Tahoe Deathfall

by Todd Borg

If I ran away, I’d likely escape without difficulty. But then they’d be suspicious of all strangers. In the morning I might be denied a visit to Alicia Salazar. If instead I sprinted toward the hospital, something they wouldn’t expect, I could hide near the building and maybe find my way in.

  I was halfway there when the main door opened and two guards spilled out into the flood-lit night, guns in their hands. Sprinting, I dove for a group of bushes near a service door. I was scrambling under the scratchy foliage when the adjacent door opened and another guard ran out. He too had a gun. He swept a large flashlight beam across the landscape and talked on his radio. “This is Clint at the laundry door. I don’t see anything. I’m going around to the west side.” His light grazed my hiding place. Then he moved off. I thought about their guns. They were out of place even in a hospital that locks up crazy people.

  I squeezed out from under the bushes and ran up to the laundry door. It was locked. If I jimmied it with my tire iron, they would know someone was in the building as soon as the guard came back. I wanted them to think it was a false alarm, so I retreated to the bushes and waited.

  The guard came back, put a key in the door and went in. This time I was ready. I left my tire iron in the bushes and ran up to the door. Just as it was closing, I slipped my business card into the door jamb. The door shut with a solid sound. No one would know that the latch wasn’t engaged.

  I stood in the dark for three long minutes and then pulled open the door and stepped inside. The door closed behind me.

  I was in a bright room permeated with the smell of hot cotton towels. There were large stainless steel washers and dryers. On a counter were stacks of folded sheets. A door at the other end of the room was closed. I crept across the linoleum tile, ready to grab and subdue anyone who appeared.

  When I got to the other door I put my ear to the metal and listened. Nothing. I turned the knob, pulled the door toward me and peeked out.

  There was a long corridor that looked like every hospital corridor I’d ever been in. White tile floor, acous­tic tile ceiling, pastel green walls. The doors in the hallway had windowpanes in them and the hallway lights were dimmed, no doubt out of concern for the people sleeping in the rooms. Down near the other end of the hall were the bright lights of a nurse’s station. A female nurse in a white uniform moved in and out of my sight. I froze against the wall. A male nurse appeared. The two nurses talked. A guard ran up from an adjoining hall, shouted something, then ran away. The nurses moved out of sight.

  I stayed against one wall as I moved down the hall­way.

  I pulled my flea-market badge out of my wallet and clipped it on my windbreaker. Nerves made my breathless demeanor real as I rushed up to the nurse’s station. “Did Graham come by here?” I said.

  The female nurse jerked her head up from her computer screen. “Oh! You scared me!”

  “Sergeant Graham? Short, wide guy with a mous­tache?” I held my hands out to approximate his size.

  Her eyes went to my badge.

  “Sergeant Graham!” I barked. “You see him?”

  She shook her head. “No, I...”

  The male nurse behind her looked up from the wastebasket where he was clipping his nails. “Naw, man. We heard the siren, but nobody been here but our own guards.”

  “Damn!” I said under my breath. “Frost and Baum­garten are on the main entrance, I’m covering the west entrance and Graham is supposed to be in the center corri­dor!” I stomped around for effect. “I better run up to her room myself. The doc will be there, but what if Graham isn’t with him?! Where is it?” I demanded. “Which floor?”

  “Excuse me, officer, I don’t know what you mean.”

  “Of course you do! They said you were all alerted! Christ, I can’t remember. The woman the perp’s after!” I paced the floor in front of them. “Alice something.” I clicked my fingers as I paced. “With a Z. No, it was S. Alice... Her doctor told me himself. Salazar, that’s it! What floor? Her doctor is with her.”

  “Sir, Dr. Hauptmann is in Baltimore at a medical conference.”

  “No, he isn’t! Two minutes ago he was driven here from the airport by Captain Meyer, blue lights flashing, and three other cops besides me watched him get out of the squad and run into this hospital! Now what floor is she on?”

  “I’m sorry, sir. Alicia Salazar is in maximum secu­rity. Unless I have Dr. Hauptmann’s permission, I’m not allowed to...”

