Angels Weep

by C. J. Lyons

  She left her seat and sidled down the table, pushing in the empty chairs one by one until she reached him. She leaned over him, her eyes locked on his. “So. How much?”

  His lips parted, and she knew she had him. But then the door behind him flew open.

  “Stop dawdling, John,” Lazarus commanded. “We’ve got work to do.”

  John stood and slid a business card beneath Jenna’s palm. “We’ll continue this later. Perhaps over drinks?”

  Then he left, following his older brother’s white coat as it flapped in his wake.

  Jenna stared at the card for a long moment before pocketing it. Nick and Andre rejoined her, closing the door behind them.

  “What are we going to do?” Andre asked. “First Morgan is worried there’s someone targeting kids, now she suddenly has this bizarre syndrome that’s going to kill her?” He paced the narrow space between the table and the wall. “Is this Lazarus thing even real? Maybe they’re trying to shut her up. Maybe she really did find something.”

  “I’ve never heard of Lazarus Syndrome,” Nick admitted, scrolling through his phone. “Not finding a whole lot of peer-reviewed research on it, just a few case studies authored by Amos Lazarus, dating back thirty-some years.”

  “It’s not real,” Jenna told them. “I mean, I don’t know the medicine, maybe there’s something there, enough for Lazarus to be able to label kids. But I think the whole thing is a scam. A shakedown.”

  “Then why wouldn’t they take your money?” Andre asked.

  “They will. Once I make them an offer they can’t refuse.”

  “I don’t know,” Nick said, still reading his phone’s screen. “Lazarus is a true believer—obsessed is more like it. And I can’t see him or Paterson risking their professional reputations by trying to coerce money from desperate families.”

  “No, but his brother would.”

  “Either way, it doesn’t matter,” Andre insisted. “We need to get Morgan out of here. Take her someplace where she can get the help she needs.”

  Nick glanced up at that, first at Jenna, then at Andre.

  Jenna grimaced and answered. “We can’t. Not unless you want to kidnap her—and I mean that in every legal sense of the word. They’re right about that. We have no legal standing.”

  “If we take her and anyone finds out, they’ll arrest us and bring her right back,” Nick added. “She’d be worse off than ever.”

  “Then I’ll do it. Leave you two out of it,” Andre insisted.

  “No. If it comes to that, we’ll do it together.” Nick surprised Jenna. After all, he had the most to lose by breaking the law. Not only his professional credentials, but his wife, Lucy, would most definitely not approve. In fact, as an FBI agent, she might be the one to arrest him.

  “Before it comes to that, I think we need to keep digging into the deaths,” Jenna said. “See if maybe there’s a pattern. Maybe John Lazarus tried to blackmail them and they refused, and he needed to cover his tracks to protect his brother and the clinic.”

  Silence as they considered that. Then Nick added, “Or maybe there really is a Lazarus Syndrome, and it is fatal.”

  Andre shook his head, his gaze fierce as it sought a target. But there was nothing in the room except smiling photos of children who’d been helped by Lazarus and his staff here at Angels.

  He heaved his shoulders back. “Don’t be so quick to give up on Morgan,” he told them, told the people in the photos, told the empty chairs Lazarus and his team had just vacated. “She’s the last person anyone should underestimate.”

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Morgan hated to give in to her exhaustion, but if she was going to try to stay awake all night to watch for the whistler, she needed to sleep now. So after a few exercises with the others, she retreated to her bed, drew the privacy curtain around her, and crawled in for a nap.

  When she woke, it was to Jenna and Andre’s voices, low but strained. She opened her eyes and saw Nick sitting at her bedside while Jenna and Andre stood at its foot, heads bowed together as they whispered.

  “Good, you’re awake,” Nick said. “We don’t have much time.”

  “Time for what?” Morgan asked, wondering at the anxiety that clouded the air around them. Something was clearly wrong. She pushed herself upright and instinctively reached inside her pocket for her phone. “Micah? Did something happen?”

  “No, no,” Nick rushed to assure her.

