Damascus Road

by Charlie Cole

  “What’s happened?” she asked. Ridiculous question, and she knew it.

  “I think the Senator is having a heart attack,” I said. “We need to get him to the hospital.”

  She unlocked the doors without a second thought. I felt a pang of guilt for using his position to gain her favor, but only for a moment. Then we were in the back of the car, door closed.

  “Please, the nearest hospital,” I said.

  The ride was a blur of honking horns with this woman screaming at cars in plaintive cries and occasional hysterical rants. I did my best to make Ellis comfortable, but he was inconsolable. I put my arm around him and prayed. Tears stung my eyes on the ride.

  Dear Lord…

  A car nearly slammed into us as she ran a red light.

  Please don’t take him yet…

  Screeching tires as she took a corner hard, oversteered, corrected.

  I’m not ready to lose him yet…

  Car lurched to a stop.

  “We’re here,” the woman said.

  I opened my eyes and saw that we were outside of the emergency room.

  “Thank you,” I said as I pulled Ellis from the car. ER techs rushed to our aid, having seen our dilemma. They put Ellis on a gurney and rushed him away for examination.

  I found myself standing alone in a waiting room. I scuffed my boot on the floor, and gathered my thoughts. I pulled my phone from my pocket and dialed.

  “Hello?” it was Isaac on the third ring.

  “Isaac, we’re in the hospital. Ellis had a heart attack,” I explained. He asked where and I told him as best I could.

  “I’ll be there as fast as I can,” Isaac said.

  “I need to find Blake Harrison.”

  “James, do you really think he had something to do with this?” Isaac asked.

  “Somebody wants my father dead. Blown up, run over or grabbing his chest. I want whoever is after him, Isaac.”

  “But Blake Harrison?” Isaac said.

  “Where is he?”

  I realized that my voice was raised. The charge nurse was glaring at me. Not that I cared, but I didn’t want to attract attention and that tough old nurse could probably whip my ass.

  “Harrison is booked to speak at a fundraiser,” Isaac said. He gave me the address of a venue that was well-known locally. “James, listen to me. Don’t do anything stupid.”

  “You know me,” I said.

  “That’s what I’m afraid of,” he said. “I’m not posting your bail.”

  I rang off and headed for the door.

  “Mr. Marlowe?” The voice came from behind me. I turned and saw a doctor in scrubs jogging toward me.

  “Yes, sir?” I said.

  “I have some news about your father,” he said. “I’m Dr. Danforth.”

  “James,” I said shaking his hand. Danforth was kind in his face, wise around his eyes with salt and pepper hair.

  “Let’s walk this way,” he said. Fateful words. I knew the routine. I’d had family, friends. The dire news. The waiting in the lounges with the other families, drinking coffee and inhaling that filtered hospital air.

  What I knew was that Ellis was a bull of a man. Strong in heart and mind. He took care of himself. He’d pull through this. I had gotten to him in time.

  Dr. Danforth led me to a smaller waiting room. It was unoccupied, quiet. I didn’t bother to sit.

  “What’s up?” I asked.

  “Your father had an acute myocardial infarction,” Danforth said. “A heart attack.”

  I opened my mouth to ask him a question, but nothing came out. I let him continue.

  “We did everything in our capability to revive him, but our efforts were unsuccessful,” Danforth continued. “I’m afraid he died.”

  He died.

  General Ellis Marlowe died.

  Senator Marlowe died.

  Dad…died.

  I grabbed Danforth by his scrubs and slammed him back into the wall. Breath rushed from his lungs.

  “What do you mean?” I roared. My voice boomed in my own ears. “What are you talking about? You’re lying! You’re a liar!”

  “Mr. Marlowe, please…” Dr. Danforth managed in a wheeze. My hand was wrapped around his throat.

  “Mr. Marlowe is my father!” I screamed.

  My fist was cocked back. I wanted to bloody his nose. Smash his face. Knock his teeth down his throat and choke the words out of his mouth. How dare he say that my father was dead?

  A second before I beat the doctor to a pulp, I realized the sick reality of the situation. My shoulders slumped. My face that had been scrunched into a mask of rage went slack.