  I leaned over the counter and poked my forefinger into the soft flesh at the hollow of her throat. “If Alice Salazar is being butchered into pieces while you’re sitting on your fat ass quoting me the rule book, I’ll personally escort you to Judge Rivera.” I scrambled around the counter and lifted her up by her sleeve. “Take me to Dr. Hauptmann and Alice Salazar!”

  The woman whimpered, grabbed her keys off the desk and led me away. I turned back to the man who had been clipping his nails. “You see Graham, you tell him to watch this corridor!”

  The woman led me toward the elevator.

  “We don’t have time,” I said. “Where’s the stairs?”

  She turned, whimpering, and walked over to a metal door. I jerked it open and we trotted up two floors. The nurse put a key in the door and let us into a darkened hallway like the one on the main floor.

  “Which room?” I said in her ear. She didn’t answer me. “Which room!” I yelled.

  She jumped at the volume. “Three-fourteen.” She was frightened. “I don’t see Dr. Hauptmann,” she cried.

  “He’s obviously in Alice’s room trying to protect her. Hurry!”

  When we got to room 314, the nurse quickly put her face to the window. “He’s not there! Dr. Hauptmann isn’t there!” She was hysterical.

  I held onto her sleeve and grabbed the key she was holding. I put it in the lock and turned the knob.

  The nurse resisted me as I dragged her into the dark room and ran my hand across the inside wall feeling for a light switch. There was none. Then I remembered seeing a switch on the wall in the hallway. I reached back outside the door, found it and flipped it on, suddenly enraged at the loss of liberty for the residents of the rooms.

  I turned and pushed the struggling nurse into the room. I was vaguely aware of a figure cowering on the bed, sheets pulled tight to her neck, when I was struck on the side of my head.

  I went down.

  As my consciousness flickered, my rage exploded. I raked my arm out as I hit the floor. My hand struck fabric over hard bone. I clenched my eyes shut, concentrating on awareness, and took hold of the fabric. I jerked on the cloth and rolled to give an extra pull. A heavy man fell to the floor next to me.

  He grabbed me and pummeled me with his fists. I held him in a bear hug. My fury about the mis-located light switch was clearing my head. I jerked up and jammed the hulking figure into the wall. He clambered to his feet. But I was already up.

  The guard before me was nearly my height and had 30 pounds on me. He had the posture and steps that indicated some experience fighting. He was mad. But I was enraged. I didn’t wait for his move. I put two solid punches in his gut. A jab to his chin moved his head back. My hook was inelegant, but it bounced his head against the wall and he slid quietly to the floor.

  I slipped the guard’s handcuffs off his belt, grabbed the nurse and attached her wrist to his ankle. I found the handcuff key on the guard’s key ring and put it in my pocket. I turned to the poor frightened figure on the bed.

  She looked like Jennifer, but twenty years older and twenty pounds thinner. Her face was gaunt with dark brown eyes as large as those of a cancer victim. She had coarse, shiny black hair, cut just below her ears. She pulled away in fear as I reached for her.

  “You can’t!” the nurse said. “She’s due for her med­icine. She must have it!”

  I didn’t know about schizophrenia, but I knew that whatever the woman before me was on, it wasn’t good for her. And what Immanuel had said had me dou­bly suspicious. I held my hand out. “Come on,” I said to
the emaciated woman. “Time to go.”

  She looked at me, her huge eyes sad and confused and afraid. She didn’t move.

  “You’re going home,” I said. “You’re daughter is waiting for you.”

  “Don’t listen to him!” the nurse screamed. “He’s a kidnapper! Don’t listen!”

  The woman’s mouth moved, but no sound came out.

  I stepped closer. “Trust me. I’m here to take you away from this prison. I’m taking you to your daughter. She’s fourteen now. She wants to see you.”

  She mouthed a silent word. Then again. “Jenny,” she said on her third effort. “Jenny?” Her eyes were watery.

  “My name is Owen, Alicia. Jenny hired me to find you, to take you home. Come.” I took her frail, skinny hand in mine. She shifted toward the edge of the bed.

