Out of reflex I jumped backward as the patrol vehicle moved several feet toward us and rocked up at one corner. Toward the front of the sedan, a uniformed officer lay in a heap on the slush-covered pavement as if thoughtlessly tossed aside. I could only assume that he had been hit by the van and that was what had prompted Ben to reveal his presence.
The familiar sound of a handgun popping nearby combined with the simultaneous metallic thump of the rounds impacting the side of the panel van. The handful of onlookers who had gathered on the perimeter were now screaming and scattering from the scene. The firefighters and paramedics in the immediate area ducked for cover near rescue vehicles.
The driver’s side of the large van was angled toward me, and I stood there mesmerized by sudden slow motion that affected the scene. I could hear my own measured breathing echoing in my ears as the cacophony surrounding me became a muted background roar. There was a tingle in the back of my head, and my face felt hot and flushed. I looked up from the prone officer and turned my head to stare coldly at the open sliding door on the cab of the van. I didn’t need my glasses to recognize the face staring back at me nor to see the hatred burning in his eyes.
The underlying roar rose in volume and was lacerated by the high-pitched grind of manual transmission gears as the extended moment fast-forwarded into real time. I heard Ben screaming my name as he crossed in front of me and pushed me back toward the waiting door of the ambulance. The wrenching groan of metal tearing apart scraped through the air once more.
I stumbled and slid on the icy pavement, catching the door to steady myself as I continued to watch the action play out. The van was already moving forward as Ben’s arm whipped up from underneath his coat, his bandaged hand wrapped around his Beretta. Eldon Porter was still glaring at us from the open door of the vehicle, and I stared back with morbid fascination as my friend took aim.
An ye harm none. The snippet of the Wiccan Rede passed through my mind as I watched. It was the simplest of instructions and a covenant by which I endeavored to live my life. But now, it was something I was unable to embrace. I wanted Eldon Porter to be dead. I wanted Ben to empty his handgun into the bastard just as he had done with the lock on the basement door. I wanted him eradicated from existence, and the hatred I felt for him burned inside me hotter with each passing second.
From where I stood, the shot was clear. Ben was even closer. I started to breathe a heavy sigh of relief because I knew that at this distance my friend could not miss. It was all about to be over. The nightmare was coming to an end.
I jerked my head quickly to the right as several shots sounded from the opposite side. I saw the uninjured Wood Dell officer firing once again into the panel van as it lurched forward, allowing the patrol car to drop back down on the front corner.
I heard an almost anguished expletive to my left and whipped my gaze back. When my eyes fell on Ben, he was standing there slapping a fresh magazine into his weapon and jacking the slide back without having fired a single round.
I screamed, “What happened?!”
The tires on the panel van had bit through the slush and were now making a wet squeal against the pavement as the vehicle sped away.
“Goddammit!” my friend exclaimed once again, as he centered the muzzle of his weapon on the van and tracked it. However, the immediate opportunity for a clear shot had passed as it was already rounding the corner. “Goddammit!”
He lowered the handgun and then slipped it back into the shoulder rig as he turned. “Empty!” he shouted. “I never fuckin’ reloaded after we got out of the basement!” His face was contorted in a painful mask of self-loathing.
I didn’t blame him for what had happened, but I was infuriated. Porter was getting away, and we had missed a prime opportunity to stop him.
“Jeezus, I don’t believe this!” my friend screamed as he ran toward the disabled police cruiser.
I released my grip on the ambulance door and chased after him, dodging a paramedic who was racing for the downed officer. I fought for steady footing on the grey slop that covered the street and slipped several times before making it the thirty-odd feet to where he was standing. He had cranked the passenger door open on the patrol car and was speaking into the microphone of the police radio.
I listened as he identified himself and then began describing the van. The last thing I heard him tell the dispatcher was the direction the vehicle had been headed and the street on which it was traveling.
I didn’t hear anything else because I was lying on my side in the icy slush with the metallic tang of electricity coating my tongue and my body tensed in a violent seizure.
CHAPTER 19:
It’s dark.
It’s cold.
I try to move, and then I remember that I cannot.
How long have I been here? I can’t remember. It seems like forever. A day? A week? A month?
I’m confused.
I’m trying to think. Where am I?
Where am I? Hell, who am I?
My head hurts. My whole body aches.
Fear grips me, and I don’t know why.
What is it?
Why am I afraid?
The feeling passes, and I just forget. It seems easier than trying to remember. It doesn’t hurt as much.
I’m uncomfortable sitting here.
I try to move again.
That’s right, I can’t move. I wonder why.
My hands wriggle, but when they do, my wrists hurt. They are sore.
I can move my feet. Not much, just a little. My ankles hurt just like my wrists.
I hear water splash, and I can feel it on my feet.
Why are my feet in water?
Good question. Where am I again?
I listen.
It is quiet here in the dark.
Almost too quiet.
I don’t like it.
I wait.
I listen.
Footsteps.
