I screamed and went for the rest, blew into their heads and twisted. Lit their brains up until they were mosh. Didn’t see them suddenly stop, sit down, like mindless zombies. Woke up in bed crying as if my heart had broken. Didn’t know where I was. Didn’t care.
Chapter 38
“Hello?” I looked around. This didn’t look like a hospital room, more like a hotel. No call button, but my wheelchair was close by the bed. I sat up and winced. My whole body ached. Or at least the parts I could feel. “Anybody there?”
The door opened and Jake, Mitchell and a cop I recognized came in. Jake carried a tray loaded with food, lunch stuff. He set it down on the table next to the bed, opened the blinds and pushed me up on the pillows. They were dressed in suits and formal uniform, complete with white gloves.
“How do you feel?”
I looked at the Sarge. “I’m sorry about Really? He gave his life to save the hostages.”
“I know. He save mine, too. I’m Sergeant Jeff Bilberry.”
“He didn’t tell me your name.”
“He and the perps were the only casualty, Dantan. You saved twenty-four lives.”
“Are you hungry?”
“No. I just want to sleep.”
“You slept for three days, Danny. Any longer and we would have to put you on exhibit as Rip Van Winkle.”
“Who?”
“Never mind. You can Google it. Doctor’s orders. Eat, bathe. Dress. You have some people that want to thank you,” Jake announced.
“No. Leave me alone.” In the end, it was easier just to do what he wanted. I ate a sandwich. It tasted good enough that I took another, fried soft-shelled crab on sourdough with romaine hearts and spicy cocktail sauce. He helped me into the shower chair and made sure he scrubbed my hair, cleaned under my nails and was squeaky clean. Helped dress me. I widened my eyes at the new fancy blue silk suit, at the aqua shirt with French cuffs that matched my blue eye exactly. The tie was a sedate blue and pink stripe. He adjusted my slacks making sure the requisite inch above my heels were correct. The shoes were nice, hand-sewn lace up cordovans in shiny, buttery soft black leather. He held my feet up so I could see them. Rolled me over to the mirror and showed me a young man that didn’t match the picture I saw in my head. This one was tall with broad shoulders, a lean aristocratic face topped by dark blonde and brown hair, dark eyebrows and eyes that didn’t match. A face you would look at twice and think, intriguing, classically handsome yet more than just pretty. The hair was a lot shorter than I remembered. I touched my collar and felt where a razor had trimmed my neck.
“You were out,” he grinned. “No fuss, no muss, no fighting or arguing about it.”
“I look…nice.” I looked at him. “Is this in regards to Friday at 8 PM?” I sneaked a peek at his mind, but his thoughts were tightly closed.
“No, no, no,” he shook his finger at me. “No peeking. Felice taught us how to shut you out.”
“No fair, Jake,” I complained and Sergeant Bilberry took my chair and wheeled me out of the room. It was a hotel, the Watergate and we went down the elevator to the lobby where a mass of reporters waited and peppered us with questions.
“Where are we going? I asked in a whisper afraid of all these bodies and strangers.
“To a Memorial service for Officer Really?.” I was quiet as we rode in a limo towards the White House.
Mitchell said only one thing to me, “Dantan, this isn’t for you, it’s for Sergeant Bilberry, so behave yourself, and be gracious.”
I nodded, and when we drove through the gates up to the Reception area, goggled at the crowd that was there. Reporters, my Dad, resplendent in a new suit, the President, First Lady and Felice in a gown like a confectionery’s dream. This looked more like a dress ball than a Memorial.
Jake pulled out my chair, opened it and allowed me the dignity of hauling myself out, waiting patiently for me to get settled. I let them push me inside, stunned when the rows of smartly uniformed guards saluted me. Dad stepped next to me, grinning like a fool as we rolled up the red carpet towards the Reception room were President Rickover waited. There were chairs lined up in rows, filled with reporters and senators, congressmen and police.
“Dad,” I mumbled, my hands tight in my lap.
“Relax, Danny, it’ll be okay,” he promised. Now, the others dropped back behind us and dad took hold of my chair handles to push me the rest of the way. We stopped in front of President Rickover. He held the box out, opened it and began speaking.
“It is my great honor and privilege,” he announced to the snapping of flashes, “to present this Presidential Medal of Freedom with Distinction to Dantan Townsley De Rosier for an especially meritorious contribution to the security and national interest of the United States in a public and private endeavor, one of which was saving my life from an assassin’s bullet.”
He pinned the blue-and-white ribbon with gold eagle, red, white and blue star to my lapel, shook my hand and gave me a hug. Felice stepped forward and kissed me on the lips, closing my sagging mouth, letting the next person step close. I recognized him as the Chief of DC Metro police, and he whispered, “I can’t top that pretty bauble, sir, but we have one for you, too.
“On behalf of the Washington Metro Police Department, for his invaluable aid, Dantan Townsley De Rosier, we award you the Police Badge of Honor for Bravery under Fire. Even though a civilian. We also honor here today, the memory of Really?, Sergeant Bilberry’s mount, who gave his life in performance of his duties.”
He handed me a closed case, and a small medal he pinned to my left chest under the PMOF, shook my hand and the Sergeant’s.
Felice laughed lightly, and said to Dad, “I think he’s speechless. He looks cute with his mouth open, doesn’t he?”
President Rickover raised his voice over the yelling reporters. “One more announcement, my daughter has informed me that she is engaged. To Senator Michael Patrick De Rosier’s son, Dantan Townsley De Rosier. God help us, a Democrat!”
