In Limbo

by E. C. Marsh

  For a mad moment I thought Tom was going to introduce Sam and Ginny. I inhaled sharply. Don't introduce this creep - my mind screamed - oh God please don’t! Just kick his ass out of here!

  But Tom just held the door open with his left hand and pointed out with his right.

  “OUT!” he said in a no nonsense tone.

  The son of a bitch left. With shaking hands and a racing heart I slammed the door behind him, hoping it would hit him in the ass.

  “My God, Chris!” Sam looked concerned. “Are you alright? What the hell was...?”

  “Who was that man?” Ginny sounded urgent.

  “His name is Ron something. He is with SERPAC...”

  “Chris, you're not gonna believe this, but that man was in Ralph's cubical in the ICU just before Ralph died. Don't you remember? You practically had to push your way past him to get out. Think back! The janitor with the expensive cologne and all the gold? That's him!

  “I am certain! That man had something to do with Ralph's death and he also must have killed Sandy. To me that means he's behind Marty's death too.”

  My knees began to buckle. I found a couch and collapsed. Tom sat next to me as I sobbed my brains out.

  Chapter 47

  Outside, daylight had become darkness and it was much colder than earlier in the day. As he walked toward his car, he could feel the stinging of freezing rain on his face. For five seconds, Ron allowed his thoughts to drift to the warm breeze that had washed over him just days ago as he lay basking in the sun of the Bahamas. The moment passed. He was too focused on the problem at hand to dwell on warm breezes. The big car's engine came to life and warm breezes from the heater soon surrounded him. He drove about a block and a half, out of sight of the house he had left, and stopped again. There he quickly dialed a number.

  “We have a problem,” he said to man who answered.

  “Oh?” The response was short but then he was used to Jonathon Brooks' style of

  communication.

  “Let's sit down and go over this in person.”

  “I trust your judgment, but if you think that is really necessary…” Jonathon Brooks' voice was void of emotion.

  “I do. I could be at the hotel in about fifteen minutes.”

  “Fine, I'll wait for you in the lobby. Then we can drive over to Smitty's. I understand they have excellent steaks and the best beer in town.”

  “Sounds like a winner.”

  They met at the Excelsior Suites Hotel, and in minutes they were on the road.

  Jonathon Brooks adjusted his seat to accommodate his large body.

  “Town car, nice choice! Is it a local rental ?”

  “Oh no, from the airport in Kansas City. I like the way it handles, pretty sweet ride.”

  Jonathon Brooks nodded in agreement.

  “Where is this Smitty's?”

  Jonathon Brooks chuckled, he was known for his ability to find the best food in town, no matter where he went. Today was no exception.

  “The clerk at the front desk gave me detailed directions, turn right.”

  They followed the expressway, made a couple of turns, and were in the downtown area. Smitty's was situated in an alley off a side street, and had convenient parking next to the building. As they turned into the alley, Ron noticed how his rear wheels slid ever so slightly. Getting slick, he thought, and considered checking into the Excelsior Suites himself for the night. There would be time for that after business and dinner.

  Jonathon Brooks did, indeed, have a knack for finding a good place to eat. They had cocktails and then dined on steaks and genuinely great beer, taking their time.

  “I don't get it,” said Jonathon Brooks, finally, between bites. “These are the right people, aren't they? Why aren't they dead? If they were out there, why aren't these assholes dead like those soldiers? If we eliminate the wrong people, we draw attention. If we leave them be and they are the right people -- oh what a nightmare! Our futures are in their puny hands. If we eliminate them and they are the right people, we'll never find out why they are still alive. What's your take on this mess?”

  “I have considered a couple of scenarios.” Ron cleared his throat. “I'm just not so sure these are the real people. Let's hypothesize: They're telling the truth, and their canoe was stolen. Then someone else used it that weekend on that river. That someone else got caught up in our test and has died, somewhere. Our problem is over.”

  “Yeah, right!” Jonathon's voice had an edge to it.

  “No need to be defensive, Jonathon! We're just hypothesizing, after all. Sure, I have seen her in the hospital in Holsum. No doubt about that. But she is a nurse, and appearing in a hospital is not enough to link her to the river. I am certain I have never seen him before.”

  “So, what are you telling me?”

  “I think we need to seriously consider what options we have. If we do nothing and these are the right people and they talk, they can cause a lot of damage. If we eliminate them, we can control the damage and it won't matter if they are the right or the wrong people. And if we do this correctly, we can get our data from them as well.”

  Jonathon Brooks just shook his head.

  “Can you believe this screwed-up mess? It started out to be so simple and then got completely fouled up. Too many people involved in the planning, that's what I did wrong. Should have kept it simple. Well, we can still salvage everything, but we've gotta be fast.”

  Jonathon Brooks looked at his dinner companion.