I hear footsteps. Heavy. Deliberate.
I keep listening and try to remember who I am.
T…
Tee?…
Tuh?…
Tay?…
Two?…
Two times two is four.
Two times three is six.
Two times four is twelve.
Twelve?
That’s right, isn’t it?
Two times four is twelve.
Two times twelve is sixteen.
Sixteen?
I’ll start over. Two times two is eleven.
No, that’s not right.
What was I trying to remember?
I give up.
My mouth tastes funny. Metal. Weird. Hmph. I can remember what metal is, why can’t I remember what time it is?
It sure is dark.
There’s that sound again. It’s like a motor running. I wonder what it is?
Fear.
Cold terror.
*****
Muted sirens were warbling in a frantic bid for attention, and they were filtering into my ears. I was cold, and I felt myself physically shiver. I was laying flat on my back, and there was something resembling a thin layer of permeable warmth draped over me. It felt like it might be a blanket, but it definitely wasn’t the one I had on my bed at home.
So if I wasn’t at home in my bed, I guess that ruled out this whole day being a nightmare.
My shirt felt damp along my right side and across my shoulders. My pants weren’t much better. The chill seemed to seep in deeper and even drop a few degrees lower in the places where the wet clothing touched my skin.
I twitched and felt a fork of pain spread from one end of my body to the other. My head was pounding. My shoulder was aching. My knees hurt. My face was sore… And, it didn’t stop there. I finally gave up on taking inventory once the individually identifiable aches and pains advanced past ten.
A familiar metallic tang had parked itself somewhere in the region of the back of my tongue. On the front half, my taste buds were being assaulted b
y the unmistakable woody flavor of a tongue depressor. All of it was underscored by the salty taste of blood.
Quiet voices and the crackle of a two-way radio eased in beneath the sirens, and an occasional thump or bump would fill in the gaps. There was an overwhelming sense of motion vibrating through my prone body, and I decided that I must be in the back of an ambulance. It was a new experience for me, and I had nothing to compare it to, but it seemed logical considering the sensory input I was working with.
I heard myself groan and then felt my stomach turn a quick flip as my body pitched to the side. At first, I thought I was going to fall, but then I felt myself pressed against straps that crossed my chest and legs. My muscles tensed anyway, and I paid the price as my various aches snapped to attention, letting me know beyond any doubt that they were still intact and intent on continuing to produce the agony for which they were conceived.
I groaned again.
“You awake, Row?” I heard Ben’s gravelly voice over the melange of sounds bouncing around the inside of the vehicle.
I started out by slowly opening one eye and rolling it around until I found his face. Then I opened the other and gained at least some sense of depth perception. I focused in and just stared back at him mutely.
My friend looked pretty much as he had when I’d last looked at him. Soot streaked and well worn. He peered back at me with a tired expression. “You gotta stop this shit, white man,” he told me.
“What?” I croaked, my voice just as raw as his.
“Floppin’ around like a fish outta water,” he said.
“Yeah,” I agreed softly. “I think you’re right.”
“Was it one of those outta body things?”
“Yeah.”
“Just checkin’. You weren’t sure last time.”
“I’m pretty sure this time.”
“Get anything from it?”
“Bad taste in my mouth,” I replied.
“I would too.”
I didn’t bother to explain that my comment wasn’t intended as a metaphor.
“Mister Gant?” A different voice called my name.
“Yeah?” I grunted. “Who wants to know?”
“Mister Gant, my name is Rick,” the voice returned. A pair of surgical-glove-sheathed hands came into view and were followed by the face of a paramedic. “How are you feeling?”
“Are you serious?” I asked.
“Are you having any trouble breathing?” he continued, ignoring my sardonic query.
“No,” I returned.
He adjusted a plastic tube beneath my nose then stole a glance at his watch. After a few seconds, I realized that he had taken hold of my wrist. Once he finished taking my pulse, he scribbled something on a clipboard. “Try to relax Mister Gant. We’re only about seven minutes out.”
“Yeah, sure,” I answered.
I rolled my head slowly to the side and brought my eyes back to Ben. He was sitting on the bench across from the gurney, still holding his bandaged hands limply in his lap. He had leaned back against the wall and had his eyes closed. His chin was tilted up, and his jaw was set tight. I watched as he reflexively reached up with his right hand and started to smooth his hair back then winced before dropping the appendage back down. He let out a heavy sigh and frowned even harder.
“Porter got away, didn’t he.” I finally made the matter-of-fact statement.
“Yeah,” my friend answered dully. “Yeah, he got away.”
“Any leads?” I asked.
He shook his head slowly and then opened his eyes as he lowered his chin and looked over at me. “He dumped the van five blocks away. They’re doing a house to house, and they brought in a canine unit, but nothing yet.”
“He’s not stupid,” I offered. “He had an escape plan this time around.”
“Yeah, I know.”
“What about the officer he hit?”
