Deviation, Breaking the Pattern #1

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  HENRY LOOKED AT THE article in the paper. He couldn’t believe the picture of Adrienne that they had used. It was awful. What did they do, take the picture off of her drivers license? She was a beautiful model. Even if she was just an amateur, there must have been hundreds of flattering photos of her out there. Photos that would reproduce well in the paper.

  Henry approached his teacher with the newspaper in hand.

  “Mrs. Clark? Isn’t this the lady that modeled for us that day?” he questioned.

  Mrs. Clark turned to him and looked down at the paper. Her eyes were swollen and red-rimmed. She sniffled and shook her head, pressing her fingers to her temples.

  “Yes,” she agreed. “It’s just so horrible. I can’t understand how something like this could happen. Who would do something so awful?”

  “Yeah,” Henry agreed quietly. He hesitated to go on. “The pictures that they’re printing are really bad,” he pointed out. “Do you think… I have some good ones. Black and whites. They’d be great for the papers.”

  Mrs. Clark considered it, looking down at the newspaper in Henry’s hand.

  “You did some head shots?” she questioned.

  “Yeah.”

  “Well, I don’t know. I guess it’s a chance for you to get some exposure.”

  He could tell she didn’t like the idea of him capitalizing on her friend’s murder. It was just so gruesome.

  “Maybe if there’s better pictures in the paper, there’s a better chance of them catching the killer,” he suggested. “Somebody might recognize her face, when they couldn’t from this one.”

  “Yes,” the frown lightened a little, “if they could find this guy… it’s the least that we could do for her.

  Richards came by to pick up the pictures. Henry had them ready in an envelope, hoping to get rid of Richie at the door. But the other boy pushed his way in anyway. He sprawled on the couch, opening the envelope and looking through the prints. He said nothing, chewing and cracking his gum, looking through them slowly, one at a time. He eventually nodded and slid them back into the envelope.

  “Much better, you’ve got the hang of it now,” he approved.

  The pictures were disgusting. Henry hated them. He wanted them out of his apartment. Richards pulled out a wad of cash and threw it on the table, perhaps sensing Henry wouldn’t want to take it directly from him. Henry looked at the carelessly discarded bundle of hundreds, and alarm bells went off in his head.

  “If those are p-notes, try again,” he told Richards sharply.

  Richie’s jaw dropped in astonishment. He stared at Henry for a moment and started laughing.

  “You’re learning pretty quick, aren’t you?” he questioned, stifling his giggles and picking up the hundreds. He took out another bundle and carefully counted off twenties. He left them loose on the table. “There you go, Specs. Genuine t-bills.”

  T for treasury, meaning real currency. Henry waited for Richie to leave. Looking at the money on the table, he realized he could buy some good photography equipment now. Richards started to get up, and he saw the newspaper on the table, with Adrienne’s picture front and center.

  “Shame, she was actually pretty good-looking, huh?” Richards commented, studying Adrienne’s picture. “Shame when a cute chickie like that gets offed for no reason.”

  Henry started to panic. His heart raced and he could barely breathe. He tried to look casual, while sweat trickled down his back. Richards was looking at the picture for too long. Too intently. Henry moved into the kitchenette behind Richards.

  “You got what you wanted,” Henry said roughly. “Don’t you have someone else to harass?

  “No.” Richards slowly raised his eyes from the paper. “This is one of yours, ain’t it Specs?”

  Richie started to turn around to look at Henry, his eyes glinting.

  “Ain’t this your flame?” he taunted.

  He turned the rest of the way around, grinning like a wolf. Henry was right behind him with the kitchen knife that he had just dried off, and Richards practically walked into the blade.

  Henry looked at the clock and noted the time. He was going to have to move fast. Bobby would be waking up from his nap soon. And though Richards had not brought any muscle with him since that first day, there might still be someone close by, waiting for him to come back.

  Henry kicked Richie from the carpet to the floor, so that he wouldn’t bleed into the rug. Richards made a strangled gurgling sound and moved jerkily. Henry went to the closet and took out his raincoat. He took it over to Richards and threaded his arms through it and did up the buttons in the front. It was awkward, but the really difficult task was still coming.