  My hands trembled and I tried to smooth the doc’s scrubs. He flinched at my touch. I recoiled, breath heavy in my ears. I backed away, distancing myself for his good as well as mine.

  “James… James…” I heard Danforth’s voice in my ears as I covered my head with my hands, stumbling backwards to sit down hard on the couch. “I’m sure that your father is in a better—“

  “He is NOT in a better place!” I screamed. “You people…you tell us that the people we love are in a better place when you don’t know. You didn’t know Ellis Marlowe, man.”

  “I’m sorry for your loss,” Danforth said. “Can I call a counselor for you? A chaplain?”

  I realized then that he had delivered this news before, had seen reactions before. And more than anything, he was working from a script. His words were planned, calculated. I had managed to evade the call to security so far, but it was a short step away. There was too much to be done, without being detained.

  “I’m sorry. I’m sorry,” I said. “It’s…a shock.”

  The smile came back to the doctor’s face, kind and patient.

  “Take me to him,” I said.

  “What?” His smile was gone again.

  “I need to see him,” I said, stepping closer. “Now.”

  Danforth didn’t say another word to me. He led the way, and I followed him down the hall, turning when he turned, void of thought and direction. He led me into a trauma room.

  Ellis Marlowe was on the table, a sheet draped over him. A nurse was cleaning up. She turned, surprised that I was there. Danforth calmed her with a gesture, and she nodded and slipped out.

  I walked to the side of the table and pulled the sheet back. Ellis lay there, pale and tranquil. He had been intubated. I reached for it.

  “No, you can’t…” Danforth said, approaching.

  “Get away from me,” I said.

  I roughly pushed him away from me with one hand without turning to face him. He was hardly a threat to me. He stumbled back, considered his options. His footsteps stopped, then retreated slowly as I pulled the tape from Ellis’ face and extracted the tube from his throat.

  When Danforth was gone, I began to cry over my father’s body. The sobbing wracked my body and my legs gave out. I fell to my knees at his side and cursed myself and cursed God.

  A sickening cocktail of doubt and anger poured into my gut. My eyes blinked away the tears, and I knew what I would do next. Right or wrong, the path was there before me.

  The static of the security guard’s radio jolted me back to the present. I kissed my father’s forehead and threw the sheet back over him. I pushed through a side door and disappeared into the bowels of the hospital.

  I ran my hands through my hair and blew out a deep sigh as I walked. I needed to move quickly. I checked a hospital directory. I found orthopedics and headed in that general direction.

  It did not take me long to find an abandoned nurses’ station. I heard voices around the corner discussing what was outdated in the break room refrigerator and could Brenda please stop leaving her yogurts in the door every time she went on a diet.

  I spotted a white doctor’s coat slung over the back of a chair and picked it up. Casting a glance up and down the hall, I slipped it on. From my pocket, I produced the security badge of Dr. Danforth. He had not noticed that I had taken it when I pushed him. Pr
obably would not realize his mistake for an hour or so, and that was all I needed.

  The venture into Ortho was a little more dangerous, and I was prepared to either bolt or fake mental illness. Not much a stretch to be honest.

  It took some rummaging but I found a cast saw. I did not hesitate, although perhaps I should have shown more caution. But I did not. I went to work. I cut through the plaster until I could crack it open and free my hand. I brushed away the dust and looked at my forearm. The skin was pale and itchy, covered in dead skin. I scratched it, rubbed it, massaged. Finally decided that it felt good. As good as I could expect.

  I heard footsteps and ducked into a supply closet. I lifted a pair of latex gloves and pocketed them. The footsteps receded. I waited, then slipped out and headed for the stairs.

  I found an exit and slipped out the door, out onto the streets. Outside, I tried to clear my head. Now was not the time to examine my motives. I wasn’t about to let myself be bogged down with second-guessing.

  I was going to get the truth from Blake Harrison. I ran down the alley, planned my next move as I went, feet pounding the pavement. Heaven or Hell… angel or demon… I would have my answers.