“Broken arm and prob’ly a concussion. Looks like he’s gonna be okay.”
“Good.”
“Asshole wants you in a bad way, Row. And he doesn’t care who gets hurt in the process. Not this time.”
“Yeah,” I muttered.
It was bad enough that I had to live my life under a rock because of a demented killer, but everyone around me now seemed to be at risk. Pagan or not. It definitely was not a good feeling.
“Any word yet on Carl?” I asked.
His voice had a distant quality when he answered. “No. Not yet.”
“Sometimes feelings can be wrong, Ben,” I offered.
“Let’s hope you’re right.”
“We’ll be at the hospital in just about five minutes,” Rick offered as a lull fell into the halting conversation.
“I never did call Felicity,” I lamented.
“I called ‘er,” Ben told me.
“What did she say?”
“You don’t wanna know.”
“Is she mad?”
“You wanna think about that question and ask it again?”
“Stupid question, huh,” I grunted.
“You said it, not me, but yeah, stupid question,” he returned. “Gotta give her credit though, she seemed like she stayed pretty calm considerin’.”
“That’s a plus.”
“Yeah, I guess, but she didn’t sound too good, white man.”
“What do you mean?”
He shook his head. “She just didn’t sound good, that’s all.”
“Is there something you’re not telling me?” I pressed.
I waited, but he didn’t answer.
I moved on to the next question. “So can you get someone to pick her up?”
“Mandalay’s already bringin’ her,” he offered. “The way Constance drives they’re probably already there.”
I tried to chuckle and it hurt. I winced, then coughed, and then winced again.
“What’re ya’ laughin’ at this time?” Ben asked.
“You talking about Mandalay’s driving,” I told him as I forced myself to relax in an attempt to deal with the aches. “Which one are you, the pot or the kettle?”
“Gimme a break.” He rolled his eyes and then sat quiet for a moment before taking on a serious tone once again. “So listen, Kemosabe, I need to talk to you about somethin’.”
“I’m sorry,” I told him. “I didn’t mean to insult your driving.”
“Not that.” He scrunched his face and waved a gauze-covered hand at me. “I think we need to get you and Felicity outta town for a while.”
“You mean you think I should run from this,” I said.
“The wingnut’s on a mission, Row,” he returned. “I think it would be the best way to go. Not just for you but for Felicity and everyone else too.”
I was chagrined. “So, it’s more like you want to get me out of the way before someone else gets hurt.”
“Yeah,” he admitted. “Maybe. I guess that’s part of it. But mostly it’s for you and Firehair.”
“What aren’t you telling me, Ben?” I asked.
“Man…” he let his voice trail off for a moment. “Row,… Jeez… Listen to me, Felicity’s with Mandalay so she’s safe, okay?”
I couldn’t keep the sharpness out of my voice. “Tell me what’s going on Ben.”
“The S.O.B. had already called Felicity’s cell phone when I got ahold of her. He told her you were dead and that she was next.”
CHAPTER 20:
I suppose it was a good thing that I had been strapped to the gurney. Not that anyone in the immediate vicinity was in any physical danger from me, of course, especially considering the shape I was in; but what my friend had said produced a result similar to that of mixing fire and gunpowder.
By the time it was all said and done, I couldn’t begin to remember everything I had said-or to be more accurate-screamed. What I could recall were several targeted expletives and a devout promise that I would kill Eldon Porter as soon as I had the chance. My rant lasted from its inception in the back of the ambulance, through the lobb
y of Emergency, and right on into the treatment room. It had finally taken the threat of sedation to get me to calm down.
In reality, all the threat did was get me to shut up, because calm I definitely was not.
“Jeezusaychchrist!” Ben made the exclamation in an almost monosyllabic burst as he jerked away from the doctor who was treating him. “Do ya’ think you stuck that damn thing in there far enough?!”
My friend had not allowed himself to be separated from me. He insisted that we be treated in the same room and had staunchly refused to have his sidearm secured anywhere other than within his immediate reach. As long as Porter was loose, he didn’t plan to take any chances, and he was less than trusting of the hospital’s security staff. In fact, he publicly referred to them as rent-a-cops, and he didn’t mean it in a good way. Not that it was any great consolation, but so far, he hadn’t been doing any better at making friends than me.
He was currently sitting in a chair with his hand resting on a small, wheeled table. The doctor was seated across from him and peering at the appendage through a magnifying lamp while working with a pair of tweezers. Fortunately, for Ben, those were the least dangerous looking of the stainless steel implements he had laid out on the side. Of course, that is probably one of the reasons that until his most recent exclamation, Ben had kept his eyes focused on the door instead of the procedure in front of him.
I was sitting on the end of the examination table watching the pair with only passing interest. Truth be told, I wasn’t really paying that much attention. I was still stewing about Porter’s call to my wife, and my brain was splitting its time between formulating a plan for revenge and processing the sensory input. Neither one seemed to be winning out, and all I was truly accomplishing was making my headache worse.
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