Pawn's Gambit

by Darin Kennedy

  “No,” Steven answered. “Audrey and I, we’re the ones who brought her in. We wanted to go back and check on her before we left.”

  “I’m sorry, but the nurses are pretty busy with her right now. I can give you an update on her current status if you like.”

  “Thanks,” Steven said, “but we just spoke to the nurse. Can we please just see her?”

  “I’m sorry. It’s against protocol and—”

  “Sir,” Archie interrupted, “my name is Father Archibald Lacan. This fine couple has asked me to come and pray over the girl. I know it’s unorthodox, but surely your staff can accommodate an old priest for a couple of minutes.” Both Audrey and Atkinson adopted quizzical expressions at Archie’s self-description, but the priest continued as if he didn’t notice. “The girl is Catholic and if her situation is as dire as I’ve been told, she deserves last rites.”

  Atkinson paused for a moment and then slipped into a smile Steven suspected he reserved for only the most frustrating hospital visitors. “Of course. I’ll go clear it with the charge nurse.”

  As Atkinson headed back into the ICU, Audrey caught Archie’s eye. “Old priest?”

  “Oh,” Archie said, glancing down at his hands, “that’s right.” His lips turned up in an innocent smile. “I may not look it at the moment but I’ve been around the block once or twice.”

  “We’ll explain later.” Steven turned back to Archie. “So, what’s next?”

  “As I’ve watched the events of the last three days unfold,” Archie said, “it’s become apparent that play of the Game is in part instinctive. I could be wrong, Steven, but I suspect you’d never handled a halberd before two days ago.”

  “Yeah,” Steven said, “always was more of a broadsword kind of guy. You think your healing whamma jamma might work the same way?”

  “Won’t know till I try. I hope—” Archie hushed himself as Dr. Atkinson reappeared and headed their way. “Why don’t we hear what the good doctor has to say?”

  “The nurses have just finished their assessment and the Cervantes girl is stable enough for a brief visit.” Atkinson wore a stern, yet earnest expression. “You’ll find her in Bay 2.”

  “Thanks,” Steven said.

  “Look.” Atkinson crossed his arms. “So there are no surprises, I want you all to understand she’s in pretty bad shape. We’ve cleaned her up as best we can, but her head and face are so swollen, I doubt you’ll recognize her.”

  “The nurse told us it was bad.” Audrey’s face drew up into a pained grimace. “She said they had to drill a hole in her skull.”

  Steven’s gaze shot to Audrey at this bit of information. “I didn’t know that part.”

  “Her head CT revealed a pretty significant bleed,” Atkinson said. “I think we were able to evacuate the clot in time, but we’ll have to give it some time and see how she does.”

  “Thank you for allowing us in,” Archie said. “We certainly appreciate all you and your staff have done to help.”

  “Yes.” Audrey smiled. “Thank you, Dr. Atkinson.”

  Steven nodded his agreement and shook Atkinson’s hand.

  “We’re all just doing our jobs.” Atkinson paused as he turned to head for the elevators and caught Archie’s eye with a grim stare. “Shape she’s in, Father, that girl could use some divine intervention.”

  Steven led them through the intensive care unit’s double doors and headed toward Lena’s room. Set up in a half wheel configuration, the ICU wrapped around a central nursing area, each of the twelve rooms opening on large bay windows that looked out on the green mountains of the Roanoke Valley. Only a couple of bays sat empty, the rest occupied with a zoo-like menagerie of the sickest of the sick.

  In one of the two rooms at the top of the key, Steven recognized the family who had received the bad news earlier. The girl with curly brown locks stood at the foot of the bed and watched solemnly as they passed, her previous carefree smile replaced by a look of profound desolation. Steven winked and raised a hand in a nonchalant salute as they passed, his warm gesture met with a cold stare.

  As the threesome came to Bay 2, they found Emilio propped up at Lena’s bedside in an old wheelchair of grey vinyl and chrome. Weeping over Lena’s motionless form, the boy was a shadow of the impetuous youth Steven had met two days before. He held Lena’s limp hand in his trembling grasp, the girl’s fingers as white as the hospital linens she lay beneath.