  On the streets, my heart hammered in my chest. I blew out a ragged breath and slowed my pace.

  Instinct was to run, to cut through traffic and burst through the front door of the convention center. I squeezed my eyes shut and swallowed, my mouth dry, throat thick. I murdered my gut reaction without remorse and brought myself down to a walk.

  There was no sense in running. Blake Harrison wasn’t going anywhere. Time was on my side. He wasn’t expecting me. I had nothing left. Nothing to lose.

  I saw a clothing store across the street. Ducking between cars, I made my way across. Twenty minutes later, I emerged in a dark suit and tie. Off the rack, it wasn’t tailored to me, but close enough for my purposes. The shoes were Italian and comfortable even new as they were. I could hardly walk in to Harrison’s event in blue jeans and boots, but I carried my old clothes in the store bag while I walked. Two blocks later, I dropped the bag in a trash can and kept moving.

  On the next block, I saw the conference center. It was overflowing with partygoers, men in suits and ties, respectable in their day jobs, contributors to a cause, but in the end, ridiculous dancers and incapable of holding their liquor without making fools of themselves. The women were more restrained in their own way, but still laughed too loud, gyrated too much to the music, but mostly spent their time fending off the men.

  It turned my stomach, but I waded into their midst, smiling like a fool, laughing with a huddle of men at a thinly veiled off-color joke as I passed and slipped into the entrance. It wasn’t the first time that I had adapted to a hostile environment. My father had taken me to enough parties at the Officer’s Club, the country club, and fundraisers that I knew how to chameleon my way through the event. That’s what I called it. Becoming faceless and blending in. Neither noteworthy, nor interesting. I was wallpaper, just something in the background.

  I moved through the crowd, like a shark, never stopping, never slowing. Moving on and on, past the young and the old, searching for my prey. And then I saw him.

  Blake Harrison was a handsome man, I realized begrudgingly. His face was lean and tanned, his smile white and even. His graying hair was perfectly coifed. He was working the crowd, pausing occasionally to respond to a question, or to make a comment. I expected him to be a trite, petty man, but he seemed to take genuine interest in those who followed him.

  I shook my head, trying to clear it. No sense in letting my focus become clouded. I had to find a way to get to him. I could feel my face flush at the thought. I needed a minute.

  The men’s room was not far from the convention hall, and I weaved my way to it. Pushing open the door, I headed for the sink, turned on the tap, cupped a handful of the cold water and ran it over my face. The splash of coldness startled me, providing clarity and clearing my head.

  The door opened behind me, but I paid it no mind. I pulled out some paper towel to dry my face when I first heard his voice.

  “Enjoying the party?”

  I looked up, surprised to find that Blake Harrison had actually followed me into the rest room. He stepped to the urinal, then looked up at me, eyebrows raised, waiting for my answer.

  “Not really,” I said, shaking my head. “I secretly hate these events.”

  “I know how you feel,” he laughed.

  My hand was in my coat pocket, fingering the balisong knife. I took a step toward Harrison when the bathroom door opened, and I froze.

  “Sir, you really need to let us know where you’re going,” said the Secret Service agent as he came in the door. He was headed for Harrison when he saw me. He stopped and locked me into his sights.

  “Oh, take it easy, Agent Walters,” Harrison said with a grin. His teeth actually shone bone white in the light of the bathroom. He moved to the sink to wash up. “We’re just a couple of men talking here.”

  Agent Walters wasn’t listening though. He was sizing me up, ready to throw me out on my ear, but weighing how much of an effort he wanted to make.

  “Sorry, sir, you need to step out,” Agent Walters said.

  He might not have been able to push Senator Harrison around, but I was another matter. He was more than willing to kick me around. I needed to come up with a plan fast.

  I jammed both hands into my pants pockets and nodded, buying myself a moment. The thought of attacking the agent occurred to me, but I quickly dismissed it. I couldn’t take on his security detail.

  My hand touched the ID from the hospital in my pocket. I didn’t want to leave it behind and shoved it into my pocket out of reflex. A plan developed quickly.