  “Can you eliminate these people? Clean, no traces, make it look like an accident?”

  “What are we talking about?” Ron shrugged. “Two adults? You wanna include the kid? Is that it? I mean, once they're gone, is that all of them or will there be more popping up?

  “Think about it. I really don't think we have a problem here. I think they will keep quiet. They know what's at stake. If we just monitor them, discreetly of course, we'll know what's developing with plenty of time to deal with it if we have to.”

  “What's with you? Getting cold feet?”

  Ron shrugged again.

  “Cold feet? No, I 'm just concerned that we will attract attention that we don't want. Keep in mind that this is a small town. A couple of people are dead already. Now some more? They were friends. Someone will make a connection. I don't like it. But if

  you want me to do this, I'll do it. But it'll be my last job.”

  “I don't see us as having much of choice, Ron. It's us or them. What guarantees do we have that they won't talk? AMAG is the future, and I am not willing to let that profit slip through my fingers just because a couple of locals decide to frolic on some godforsaken river at the wrong time. That's their mistake. What business did they have there anyway.”

  “It won't be cheap.”

  “It's never been, my friend. What are you thinking off, double the usual?”

  “Well...”

  “Triple then, I don't care, just get it done. I want to be able to read the paper without worry.”

  “All right, but like I said, it's my last assignment. I am retiring after this one.”

  Jonathon Brooks just chuckled.

  They finished their dinner, had a fourth beer and talked about anything but business. Football season was well under way and Jonathon Brooks was a diehard

  Cowboys fan. Ron didn't care. He wanted to return to his favorite island with the powdery white beach, turquoise water and gorgeous women in thong bikinis.

  By the time they stepped out of the building, the car's windshield was coated with a layer of ice. The heater quickly defrosted it, and Ron soon had them back on the expressway around the city. Although the hour was late and the weather nasty, there was still quite a bit of traffic. Much of it was heavy semis. They traveled in the passing lane at 75, speeding past the slower trucks.

  “Slow it down a bit. I don't want to become a statistic.”

  Ron turned his head and looked at his passenger.

  “Don't worry, boss. This car is build fo
r safety.”

  When his eyes returned to the highway in front of him, he saw red brake lights glaring at him. He saw them and his mind registered them as brake lights, but the recognition did not get translated and relayed to his right foot in time.

  The white Lincoln Towncar plowed into the rear end of a flatbed load of steel beams at more than 75 miles per hour.

  The crash sent the trailer off to the side. The Towncar skidded sideways and was immediately broadsided by the car behind them.

  Neither of the men was wearing a seatbelt. Despite the airbags Ron's head hit the windshield with a sickening thud, knocking him out, as his chest crushed into the steering column.

  Jonathon, propelled by his greater weight, went through the windshield. He bounced off the hood and cannon-balled into the steel beams on the trailer.

  He did not feel his bones braking or the protruding edge of a steel beam that pierced his skull.

  As the momentum carried him on, he left behind a trail of blood and brains.

  CHAPTER 48

  My phone rang a little after seven. The hospital's house supervisor asked me to come in ASAP as some staff had called off because of the lousy weather. I had wanted to sleep a little longer, but I was scheduled for a night shift anyway and so I agreed to go in. If Tom was concerned, he didn't show it. He just urged me to be careful.

  My assignment that night would be as the float nurse. I would go where help was needed. From experience, I knew I would be bouncing all over the little hospital.

  I had been on duty for less than ten minutes when my pager went off, summoning me to the ER, STAT.

  A crowd had gathered: Paramedics, cops and nurses. The house supervisor, Rosie, pulled me off to the side.

  “Thanks for coming. We had a pile-up on the expressway. So far we've received two men who were in a passenger car. Didn't wear seat belts. Pretty bad. You take one, I'll take the other.”

  “Any ID?”

  “The cops and paramedics have all that info. Right now, we need to get them

  stabilized.”

  I walked over to my patient. The other nurses had already started an IV and were hooking him up to the monitor. One of the paramedics was filling them in.

  “He was driving the car. Nearly went right through the windshield. Wasn't wearing a seat belt. Just another superman. His head must have hit the windshield, lots of blood on the inside. He was pinned by the steering wheel. We had a helluva time getting him out.”

  It took a few seconds for my mind to register the features of my patient, then it hit me: This was the man who had been at the house earlier, a Ron something or other. My legs felt like Jelly. I didn't want to be here, I didn't want to help him. I wanted him to die.

  I did what needed to be done, anyway. I did the job I was trained for, but I did not like it.

  His vital signs stabilized some and I started to clean up the blood that seemed to be everywhere. The paramedics had put a foam brace around his neck. I thought about

  taking it off and choking this beast to death. But I'm a professional, and professionals

  just don't choke semiconscious people to death.