  “It’s us,” Steven said. “We would’ve come sooner, but we—”

  Emilio cut Steven off with a raised hand. “Wouldn’t have made a difference.”

  “How is she?” Audrey asked.

  “She’s dying.” His cracked voice little more than a harsh whisper, Emilio shot Steven a bloodshot glare. “I guess my brother bleeding to death in an alley wasn’t enough. Look at her. She’s so pale…” Emilio turned his head away and ran his forearm across his tear-filled eyes.

  Steven stepped into the room with Audrey in tow and did his best to stifle a gasp as the rest of Lena’s body came into view. Even with Atkinson’s warning fresh in their ears, the harsh reality was hard to stomach. Connected via a system of plastic tubes to a breathing machine that hissed intermittently as if alive, Lena’s battered face was a study in blue and purple. Her head wrapped in several yards of white gauze, her features were so swollen she barely looked human. Coupled with the uneven rise and fall of her fractured chest with each forced mechanical breath, Steven began to lose hope in anything Archie had to offer.

  “We’re here to help.” Steven did his best to keep the growing doubt out of his voice.

  Emilio lips curled up in a snarl. “I think Lena’s had about all the help she can take.”

  “Hang on, Emilio.” Steven gestured to his rear. “I’d like you to meet Archie. He’s… one of us. He thinks he can save Lena.”

  “One of us?” As Archie stepped into the room, Emilio shot out of his chair and went nose-to-nose with Steven. “So you found another sucker willing to listen to all of Grey’s crap?”

  “Young man,” Archie said. “Everything in this life happens for a reason, and within the confines of the Game, infinitely more so. Last night, three of you were destined to be at a particular place at a particular time, and by your noble efforts, Miss Richards here is still among the living. Now, the four of you have been brought to me. I believe I can make this right, if you’ll let me.”

  Emilio stared incredulous at Archie for a moment before fixing Steven with an angry glare. “Who the hell is this guy, and how is he spouting all this stuff?” His voice cracked in frustration as he turned his attention back on Archie. “What makes you think you can do anything to help Lena?”

  “My name is Archibald Lacan, priest by vocation and the White Bishop of this iteration of the Game. For years I have been haunted by visions of this struggle and have witnessed the many cruel turns this so-called Game can take. I have seen death come from life, and life from death. I have seen things I cannot fathom, much less put into words. I know about your brother, Emilio Cruz, the tough decisions you’ve made, your strength, your honor, your love for this girl. In many ways, I know you and the others better than my own family.” Archie sat on the bed next to Lena and took her bruised hand in his. “I’m not certain whether I can help Lena, but I do know I’m supposed to try.”

  “Then you don’t know anything.” Emilio turned and stared out the window.

  “I’m sorry, Emilio. The Sight has shown me everything up to the moment of my transfiguration this morning, but little beyond.” Archie grew pensive. “It’s strange. For weeks now, I’ve been going through the motions of events I’ve already seen, but now that the future is again a blank slate, the newness of each moment is what feels odd.

  “In that case,” Emilio asked, “how are you so sure you’re supposed to help her?”

  “Faith,” Archie said. “Belief without proof, conviction in the face of doubt, hope in the face of hopelessness. I have absolute faith this is what I’m supposed
to do.” Archie placed Lena’s hand in Emilio’s. “Can you have a little faith, Emilio Cruz?”

  Emilio stared down at Lena’s limp form a long moment and then leaned in and kissed her on the cheek. “Do it.”

  “How do we start?” Steven asked.

  “First,” Archie said, “we’ll need to get rid of the tube in her throat. It’s not natural. All the lines in her arms too. It all has to go.”

  Emilio turned to Archie, his expression incredulous. “Are you crazy? That tube is all that’s keeping her alive.”

  “Answer me this,” Archie said. “Last night, when you saw Steven and Audrey here about to burn at the Black Queen’s hand, how did you know your steed would allow you to jump as it did? Was your intent to drive headlong into a brick wall, or did you trust your gut?”

  “How could you know that?” Emilio’s wide eyes filled with understanding. “Doesn’t matter. What’s your point?”