  “Come on, man, let’s get you some help,” he encouraged. A gleam of hope came into Richards’ dying eyes, and he managed to raise some strength to help Henry get him back on his feet. He was weak and heavy. “Come on, we’ll get you to a doctor,” Henry said, and with great effort he was able to half-drag, half-carry Richards down the outside hall and to the stairs. The stairs took even greater, herculean effort. He kept murmuring to Richards, encouraging him, trying to keep him moving his feet and taking a little of his weight. He prayed that they wouldn’t run into anyone in the stair well. But people were pretty lazy, they didn’t usually use the stairs.

  They finally reached the basement, and Henry dropped Richards to the floor.

  “Good job,” he approved.

  Henry mopped the floor and put the bloody cloths and raincoat in the garbage. He looked at the calendar. It would not be garbage day until Thursday. He would have to wait to take it out. It couldn’t sit out there in the bin, where it might attract attention or be discovered by the police.

  Bobby woke up, and Henry gave him a snack, looking around the apartment for anything that was still out of place. Everything was quiet. The money was still on the table. Henry picked it up and put it in his room in his cash box. He went back to the living room. There was a loud knock on the door. Henry took his time answering it. It was Hans.

  “I thought Richie was coming,” Henry challenged.

  Hans looked confused.

  “He didn’t come?” he asked, glancing around.

  “He said he’d be here an hour ago,” Henry said impatiently. Henry handed the envelope of photos to Hans. “I’ve been waiting around.”

  Hans took the package uncertainly, as if he didn’t know what to do with it.

  “You have the money?” Henry questioned. “I’m supposed to be paid for both jobs.”

  Hans hesitated, and reached into his pocket. He pulled out a money clip and thumbed some bills off. More hundred dollar p-notes. Henry took them without comment. He had all of Richards p-notes, t-bills, and now p-notes from Hans too. Not a bad profit for a couple of photo shoots.

  “Richie never came?” Hans questioned with a frown.

  “No.”

  “He came into the building. I saw that.”

  “He never came up here. I was here the whole time, waiting. Did he have someone else to see?”

  “Yeah, but she—” Hans stopped himself and clamped his mouth shut. He didn’t know what to do. He was obviously not picked for his brains. He looked around the apartment, lost.

  “If he shows up… tell him to call me,” Henry said.

  “Sure,” Hans said faintly.

  Hans left, looking forlorn like a lost child. Henry waited for the door to close, and grinned to himself. He was just getting warmed up.

  Henry didn’t know how often anyone went into the basement, so he didn’t know how long it would be before the body was discovered and the police showed up. He thought it might even be a few days, but by nightfall there were sirens and flashing lights on the street in front of the building. They knocked on his door while he was putting Bobby to bed. Henry answered the door, leaving the chain on.

  “Yeah?”

  “Police. We’d like to ask you a few questions.”

  “Umm, okay.”

  He closed
the door to take the chain off, and then opened it up for them.

  “I have to check on the baby. Have a seat for a second.”

  They sat down by the table and waited. Henry checked in on Bobby, patting him on the back and turning on his music player. Bobby’s eyes were already closing. Henry watched him for a few minutes, and then went back out to talk to the cops.

  They stood up for introductions when he returned.

  “Officers Dawson and Cruz,” Dawson told him, shaking hands.

  “Henry Thompson.”

  “Are your folks in?” Dawson questioned.

  “I live by myself. Just me and my son.”

  “Oh,” they readjusted their thinking. “Have you been in all day?”

  “Yeah, most of the day,” Henry agreed.

  “Have you had any visitors?”

  “Yeah.” They waited for more, and Henry shrugged. “What’s going on?”

  “We are investigating a murder in the building.”

  “Really? Whoa. I didn’t hear anything. Was it on this floor?”

  “We don’t have a lot of information yet. We’re just trying to find out who was around when, and if anyone heard or saw anything suspicious,” Dawson explained.

  Henry nodded.

  “You see anyone in the hallway? Neighbors, people from around, someone you didn’t know?”

  “I don’t know. I went down to get the mail…” Henry thought back, but couldn’t remember seeing anyone. “Maybe saw someone from the building, but nothing out of place.”

  “Is that the only time you went out?”

  “Umm, I took the garbage out when Bobby was sleeping this afternoon. I didn’t see anyone then, I don’t think. Things are pretty quiet in the afternoon.”

  “And you had company.”