  “Senator Harrison,” I said, ignoring the agent. “I’m sorry I’m not having a good time, sir. I’ve got some bad news for you. It’s about Senator Marlowe.”

  Harrison’s brow furrowed, and I pulled the hospital ID from my pocket, careful to cover the picture with my finger.

  “I’m Dr. Danforth,” I said. “May I have a moment of your time, sir?”

  Harrison considered the request and nodded.

  “I’m sorry,” I said to Agent Walters. “I’m afraid it’s confidential.”

  Walters murmured something under his breath and stepped back out the door. Once we were alone, I pocketed the ID.

  “What is it?” he asked.

  “Senator Ellis Marlowe is dead,” I said.

  Harrison looked as if he’d been shot. His face blanched, jaw slackened. I didn’t buy it for a moment.

  “What? How did it happen?” he asked.

  I completely lost all interest in maintaining the charade and had no intention of describing the details of his death.

  The balisong knife was in my hand.

  I let it fall open lazily in a slow cartwheel.

  “He was my father,” I said. “My name isn’t Danforth. It’s James Marlowe.”

  Harrison’s eyes flicked to the door. I reached over and snapped the deadbolt shut, shaking my head.

  “You killed my father,” I said.

  “No, I didn’t,” he pleaded. “Please don’t do this.”

  “Who is Gibson Pollack?”

  “Gibson?” he sputtered. “Gibson’s my nephew.”

  “Gone now, yes?” I said, advancing on him. “Died in Baghdad? Qatar? During the Surge?”

  Harrison nodded.

  “Died under the leadership of Colonel Ellis Marlowe,” I said. “That must have gotten to you a bit, eh? One of those misfortunes of war that really sticks it in and breaks it off, am I right?”

  The blade was restless in my hand. I snapped it open in a stainless steel blur and let him watch as the blade whirled, open, closed, back open, reversed my grip, back forward, closed it and made it dance over my fingers from index to middle to ring and back again.

  “Bothered you so much that you decided to take your revenge on Ellis Marlowe?” I asked. “Kidnap, left him for de
ad?”

  Harrison was shaking his head vigorously, all signs of his stellar smile gone now. His face was slack with fear. Blood drained from his cheeks despite his country club tan.

  I lunged for his throat with my open hand, shoving him back into the tiled wall. His head collided with a sickly satisfying sound, his eyes popped wide as I lifted the blade to strike. My arm was coiled, waiting to be unleashed. The ferocity of my attack, the not-so-righteous indignation, the barrage of facts that hit so close to home, Harrison was frozen in place.

  “Was that you?” I growled.

  “What?” he blurted. The question took him off-guard.

  “On the phone!” I shouted. “Did you call me on the phone? Are you Nathan? You are… You’re Nathan…”

  Harrison was panic-stricken, shaking his head furiously.

  “No-no-no-no…” he said again and again.

  A shrill electronic tone broke between us and we looked at one another, startled. What was he doing? What had he done? Then it happened again.

  “It…it’s my phone,” Harrison said.

  I considered my options. If he didn’t answer his phone, someone would be looking for him.

  “Answer it,” I said. “Get rid of them. We’re not done here.”

  He jerked his head in one quick affirmative.

  “This is Senator Harrison.”

  Harrison’s eyes went from staring at nothing, listening, to bewildered fear. He looked at me, directly into my eyes with a startling clarity.

  “It’s for you,” he said.

  I cocked my head to the side.

  “Is this a joke?” I shot back.

  He said nothing but held the phone out to me. I looked at it with the same distrust one might have for a loaded pistol. Numbly, I took it from his hand, eyed him cautiously, expecting him to bolt for the door and ready to put him down in a heartbeat.

  “Hello?” I said, lost for a better response.

  “James… brother of Christ…what are you doing?” It was Nathan, his voice laced with condescension and malice.

  Nausea rushed through me. My head pounded, pain lanced its way through my temples. The bathroom spun around me and I struggled to maintain my bearings.

  “You… you…” I breathed.

  “I expected so much more from you,” Nathan said. “You’re nothing but a sinner are you? Just like your father.”