  “My point is that in the last two days, you’ve relied on your instincts, and each time they’ve proven to be on target. What are those same instincts telling you now? Mine are telling me I can help Lena, but not as she is.” Archie turned to Steven. “Close the door, if you will.”

  Steven stepped past Audrey and made a quick survey of the nursing station. Lena’s nurse sat at one of the ubiquitous hospital computer terminals, her eyes riveted to the screen, her fingers dancing across the plastic keyboard. Of the remaining staff, only the cleaning lady paid Steven any mind, her grey eyebrow raised in a question mark as he slid closed the door to Lena’s room and pulled the curtain.

  “I don’t think we have much time,” Steven said. “What do you need us to do?”

  “Help me disconnect her from all this machinery,” Archie said. “Save the tube until the rest is done.” Steven and Audrey descended on Lena’s motionless form, pulling dripping IV’s from both forearms and one from her wrist. Two different machines began to beep.

  “Now for the last.” Archie stepped forward to pull the tube from her throat.

  “No.” Emilio grasped Archie’s wrist. “Let me do it.”

  “Are you sure?” Steven asked.

  “I’m sure.” Tears welled in Emilio’s eyes as he undid the tape at the corner of Lena’s mouth. His searching fingers found a small cannula that branched from the side of the tube. “Hand me a syringe,” he said, pointing to the small table by the bed.

  “How do you know what you’re doing?” Audrey asked.

  “I’ve watched the nurse adjust the tube,” Emilio answered. “Not to mention, growing up, we used to watch a lot of medical shows. Carlos wanted me to be a doctor.”

  Emilio connected a syringe to the tube and pulled the plunger. A hissing sound accompanied the next breath from the machine. “All right, Archie, you ready?”

  “As ready as I’m ever going to be.” The priest mouthed a short prayer and laid his hands on Lena’s brow and shoulder. “Pull it.”

  Emilio grasped the tube and withdrew it from Lena’s mouth. Immediately, the ventilator alarm went off, filling the room with a high-pitched whine. Lena’s chest fell and Steven’s heart sank when it didn’t rise again.

  “Okay,” Steven asked. “What now?”

  Archie didn’t answer.

  “Archie.” Steven shook the man by the shoulders. “What’s next?”

  “I’m… I’m not sure.” A flash of panic crossed the priest’s features.

  “You’re not sure?” Emilio grabbed the front of Archie’s shirt. “What do you mean you’re not sure?”

  “Nothing’s happening.” Beads of sweat broke on the priest’s forehead. “I don’t know.”

  “Her lips are turning blue.” Emilio said. “She’s not breathing. Do something.”

  “What’s going on in there?” a female voice shouted.

  The door slid open a crack.

  “Audrey,” Steven shouted, “keep them out.”

  Audrey threw her full weight against the door, forcing it closed as Steven grabbed Archie by the shoulders.

  “What’s next, Archie?” Steven shook the man. “Think. You were talking about instincts before. Follow your own.”

  Archie’s mouth worked in silent prayer, his fingers trembling as they caressed Lena’s battered cheek, the dusky color of her skin growing more pronounced with each passing second. Steven found himself holding his own breath as Emilio’s expression descended into sheer panic.

  “It’s not working.” Emilio’s voice filled with desperation. “She’s dying. Let the doctors back in. At least before, she was still breathing. Please let them in.”

  The hubbub beyond the door grew louder by the second. “Listen to the kid,” a male voice rumbled through the glass. “Let us in so we can help the girl.”

  As the door slid open an inch, a second, angry voice let them know security was on the way. A mop handle appeared in the crack, the improvised lever widening the gap with each passing second. Audrey dug in her heels and put her shoulder to the sliding door’s handle.

  “Whatever you’re going to do, hurry,” she shouted. “I can’t hold them.”

  Despite the doubts eating at the edge of his consciousness, Steven’s next words came out calmer than he would have dreamed possible. “Archie, we’re out of time. Lena’s out of time.”

  Archie looked up at Steven, the worry on his face more befitting the arthritis-ridden senior citizen from five floors down than the younger man who stood before him.

  Steven rested his hand on the man’s shoulder. “It has to be now.”

  The door slid open another inch. Several sets of hands appeared in the crack, knuckles white as they struggled against Audrey’s waning efforts.