  “Just a casual friend. Guy who lives in the neighborhood. Came by to see if I wanted some movie tickets for the new Disney,” Henry pointed to them on the table. I just see him in the building sometimes, he knows I have a kid, so…”

  “What’s his name?” Dawson questioned.

  “Mmm, Hans or something. A German name.”

  “That’s not a terribly common name,” Dawson said thoughtfully.

  “Is he in one of the gangs?” Cruz suggested.

  They knew who Hans was. Henry hadn’t expected them to recognize him just by his name. Henry displayed shock, giving them a wide-eyed innocent stare.

  “In a gang? Gee, not that I know of. But I don’t really know anything about him. I guess he could be. I don’t know how I would find out.”

  “Unless you were in one too.”

  Henry laughed.

  “Me? Do I look like a gang-banger to you? I’m a student and a single parent. I don’t have time for extra-curricular activities.”

  “You obviously had some time for extra-curricular activities before your son was born,” Dawson took over questioning him again.

  “Yeah, girls, not gangs. I made a mistake once and I’m paying for that for the next seventeen years.”

  “Yeah. So besides this Hans, no one else came by?” Dawson said.

  “No, not that I remember.”

  “Didn’t run any errands? Buy milk or go to the park?”

  “No. Not today. I had stuff to do around here.”

  “If you think of something, even if it’s something small, will you give us a call?” Dawson palmed a business card and gave it to him.

  “Yeah, sure,” Henry agreed.

  They left, appearing to suspect nothing.

  Henry dialed the phone. It rang a few times, then someone picked it up.

  “Yeah?” the male voice questioned sharply.

  “Who’s this?” Henry questioned.

  “Marco. Who do you want?”

  “Is Richie there?” Henry tried.

  “No. Who’s this?”

  “What about Hans?” Henry suggested.

  “Yeah, he’s here. Who is it?”

  “Uh, Specs.”

  “Hang on.”

  There was silence for a few minutes while he was on hold, and then Hans answered.

  “Specs?” he queried. “Richie show up there?” he asked hopefully.

  “No. I was just calling to warn him. There was a murder in the building today, cops were just by.”

  “Murder? Who cares?”

  “Well, they asked if I had any visitors and I said you, in case someone saw you here…”

  “Well, that was bright,” Hans said sarcastically. “What’d you tell them I was there for?”

  “I said you had some movie tickets for Disney, and you brought them for Bobby.”

  “What would I do that for?” Hans questioned incredulously.

  “You happened to get some tickets. I don’t know how, some kind of prize or promotion, or maybe some poor sap you mugged, and who else do you know with a kid?”

  “Gee, maybe my ma, Specs. Or maybe my girl. Think, why don’t you?”

  “How was I supposed to know? It seemed like a good reason to me.”

  “The only reason I’d give you tickets is if I wanted you to owe me for something. And what would I want from you, other than pictures? You obviously don’t want them savvy to that scam,” Hans pointed out.

  Henry thought quickly.

  “A favor… like introducing you to a girl or something?”

  “What girls do you know?” Hans jeered.

  “I know girls. I do the teen parent thing at school. I’m the only guy in a class full of girls. And they’ve all been knocked up so they must have something going for them. Some of them are pretty hot, and they’re all friends with me because they figure I’m responsible.”

  Hans considered this in silence for a minute.

  “All right,” he agreed. “I’ll go for that if they show up. I gave you free tickets ‘cause I want you to set me up with some hot chick you know.”

  “Okay,” Henry was relieved that Hans had agreed to the story. “Thanks.”

  “Yeah. See you later.”

  Henry was fast asleep when a pounding on the door awoke him. He got up groggily, rubbing his eyes. It couldn’t be the cops; how would they already be on his trail? He put on his glasses and opened the door a crack. Hoods. More of Marty’s boys, or was this something new? Henry was careful and kept the chain on.

  “Who is it?” he questioned hoarsely.

  They didn’t appear to be in the mood for conversation. One of them put his shoulder to the door, snapping the chain and smashing the door into Henry’s face.

  “Ow!” Henry yelled and held his face. “What’re you trying to do?”

  They grabbed him roughly, grunting and growling. Henry frantically tried to pull away.

  “What’s this about? Come on—I got a baby to look after, just tell me what you want!”

  “You come, or we drag you,” one of them growled, hauling on Henry’s arm. They were two big bruisers, and Henry didn’t doubt that they might be packing weapons too.

