I’m going to sit up enough to get on that thing? You’ve got to cut our legs loose or there’s going to be a big mess,” I said.
Finneaus came back into the room with a knife, and cut the tape on our legs from the top to the ankle. “I’ll be around the corner with this knife in one hand and a gun in the other ready to turn you into stew meat if there’s so much as one false move.”
Kevin leaned away from me. “You go first. Take your time.”
“This is insane,” I said and fumbled to get my pants down. I was able, with great difficulty, to get the job done, but I don’t know if Kevin was as successful. It wasn’t sanitary or private, but it felt good to relieve myself and soon enough the ordeal was over.
“Throw a rag over the top,” Finneaus demanded while waving the gun in my face. I took a rag from the stack he’d brought in for cleaning, and draped it over the top of the bucket. Finneaus kept the gun pointed at my head until I’d finished doing his bidding and had sat back against the wall. “Now then where was I?” he asked as he sat on the floor, put the gun beside him and started cleaning the next small section of baseboard—not paying attention to our loosened legs.
“You were going to tell us the story of Finneaus Albert,” Kevin said.
“That’s right. Finneaus Albert now there’s a story. It all started when I was…hmm…I guess I was just turning five. I remember because I was about to start school. The Doctor was very proud of me. The patient crew knows this story I’d bet.”
“Who’s the Doctor?” Kevin asked.
“It’s not time for the questions part of the evening,” he yelled. “My father, George Albert, was the Doctor. He was a great man and an even greater Doctor. The whole town depended on him and his expertise. He was loved by all.” He said with pride. “Mother was the Doctor’s second wife, the first wife died with her baby during birth, or at least that’s what I was told. Truth is, I think she was still amongst the living at that time because I had heard the Doctor and Mother talking about her. Why the interest if the woman’s dead. They had me when Mother was well into her forties, of course Tim was born when she was younger and wanted children in her life.” He looked down at the baseboard along the floor. “This needs to be painted. The sand blows so much around here. It takes the paint right off every surface. The Doctor had a sand experiment he did on Mr. Herman, my Sunday school teacher. The Doctor didn’t like him or what he taught, or maybe it was the way he taught that he didn’t approve of. Mr. Herman was all about love and grace whereas the Doctor was all about discipline and punishment.” He sat back and relished in his memories for a moment, and then began to giggle. “I’m surprised the Doctor didn’t force him to eat the sand. No, really, I’m just joking. The Doctor was an ethical man, and did it with hypodermics.” He stood up and stretched before beginning the meticulous cleaning process again on the next wall’s baseboard. “Now surely you can see how this wall needs a fresh painting.” He smeared a red spot on the wall not ten feet away from where we were sitting, and where he had shot Kevin’s foot. He stared at the red on his finger, and then turned his attention to the smear on the wall.
“Mr. Herman believed that no matter what a person did they could be forgiven. No one should feel guilt for the things that they had done because we are forgiven and washed in the blood of the lamb. Jesus already knows our deviant thoughts before we ever do the evil deed, and he forgives without us even having to ask.” Finneaus turned his gaze to Kevin’s wrapped up foot, and back to the smear on the wall, and then to his finger. Kevin and I held our breath. I could feel his anxiety. But, Finneaus simply sprayed the wall and wiped it clean. He put the rag in the bucket and walked into the kitchen, and outside through the sliding glass door. Within a minute he was back in the living room with a small jug of bleach, a can of paint and a brush. He wet a rag with the bleach and ran it over the blood splatter removing all evidence of its existence.
“Mr. Herman had tired blood. The Doctor told him about his experimental injections of the blood cleansing solution. It took years of research. It was the Doctor’s passion. He would take me to the pound and let me choose whichever dog I wanted, and we used it for his research and development. If the dog didn’t die from the injections then he would try it on a patient, a human one.” He opened the can of paint, dipped the brush and began painting the wall. “I remember the pup we named Frankie. He was a cowardly little thing, but he proved to be an excellent test subject for Mrs. Herman, Mr. Herman’s wife. The Doctor sometimes let me mix the chemicals and sand for his research. Frankie helped the Doctor find a cure for the diabetes in Mrs. Herman. A week after her first series of injections she was eating anything she wanted, putting three spoons of sugar in her coffee and munching donuts by the dozens. She lived a good year before her heart took her out. But, the Doctor had cured her of the sugar diabetes—she didn’t die from the diabetes. When Mr. Herman came to him wanting help with his tired blood the Doctor and I got another pup, and started our research. Mr. Herman died two weeks after the Doctor started the injection therapy. We were both sure the serum was good since Buster had lived for at least six months on it. The Doctor cured half of the people in this town, but still they slander him. It wasn’t his fault you know. I knew him better than most, and I know it wasn’t his fault. Ashes to ashes dust to dust leave a shovel outside, and it’ll surely rust. After Mr. Herman died, his kids turned the Doctor over to the fuck heads at the AMA. They started an investigation the following week. Then they put him in the jail. It was the beginning of the end for all of us. It was their fault, everything was their fault and they used him as a scapegoat, someone to lay the blame on just like you’re using me now.” He carefully balanced the paintbrush across the top of the can and went into the kitchen. Kevin’s nudge brought me out of the trance this hideous story had put me under.
“Are you ok?” he asked.
“What do you mean am I ok? Are you ok? No, neither one of us is ok. This guy is going to shoot us or kill u
s with some sand chemical mixture of the Doctor’s.” I pulled at the tape around my ankles. “We have a phone for fuck’s sake Kevin. Call the cops. Do you really want to die just to protect the fucking voices in my head?”
“I’m protecting you it has nothing to do with the crew, only you.”
“It’s not worth losing your own life.”
“Yes it is. I know what will happen if the government gets their hands on you, and it’s worse than being dead.” Kevin shifted his legs and moaned in pain. “He’s not going to kill us. He knows we are his ticket to the crew. Get the bone.” I put my fingers between the tape and his wrist and almost had it out when Finneaus returned, and we had to quickly move back into place. He put a jar of turpentine on the floor, and dunked the brush in it.
“I love fresh paint. It makes everything smell new, like nothing bad ever happened,” he said.
“But something bad did happen, and something bad is still happening.” I was no longer capable of silence.
“Shanna!” Kevin admonished.
“Let her speak. I’d like to hear what the little girl has to say. It’ll give the brush time to soak. Go ahead, you were saying that something bad is still happening?”
“Yes something bad is happening. You are the one doing the bad. You need to do what’s right and let us go. If you don’t let us go the crew will be angry.”
His calm demeanor changed back into the giggly clown like man. “The right thing? I should do the right thing? You’re a funny girly. What do you know about the crew? I know you know something I just don’t know what that something is. Can’t be much seeing as you’re a girly.”
“I know they’d be mad at you for what you’ve done. You need to let us go. The sooner the better.”
Patient: Crew (The Crew Book 1) Page 25