  Jenna glanced up at the safety camera above the bed. “Let’s go somewhere quiet we can talk. How about the atrium?”

  “Sounds perfect,” Andre said in a tone as bright and sharp as a smashed mirror.

  Morgan was doing better with walking, but she wasn’t sure she wanted the whole clinic staff to see that, so she pushed her walker slowly down the hallway, the three of them gathering around her in a protective phalanx.

  Finally they were in the atrium, surrounded by plants, benches, fountains, and sculptures. Justin and his mother were at the opposite end, where the play equipment was. Justin was laughing as his mother pushed him on a swing, but Morgan couldn’t help but notice the way his mother kept scanning the area as if searching for danger.

  She’d said she was taking Justin out of here tomorrow, as soon as the staff got everything ready for his release; said they’d be going far away from Justin’s father. Did she think he might come here and try to stop them?

  Andre guided Morgan to one of the benches and sat on one side of her, Nick on the other, with Jenna pacing in front.

  “Tell me,” Morgan said, wondering if her assessment of Justin’s mother’s emotional state were true or simply a reflection of what she was seeing in her three friends. “What’s wrong?”

  They exchanged glances. Nick cleared his throat and started. “A few things. We had your clinical conference today.”

  She nodded, waiting for him to continue.

  “They said we can’t visit any more,” Andre blurted out.

  “Why not?”

  “Dr. Lazarus thinks you have this rare syndrome that happens after a clinical death experience,” Nick explained. Jenna’s gait faltered the slightest bit, and she pivoted to march behind the bench where Morgan couldn’t see her expression. “With it, patients fill in gaps in their memories or times when they’re confused by making up stories.”

  “Like Alzheimer’s patients do,” Andre put in. “They aren’t actually lying; they don’t even know they’re doing it.”

  “You think I’m making things up? Like Honey’s death and the whistling man?”

  “Whistling man?” Nick asked.

  “The man at night in the halls. The other kids hear him too. Not just me.”

  “Have they seen him?” Jenna asked, leaning over the back of the bench, her face between Morgan and Nick. “Can you give me any details? Because I’ve checked all the staff and all the deaths here and found nothing.”

  Jenna actually did believe her? Despite the fact that when they’d spoken the night before, Morgan had been half asleep from the sedatives and fairly incoherent?

  “They said nights when he comes, they can’t move or really wake up to see him—and they kinda forget when they do. Like—” She broke off, unable to find words to describe what her father did. That didn’t stop the bloody images from pummeling her, blocking out the sunlight.

  “Like they were drugged,” Nick finished for her. “Which means someone on staff has to be part of it.”

  “Not to mention someone with access to the security footage,” Jenna added.

  “But what does this guy want?” Andre asked. “What does he actually do? The kids are fine the next morning. Is he just some perv watching them sleep?”

  No one had an answer to that.

  Andre leaned closer to Morgan. “We can get you out of here. Take you with us now. If you want.”

  She shook her head. As much as she wanted to leave, she couldn’t abandon the others. “No.”

  He touched her arm. “Are you sure? If you’re sca
red—”

  “If I’m scared, think how the others feel.”

  He sighed and nodded his head at that, his hand still on her arm, squeezing it as if to reassure her.

  “Stay and watch tonight?” Morgan asked.

  “We can’t. We’re lucky they’re letting us stay long enough to talk to you now,” Jenna said. “I’m not sure when Paterson and Lazarus will let us come back.”

  Morgan glanced around. She didn’t see any cameras or anyone watching. She reached into her walker’s pouch and slid the schedules into Andre’s hand, hiding the movement with her body. He immediately secreted them inside his jacket. “I stole the staff schedules.”

  “We can see who was on duty when the deaths occurred. Nice,” Jenna said, lowering her voice as Justin and his mother passed them on their way to the exit. “Can your friends remember exactly when the whistling man came? We could correlate that as well.”

  She shook her head. “No, except he was here last night. Before Honey died.”