  “I can’t leave the baby alone,” Henry said, a bit of a whine creeping into his voice. He had just woken up, his face hurt, and he hated to be bullied.

  “Listen,” one of them stuck his face right in front of Henry’s. “You’re coming. If you’re gonna cause trouble, you’re gonna be sorry. Now what’s it gonna be?”

  “I just don’t—” Henry started to protest again, and the big hood hauled off and hit him. A closed fist, not an open hand, right in the nose. Henry yelped, and his knees buckled with the pain. Bright lights and dark spots danced in front of his eyes. He swore, tears welling up and overflowing down his cheeks. They dragged him out of the apartment and down the hall. They didn’t bother trying to negotiate the stairs with him struggling between them. They just pushed him down the first flight. Henry staggered to his feet on the landing, breathing heavily. He didn’t have to be told they’d throw him down the next flight if he didn’t co-operate. He held the handrail and unsteadily went down the remaining two flights on his feet. The two thugs grabbed him again
at the bottom and dragged him out to a car. He was pushed into the back seat and driven somewhere not too far away, and taken down to the basement of some building.

  Hans was there, along with a couple of other gang members. The thugs let go of Henry. He held his face, feeling the puffiness of his nose.

  “That goon broke my nose,” Henry complained. He knew it was broken. That grating, and the pain, he’d done it before. A football accident, he’d told his teacher at the time. Henry’s eyes were still swimming and he was swallowing putrid blood from his nose. He tried to lean forward so it would drip down his face instead of down his throat.

  “Did I tell you to rough him up?” Hans demanded. “If anyone asks, you just tell’em you got mugged,” Hans told Henry.

  Henry sniffled.

  “You told them to bring me? Why didn’t you just come see me in the morning?”

  “I can’t afford to be seen there. You already told them I was there, so they’ll suspect me first.”

  “Suspect you in what?” Henry questioned.

  “Richie’s murder.”

  “Richie was murdered too?” Henry allowed a couple of beats to connect it up. “Oh, you mean he was the one killed in my building?” he asked incredulously.

  “Like you didn’t already know that,” Hans growled.

  “How would I know?”

  “You think I’m gonna think it was the girl? You’re the one that killed him. What for? Because of the pictures? I just don’t get it!”

  “What girl?” Henry questioned. His mind was still reeling and Hans wasn’t making much sense. The girl? What did a girl have to do with Richie’s murder?

  “The girl Richie saw before you, Specs. You stoned or what?”

  That girl.

  “I just woke up, got hit in the face, and thrown down the stairs,” Henry snapped. “Sorry if I’m a little groggy!”

  Hans walked closer to him.

  “Why’d you do it? Huh? What’d Richie ever do to you to deserve that?”

  “I didn’t even see him. He never showed up!”

  “You’re lying. He left the girl’s place, went up to see you, and you took him down to the basement and killed him!” Hans accused.

  “Why would I take him to the basement?” Henry demanded.

  “To kill him!”

  “Why would he go with me?”

  Hans frowned. He looked at the other guys. Henry wondered what they were. Lieutenants? Advisers? Observers? More thugs? They just looked at Hans and said nothing.

  Hans couldn’t answer Henry’s question. Why would Richie go down to the basement with him? There was no logical explanation.

  “He’d only go with someone he trusted,” Henry suggested. “Like someone from the gang.”

  “You trying to frame me? You tell the cops I was there, and then you say it was someone from the gang? What’re you trying to do?” Hans said frantically.

  “You’re trying to implicate me,” Henry pointed out. “I didn’t kill anyone. I don’t even own a gun.”

  “A gun?” Hans repeated blankly. “Who said anything about a gun?”

  “I just figured, you know, gang banger gets killed, it’s usually a shooting.”

  Again, Hans exchanged looks with the observers in consternation. He pulled a knife out of his pocket and switched it open.

  “Just who do you think you’re messing with, Specs?” He put the tip of the knife against Henry’s throat. “Don’t think you can pull the wool over my eyes. You are gonna tell me what happened. Everything. And why. And maybe then I’ll turn you over to the cops and not kill you right here.”

  Henry swallowed.

  “I never killed anyone,” he said evenly. “How would I kill a professional like Richie? How many guys have tried before? He’s savvy, he’s suspicious. How does a geek like me overcome a guy like that?”