  “No!” the nurse screamed. “Dr. Hauptmann will be outraged. She has to have her medicine!”

  At the word medicine, Alicia’s eyes became alarmed. She looked in fear toward the nurse.

  “No more medicine,” I said in a calm voice. “I won’t let them give you any more medicine.” I bent down and spoke quietly to the nurse. “If you say one more word, I’ll hit you.” The nurse quivered and said nothing more.

  The door opened and another guard rushed in.

  “What is going on here?” he yelled as the door shut.

  I kneed him in the groin. He bent over, gasping. I grabbed his hair and pulled his chin down onto my rising knee. He fell limp to the floor.

  I turned back to Alicia. She was sitting on the edge of the bed. The sheets were off. She was wearing a pale blue cotton dress that came to just below her knees. Her feet were bare. I reached for her hands and pulled her to her feet. She was wobbly. I shot a warning glance toward the nurse who kept quiet. Then I quickly led Alicia to the door, stepping over the unconscious guards on the floor.

  The corridor was empty. Alicia and I did a fast, lurching walk toward the stairwell. I opened the door and heard voices. I let the door shut and pulled Alicia toward the window at the end of the hall.

  It had tempered windowpanes with security wires imbedded in the glass. It was also locked. I gently moved Alicia back and aimed my best sidekick at the sill. The entire panel, glass and metal rim exploded outward.

  Shouts came from the stairwell. The door burst open.

  “Come,” I said to Alicia. “Jenny is this way. I’ll carry you.” Before she could respond I picked up all one hundred pounds of her and carried her to the broken win­dow.

  There was a ten foot drop to a roof. My choices were limited. Several guards were running toward us. I swung a leg over the shattered sill, leaned forward and got my body and Alicia’s through the opening. I whispered in her ear. “Alicia, put your head next to me and hold very tight.” In a miracle of faith she tucked her head to my chest and squeezed her arms feebly. I swung both legs over.

  My right arm held Alicia. My left hand gripped the window sill. Broken glass ground into my finger tendons. I clutched Alicia’s body as I let go.

  We hit the roof and crumpled. Alicia spilled from my grasp. She cried out as she rolled across the coarse roof stones. I scrambled to my feet as the guards got to the win­dow. I made a motion with my hand as if I were drawing a gun. They ducked back from the opening. Alicia struggled to her feet. I picked her up and ran across the roof. She held tight and made no sound. Gunfire erupted from behind and above us.

  We came to the edge of the roof. It was another twenty feet to the ground. The guards shouted. I scram­bled along the edge of the roof until we came to an access ladder.

  A door opened. Silhouetted against the light I saw several guards run out onto the roof. There were now six or eight of them running toward us. Alicia bowed her head and clung to me. The guards fired more shots, but didn’t hit us.

  We struggled down the ladder. Then I ran with her across the flood-lit grounds. When the lights in front of the main entrance lined up, I turned to look for the red light down in Hollybrook.

  It wasn’t there. I stood motionless, astonished. Then it suddenly flashed. I ran toward it as shouts rose up behind me. I didn’t look back until I reached the fence and dumped Alicia in the dirt.

  My lungs burned. I sucked air as men with flash­lights filled the landscape behind us. My opening in the fence was not there. I ran left and then right. Then I remembered that I’d pushed the fence partway back to the ground. I looked again. It was directly in front of me.

  I grabbed the chain-link fencing and jerked up. It rose ten or twelve inches, making a good space above the depression where I’d dug the dirt. “Alicia,” I said. “We’re going under the fence. Can you crawl? I’ll hold it up while you crawl.”

  Searchlights suddenly fell onto us. I continued to hold the fence. I saw Alicia look at me, her eyes lit by the searchlights. In her eyes was more fear and pain than any human should have to endure. But I was amazed at her resolve despite her drugged state. She dropped to the ground and slid under the fence. I followed and, realizing that her bare feet were not up to rigors of the desert, I picked her up once again and carried her off.

  TWENTY-EIGHT