  As I cleaned dried blood from his face, I noticed that his breathing seemed more

  labored. I knew I should call the doctor over, but I hesitated. In my mind I went over everything that had happened since that fateful canoe trip and I wanted this beast before me to die. But training took control of me once again and I called the doctor over. We rushed Ron to the CT scanner, and quickly learned why he had trouble breathing. The accident had fractured his cervical spine just below his skull and had damaged his spinal cord.

  I didn't have to choke him. He had a broken neck and would be paralyzed for the rest of his life, if he lived.

  I said a silent prayer of thanks.

  We called Respiratory Therapy to stand by with a ventilator. He would need one soon. As we started a new IV line, Ron woke up and tried to speak. He could not move his head because of the neck brace. He probably couldn't hear me over the hissing of the oxygen and the beeping of the monitor. I tried very hard to keep out of his field of vision, but I still needed to check his blood pressure and listen to his lungs. That meant he would see me.

  Just then someone crashed on the other side of the ER and, when the others rushed out of the cubicle, I took a deep breath and moved into his field of vision.

  His eyes widened. He recognized me.

  *

  Ron did not remember hitting anything. He was engulfed in darkness and, although he could hear sirens and voices, he felt strangely detached.

  The wet cold cleared his senses. There were bright lights, and he heard a voice ask him if he was all right. He struggled to sit up, angry that the voice told him to stay down. Nuts, he thought, it's cold here, I want to get warm. He didn't hurt, he didn't feel anything but cold. Then the lights went out.

  He regained consciousness in the brightness of the ER, acutely aware of the hissing of oxygen into his nose. He could hear a cacophony of other sounds and voices, but couldn't understand what was being said. He tried to turn his head away from the bright lights, but some awful force kept him from moving. Annoyed, he finally opened his eyes. His vision slowly cleared, and out of the corners of his eyes he could see people moving around him.

  “Sir, you have been in an accident,” a male voice said. “You are in the hospital. You have some injuries. Do you understand?”

  He tried to talk, but no sounds would come out. He heard the different voices, and one female voice seemed familiar to him. Where have I heard this voice? He wondered. Why is everyone so frantic? I feel okay. I'm not hurting anywhere. His field of vision was severely limited, and his eyes remained focused on the ceiling tiles and a big old water spot directly over his head.

  He became bored. He knew he was not alone in this room, but the people moved in and out of his field of vision too fast. Finally a face came into view, a female face. It took him a moment to recognize it.

  Oh God! He thought. It's her! She knows everything, and I'm helpless. What is she going to do?

  *

  “Listen to me, you worthless bastard,” I said slowly and softly, making sure only he could hear me.

  “I know who and what you are and what you have done. We're playing by my rules now. I'll be cool as long as you are. But piss me off and I'll make damn sure that you never forget me. Do you understand?”

  He didn't answer. He just blinked a couple of times. I assumed that meant yes.

  Then the physician entered the cubicle with more bad news for Ron.

  “Sir, we have to put a tube down your throat and into your lungs to help you breathe.” He was loud and brusque. “You fractured your neck and the broken bones have damaged your spinal cord. This is causing paralysis and is interfering with your breathing.”

  At the word paralysis Ron blinked rapidly and seemed to mouth something to the physician.

  “Yes, you are paralyzed.” The physician moved closer to Ron. “From the neck down as far as we can tell at the moment. Right now we have to put a tube down into your lungs and help you breathe. Then we will see what can be done about the paralysis, I have called in a neurosurgeon. But first we need to get that tube in.”

  Ron stared at me, ignoring the physician. Perhaps he wanted to scare me, perhaps he was scared of me, I don’t know and I don’t care. I stared back, never blinking, willing my hatred of this man to burn deep into his brain.

  The physician injected something into Ron’s IV and he closed his eyes. It only took moments to intubate him. The respiratory therapist hooked him up to a ventilator, and another float nurse from ICU took over for me.

  I washed up and walked over to the other cubicle. The patient, a huge man named Jonathon Brooks, had just returned from a CT scan. He was intubated and attached to life-support equipment. So this is Jonathon Brooks I thought. Until now he had only been a voice on the phone. The physician came up to me.

  “Well,” he said with a sigh. “If more p
eople could see this mess, they may actually start using their seat belts.”

  “How bad is he?” I asked.

  “Bad. There's massive head trauma. Part of his brain is gone. I don't really understand what's keeping him alive. And then there are numerous internal injuries. The bleeding is under control for now, but I really don't expect much from this one. Let's move him on up to ICU. The neurosurgeon can see him there, and Social Services can notify the next of kin. I don't even think he can be an organ donor -- he's too banged up.”

  “What about this other fella?” I had to know. The physician shrugged.

  “That's another sad story. He's a quadriplegic now, if he lives. His damage is so extensive, I doubt that even neurosurgery can salvage anything. We'll keep him going for a while, but he won't grow old.”