  The blade bit into him. In a reflex motion, Henry raised his hand to push it away. The two thugs that had brought him in jumped forward and grabbed him. They twisted Henry’s arm painfully hard behind his back, making him cry out.

  “I didn’t have anything to do with it! Just let me go.”

  “Tell me what you did,” Hans insisted.

  “Nothing! I waited for him. He never showed up. You came and I finished the deal with you.”

  Hans hit him, the knife in his hand. Everything swam before Henry’s eyes.

  Henry woke up with his face on the pavement. He wasn’t sure how he had gotten there, or where exactly he was. A strong hand was shaking his shoulder.

  “Come on, get up there,” a voice urged gruffly. “Get off the doorstep.”

  Henry rolled over groggily. He tried to grip the concrete with his hands to keep the world from spinning out of control. It was useless.

  “Get up, kid.”

  His whole body screamed with pain. He groaned a protest.

  “Let’s get you on your feet.”

  Henry tried to get up, strong hands helping him to his feet. He leaned against the rough brick of the building, sobbing and trying to swim out of the pain and back to the outside world. He could process only disjointed images. It was still night. Big fingers grasped his chin, turning his head until blinding light ripped through his brain. Henry moaned.

  “It’s him,” the voice said. Great. Someone else who was looking for him. “Can you make it up the stairs to your apartment?”

  Henry shook his head hopelessly, tears streaming down his face from the pain and the bright light. The light moved out of his eyes. Henry’s nose was either running or still bleeding. He sniffled, trying not to sob aloud.

  “Come here. Sit down.”

  He was guided to the steps and lowered into a sitting position. The men waited quietly for him to settle down. Henry breathed deeply, trying to calm the pain. He tried to stop his body from shaking and shuddering. Even breathing deeply hurt. Eventually Henry raised his head from his hands to see who the men were. Dawson and Cruz, the cops. Henry swore and lowered his head again.

  “You wanna tell us what happened?” Dawson questioned.

  “Got mugged,” Henry groaned, going with the first thing that came to his mind. The story that Hans said to use.

  “Or maybe Hans found out you put him in the building and sent some goons after you,” Cruz commented.

  Henry didn’t answer this.

  “You should see a doctor,” Dawson said.

  “Yeah,” Henry agreed.

  “You want us to take you to the clinic or the hospital?”

  Henry nodded. He swallowed, trying to steady his voice.

  “Bobby—he’s alone.”

  “Your son?” Cruz questioned.

  “Yeah.”

  “I’ll go get him. Where’s your keys?”

  Henry felt his pockets, then found he was wearing his pajamas and had no keys or wallet with him.

  “I don’t have them. Maybe the super…? It might still be unlocked. Oh—what if it’s unlocked, and someone could go in there—”

  “Don’t panic,” Dawson soothed. “Cruz will go up and get him right now. He’ll break down the door if he has to.”

  Henry rested his head in his hands while he waited. His mind drifted, and he had to be shaken awake again when Cruz returned.

  “I got Bobby. He’s safe,” Cruz said. “The door was unlocked, but it was shut. No one has been in there, judging by the fact that your TV was still there.”

  Henry whispered a brief prayer of thanks.

  “Let’s get you to a doctor now.”

  “Yeah,” Henry agreed, and Dawson put a strong arm around Henry’s waist, pulling him to his feet. Henry groaned, fighting the pain and trying to stay conscious. He blacked out somewhere between the building and the car.

  It didn’t hurt so much when Henry woke up again. His head was foggy, thick with painkillers. He felt his bruised face with cautious fingers. It was badly swollen, and tender even through the narcotics. His broken nose had been set.

  “How do you feel?” a voice questi
oned.

  Henry turned his head slowly. Dawson was sitting in a chair beside him, rubbing the bridge of his nose in a tired gesture.

  “Sore, Woozy.”

  “I bet,” Dawson agreed, “you look like a prizefighter.”

  Henry looked for a mirror. There were bruises on his arms, which were lying on top of the sheets.

  “What did they do to you?” Dawson questioned.

  Henry didn’t know what to say. Was he supposed to stick to the mugging story? Hadn’t Dawson already guessed it was Hans?

  “Where’s Bobby?” he questioned, stalling.