  “Well, it’s a start,” Nick said. “I can also dig deeper into Paterson’s and Lazarus’s backgrounds. See if they have any patient complaints, malpractice cases, that kind of thing.”

  “But if you can’t come back?”

  They all frowned at that.

  “I hate leaving you here,” Nick said. “But we don’t think you’re in any danger. Best we can tell, Honey and the other kids all died of natural causes. No one has any reason to hurt you.”

  She wasn’t sure if he were trying to convince her or himself.

  “For all we know, this whistling man is the night janitor, and you guys are simply over-sensitized. Perfectly normal, given the circumstances. The trauma you’ve all been through, the drugs still in your system…” Nick trailed off, not sounding at all certain.

  Morgan turned to him. “What aren’t you telling me? There’s more, right?”

  Jenna answered. “Lazarus says that this syndrome you have, he says there’s no treatment. He says it’ll get worse. You’ll forget us, forget everything, and then become catatonic.”

  “Like a coma again?”

  “We’re not even sure you really have it,” Andre said. “Nick can’t find much on it in the research. Maybe it doesn’t even exist. Could be all you kids are sane and Lazarus is the crazy one.”

  Morgan thought about Honey—she’d been catatonic before she died. “A cover up? For something they’re doing to the kids?”

  Nick frowned at that. “I doubt it. It would mean the doctors and nurses and a lot of people were involved in a massive conspiracy.”

  “What about one person creating the symptoms?” Andre asked. “Like with a drug or something. Someone invested in proving the syndrome exists, maybe to get research grants or whatever.”

  “You mean Lazarus?” Nick said.

  “Or Dr. Paterson. She’s obviously infatuated with the man, and if they prove the syndrome exists, it might help the clinic. Improve their reputation, get them more funding, good PR, that sort of thing.”

  Morgan listened, trying to make sense of what they were saying and where the mysterious midnight whistler fit in. But none of it made sense. Maybe she was confused and delusional like Tia—filling in the blanks with whatever occurred to her in the moment. But Nelson and the others had heard the whistler as well, so he at least must be real.

  Paterson appeared in the doorway, beckoning to them and then pointing to her watch. Andre sighed. “Guess that’s our two-minute warning. You going to be okay?”

  She slid her phone out far enough for them to see it. “Micah came to say goodbye. His moms won’t let him come visit either.”

  “We’ll call you with anything we find,” Jenna said in her fake, too-bright voice.

  Andre and Nick stood. “Don’t worry. We’ll find a way to get back in,” Andre said. “And if you see anything that scares you, just call. We’ll come and get you.”

  Together they left the atrium, and she followed them to the main lobby. “Be good,” Nick said, hugging her tight.

  “Forget being good,” Jenna whispered. “Just relax. We’ll take care of everything, get to the bottom of this. You concentrate on getting better.”

  Andre’s parting words held a totally different message. He wrapped both arms around her, lifting her off her feet. She swallowed a gasp of pain as he accidentally squeezed her bruised ribs—a small price to pay. “Be strong and trust yourself.”

  As she watched them leave, Morgan couldn’t help but wonder at his words. How could she trust herself when she wasn’t even certain who that was?

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  When Morgan returned to the ward, Kristyn was there with the others. “Everyone get their swimming clothes on. Hydrotherapy is next,” she announced. “Who needs help changing? Maria?”

  Maria shook her head, went to her bed space, and drew the privacy curtain, as did the others.

  “Morgan, you’ve got this, right?” Kristyn asked.

  Right. Independent living ward. Morgan retreated as well although she hated time in the pool. She changed into her swim shorts—this was her first time changing pants all by herself, but she did it, by holding onto the bedrail to keep her balance.

  Then she sat on the bed and changed tops before bundling her stolen scrubs beneath her sheets and slipping back into her hoodie. She wanted to keep her phone close but some place it wouldn’t be discovered. The best she could do was to slide it inside the pouch on her walker, padding it with a small hand towel so it wouldn’t look so obvious.

  “Okay for me to come in?” Kristyn asked, as if the flimsy curtain were a door. “I have your G-tube dressing.” That’s what the nurses called the damn PEG.