  “They’re coming in,” Audrey shouted. “Steven, help me.”

  “Bring up the mist,” Steven shouted. “Anything. You’ve got to hold them.”

  “No.” The fear disappeared from Archie’s voice. “Let them come.” The priest’s eyes fastened on Steven’s, the despair in his gaze replaced with something like hope.

  “What have you got?” Steven asked.

  Emilio’s desperate gaze shifted between the two of them as Archie ignored Steven’s question and caught Audrey’s eye.

  “Audrey,” he said, “come away from the door. To make this work, I’m going to need your full attention.” Archie’s eyes slid closed. “Everything you have to give.”

  Audrey shot Steven a questioning glance. “But—”

  “Don’t worry about them,” Archie whispered, his voice calming with each word. “I need you over here. Lena needs you over here.”

  Audrey moved to join Archie at Lena’s bedside as the priest continued.

  “Steven, Emilio, you two as well. Gather round. If Lena’s to make it through this day, it’s going to take all of us.” With that admonition, the four of them so recently strangers, converged on Lena’s bed and interlocked hands, their faces resigned with a singular resolve that would not be denied.

  No sooner had Audrey let go the handle than the heavy glass door to Lena’s room slid open and a mob of nurses and doctors rushed in. In the lead was Lena’s nurse, followed by half a dozen others in white coats and scrubs. Their shouts filled the room, but only for a moment, their protests fading into a silence of shared understanding. Though the corporate cloak of anonymity surrounding the bed ensured the specifics would be forgotten, the wonder of that day was forever emblazoned on Steven’s mind and likely the mind of every person present.

  The spectacle went on for several minutes and everyone in the ICU that could move under their own power, patient and visitor alike, left their rooms to gather in the central atrium and stare awestruck at the sheer power evidenced in the room marked Bay 2. Shafts of silver-white radiance filled the space and pulsed in time to a strange chanting that came from everywhere and nowhere at once. A careful mélange of English, Greek, and Latin mixed with segments of language barely recognizable as human speech, the singsong incantation echoed through the hallways of the hospital, and more, through the
minds of all who heard it. In the years to follow, the event would come to be known as the Ninth Floor Miracle. Though anyone but the few present in the ICU that day dismissed the story as shared delusion or urban legend, the ones who were there knew they had witnessed something akin to the hand of God.

  A perplexed Dr. Atkinson stepped through the door to the ICU. After surveying the odd scene of doctors and nurses, patients and guests all wandering the space aimlessly, he pushed his way through the listless crowd and headed for the opposite end of the atrium. He rounded the top of the key and poked his head into the room where the Armstrong family had kept a silent vigil over their dying matriarch for the majority of the morning. This time, however, he was met with teary smiles and gratitude.

  “Dr. Atkinson, it’s a miracle. Mama woke up. Only for a minute or so, but she woke up.” Mrs. Armstrong’s eldest daughter rose to meet Atkinson at the door. Glancing across her shoulder at the monitor, the doctor sighed. The poor woman had finally, mercifully, passed.

  And yet…

  “She woke up?” Atkinson asked.

  “Yeah, Doc,” added a man Atkinson didn’t remember from earlier. “From what you told us this morning, we didn’t think we’d get the chance to say a proper goodbye.” The man shook Atkinson’s hand as Mrs. Armstrong’s daughter wrapped her arm around his stethoscope-wrapped neck and gave him an impromptu hug.

  “I think she was ready to go, but had a couple of things she wanted to say first. Even little Hannah got to say goodbye.”

  The doctor’s eyes stole across the room and found the six-year-old scribbling away at a coloring book with a couple of broken crayons, her curly brown locks now pulled back in pigtails. Looking up from her coloring, she gave the doctor a quick wave.

  “You’re saying her grandmother spoke to her.” Atkinson’s brow furrowed. “And you could understand her?”

  “Understand her?” the man asked, his tone as incredulous as Atkinson’s. “She looked at Ginny there and told her she loved her, said her goodbyes to everyone, even told Hannah to keep the diamond ring Paps gave her for her wedding someday. ‘Something to remember me by,’ she said. Yeah, Doc. We understood her.”