  “He’s okay. There’s a daycare.”

  “Good.”

  “You’re black and blue from head to toe. It’s obvious that it was the gang. What exactly did they do?”

  “Threw me down the stairs, for starters,” Henry said.

  “Yep, that’s exactly what it looks like. What’d they want from you?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Just didn’t like you putting Hans in the building?”

  “I dunno.”

  “Come on. You’re not in trouble. If the gang did this to you for saying Hans was around, there’s good reason to think that Hans has something to hide. Don’t you think?” Dawson coaxed.

  “I don’t know.”

  “So you’re going to let him get away with it?”

  Henry nodded. He closed his eyes and fell back asleep.

  Henry was more sore after going home than he had been at the hospital. The drugs they gave him to take home were not nearly as strong as those he had been on. He hobbled around stiffly, stopping to rest every minute or two. Sometimes when he stopped to rest, he couldn’t get himself moving again for another hour or more. His body felt like a lump of molten lead. Fiery with pain. Too heavy to drag around.

  The super grudgingly fixed the chain on his door, and gossiped about the police and the body found in the basement. Henry fed Bobby some cut up apples for supper and put him in his crib, hoping to get to bed early. There was a knock on the door. Henry’s heart started beating hard. He went to the door, breaking out in a cold sweat.

  “Who’s there?” he questioned, through the door. He wasn’t going to take the chance of opening the door this time, even with the chain on. He wished there was a peephole.

  “It’s Sandy.”

  Henry opened the door cautiously with the chain on to make sure that it was her, and that she was alone. He saw her and took the chain off.

  “Hi.”

  She walked in and went into the kitchen.

  “I heard about your trouble with John’s gang,” she commented, looking him over. “You’re an awful mess.”

  “I know.”

  She started cleaning up the mess in the kitchen that Henry hadn’t had the energy to work on. Henry opened his mouth to protest, then changed his mind and sank into the armchair, and watched her, exhausted.

  “Did you have something to eat?” Sandy questioned.

  “No appetite.”

  “You have to have something,” she said, and started looking through cupboards. “Will you eat mac and cheese?”

  “There’s no milk.”

  “I can make it without. We’ll just add something else to it,” she checked the fridge. “Salsa?”

  “Sure.”

  She continued to clean up while cooking his dinner. She handed him the pasta in a bowl with a fork. Sandy studied his face.

  “You due for some meds before bed?” she suggested.

  “Yeah.”

  “Where are they?”

  “Bathroom.”

  She disappeared for a moment and came back turning the bottle in her hand and frowning.

  “Is this it?” she questioned doubtfully.

  “Yeah.”

  “But this is just Tylenol. This won’t even take the edge off.”

  “That’s all they’d give me.”

  Sandy shook her head in disgust.

  “I’ll get you something stronger. Let’s get you in bed first so you’ll be more comfortable.”

  She helped lift him out of the chair and, putting her arm around his waist and his around her shoulders, helped him totter like an old man to the bedroom. She pulled the sheets back and gently lowered him down. Rather than just leaving him like that, she unlaced his shoes and took off his socks and shoes. He thought she would stop there, but she reached for the fastener on his pants.

  “No, don’t,” Henry protested, pushing her away.

  “Oh, don’t get all squirmy on me,” she snapped. “Nothin’ here I don’t see a hundred times a day.”

  Henry met her frank, steady gaze, and relented. He let her hand go. She unfastened his jeans and pulled them off. She left his t-shirt on and pulled up the sheets.

  “Now you lay still and hang in there. I’ll be right back with something good.” She looked around. “Where’s your keys?”

  Henry tapped his chest. She pulled the chain with the key on it out from under his shirt.

  “I’ll lock up so you and Bobby are safe, and let myself back in.”

  “Okay.”

  She left. The apartment was quiet. The weight of his pain and fatigue grew heavier. He could hear nothing but the beating of his heart and the ticking of the clock on his bedside table. The time crawled by and the pain grew. Maybe Sandy wasn’t coming back. Maybe she had been distracted, intercepted, or arrested. The only painkillers he had in the house were those Tylenol Sandy had left in the front room. They were better than nothing. He could take a handful of them, and maybe get some sleep. Henry crawled out of bed. It was easier to stay on all fours than to climb to his feet. He dragged himself along, the pain growing with every movement.