  She came in before Morgan could say anything. Morgan lay back on the bed and pulled up her top so Kristyn could reach the feeding tube. Kristyn swiftly sealed the area tight with the special dressing. “There, nothing’s getting through that.”

  Morgan made a note to find a way to keep the dressing on—maybe that would stop the nurses from giving her meds through the damn PEG tonight. “Want it out.”

  “Actually, the way you’ve been eating, that’s a possibility. Just like getting rid of this thing.” Kristyn pushed the walker back and forth, the pink and green rubber resistance bands waving cheerfully. “What do you say? Want to start now, and leave it behind?”

  Morgan lurched off the bed and grabbed the walker before Kristyn could ask what was filling up its pouch. “No. Too tired.”

  “Okay. It has been a long day. Tomorrow then.” Kristyn didn’t sound very excited. Not like usual.

  “What’s wrong?” Morgan asked.

  “Nothing,” Kristyn lied. “I’m just so proud of your progress. It’s really amazing.”

  “No. You’re sad.” Even Morgan’s blunted emotional radar could see that. Not that it took much, as transparent as Kristyn was—the problem with living your life so open and honest, flinging your emotions around for anyone to see. “Why?”

  “Dr. Lazarus will explain more. But sometimes when patients progress really fast, they can have setbacks. We just want to watch out for that, that’s all.”

  “I can’t leave?” She must be talking about the silly syndrome Nick and the others had told Morgan about. Did that mean Kristyn was in on it with Lazarus? Or did she really believe the doctor and his diagnosis? Or maybe it was real, and Morgan really didn’t have much time.

  “Whoa, now.” Kristyn raised her hands as if pulling back reins. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. As I recall, you still haven’t made it into the pool under your own steam.”

  “I don’t live in a pool,” Morgan retorted.

  “Well, come on. The others are waiting.” They gathered the others, including Justin and his mother, and made their way to the hydrotherapy suite.

  The other kids immediately grabbed their floats and jumped into the pool to begin working with a therapist, leaving only Justin and Morgan behind as Kristyn discussed the day’s treatment plan with the other therapists
.

  Morgan held back, her eyes fixated on her least favorite piece of medical equipment after the damn PEG.

  Kristyn called it the Hoyer patient lift, but to Morgan it was a mechanical monstrosity worthy of the Marquis de Sade. The patient was fitted with a harness, placed into a sling, hoisted into the air, utterly helpless, and then swiveled out over the water and lowered down.

  Every time she saw the Hoyer, her mind filled with images of her father’s helpless victims, the way he’d restrain them, taunt them with their powerlessness. It didn’t help that she couldn’t swim—who had time for little things like swimming lessons for their daughter when they were out to become one of the most prolific serial killers in North America?

  Tonight she had company as she eyed the pools and edged away from the ledge. Justin’s mother clung to him despite his eagerness to join the others.

  “Please, Mommy,” he begged. “It’s fun, you’ll see.”

  She turned to Morgan and grimaced. “I hate the water—got dunked as a kid and felt like I was drowning. I don’t even take baths.”

  “I’m not a big fan either.” Then Morgan saw how Justin’s ID bracelet hung loose, clipped to his swim trunks rather than fastened around his wrist—the kid was such a little guy, always in motion, it was probably the only way to keep it on him. She smiled at his mother. “Tell you what. I’ll watch Justin here while you let Kristyn explain everything to you. Maybe that will help.”

  “Thanks.”

  Morgan sat down and patted the floor for Justin to join her. They watched as his mother skirted the ledge of the large pool that contained the steps and underwater treadmill, shied away from the smaller resistance pool, and approached Kristyn.

  By the time she made it there and turned back to wave at Justin, Morgan had swapped her ID bracelet for the little boy’s. She did it without thinking, her fingers much more nimble without her foggy brain getting in the way. Good luck tracking her now—plus, since Justin’s mom was staying the night, no one would think twice if she and her son went wandering.