Amid the laughter, I heard Felice say, “Get out of that one, Downtown. You’re mine for the rest of our lives, just like the vows say, in sickness and health, till death do us part.
Chapter 39
I wore my second best new suit to the formal turkey dinner and sat next to Felice. China with gold accents, sterling silverware, linen napkins and tablecloths, the table was a work of art and the Chef had gone all out with the menu. Roast turkey stuffed with cornmeal and chestnut stuffing, cranberry sauce, candied carrots and yams, green beans, green beans Almandine, potato soufflé, acorn squash with maple syrup and pecans. Enough food for an Army. Jake, Mitchell and several of the President’s favorites were seated with us, along with Dad and Ms. Penny. They bowed their heads and said grace, which surprised me, I hadn’t thought any of Felice’s family were that religious. My Dad proposed a toast. After that, he congratulated me on my engagement and said he was thankful for good friends and my safe return, was excited to see what the New Year would bring.
They went round the table and came back to me. I sat there with my fork in my lap, my eyes down, feeling that sucking well of despair take hold of my ankles and pull. Felt Felice reach under the table and put her hand on my belly, the lowest part of me that I could still feel human touch as both a warning and comfort. Those things I wanted to say that I would’ve been more thankful had I died than be in this chair, that I was sick of someone having to do things for me, that I hated the stares of pity from people who knew me, that the thought of 50+ more years in this chair terrified me. That I was even more scared of how the world would treat me if they knew what my mind could do.
Instead, I said, “I’m grateful I can eat a lot.” Everyone laughed and I shoveled in the food, so I didn’t have to talk; I could ignore the conversation that went on around me until I caught the tail end of Agent Gaines words. “What?” I froze with my knife up halfway through buttering a flaky homemade croissant. “What about Colonel Pierce?”
“CIA found traces of him in
South America. São Paulo,” he answered.
“He’s out of the country? Good.” I put down the pastry. “He can’t do much harm, then.”
“Don’t be so sure, Danny,” he chided. “He was head of the NSA, he’ll have contacts and Black op operatives everywhere. Informants and mercenaries he can hire. Slush funds he has access to.”
“Slush funds?” I asked.
“Black Market accounts for clandestine operations,” Dad answered. “Millions. He can operate for years on what he stockpiled. And if he follows true, he’ll have his own offshore accounts.”
“So I have to spend the rest of my life hiding?” I was bitter.
“No. Too many people know who you are now, Danny. The boy who saved the President and bank hostages. You’re famous. Be a lot harder to steal and hide you.”
“No one knows how I did it, right? Knows about the dog and cat thing?”
“No. Just us here,” Dad and the President said at the same time.
“What kind of engagement ring are you going to give Felice?” Dad asked into the sudden quiet.
I flushed. I hadn’t even asked her yet but then, the way she fit into my thoughts; there wasn’t any need to ask. “A blue sapphire or an emerald like her eyes,” I said, knowing that she wanted either or, instead of a diamond.
“Are you sure, Felice?” Her mom asked and she turned those blazing green eyes on her.
“More than I’ve ever been sure of anything in my life,” Felice returned with total conviction. The wait staff came in, began to remove our empty plates and Chef Proust himself pushed in the dessert tray. I had eyes only for the Black Forest cake. Although I managed a piece of chocolate pecan pie and pumpkin. The world might end, but my stomach wouldn’t care. After dessert, the men who were men retired to the den to watch the game. Felice and I went to the library. Everyone was somewhere else; the public part of the joint was closed because of the holidays. Senate and Congress were on hiatus until after New Year’s.
“Danny, about the engagement and the ring,” Felice started, and I pulled her down to kiss her.
“I know your mind,” I whispered. “Like my own. I would’ve gotten around to asking. I love you. I’m a very grown up fourteen, you know.”
She giggled at that. “What was my mom thinking to set you off the other night?”
“You don’t want to know, Lisi.”
“Can you afford a ring, Danny?”
“I think so. I don’t know if I was paid when I was Daniel, but I’m sure I had a savings account.” I seemed to remember a few stock options I had capitalized on.
“Well, when are you taking me to look?”
I almost asked her why we didn’t go online or have her pick one out herself, but throwing my courage to the wind, I said, “pick a day and I’ll go with you.”
“Really? Really, you’ll go out? To the city?”
“Wherever you want, Felice,” I swallowed. “The Mall will be fine, Felice.” Although thought of crowds of strangers made my heart race and my hands break out in a cold sweat.
“A smaller place, like the Galleria?”
“Whatever you want,” I repeated and dropped my head. She raised it by a finger under my chin.
“I know this is hard for you, Danny. I know how much you’ve given and lost. Your legs aren’t what made you 10 feet tall or why I love you.”
I buried my head into her stomach and held her around the waist, sniffling back the tears and letting her feel what I lived with, letting her in so she could heal me. I felt it again, that thin edge of menace that tickled my thoughts.
I felt myself spiraling out as I eagerly searched for him, leap frogging from Vange to Sassy, to an eagle high above the Potomac looking for fish, a buck standing in the woods near the Beltway and finally a dog hunched under a desk in a sleazy motel off the Interstate. I couldn’t see the dog’s owner, but I could see the tall brick floors of the building outside the room’s windows. Recognized it as a hospital I had been in and saw the man’s hand reach down to pat the dog. Heard him say, “Jellybean, shall we go play with our little hero?”
The dog, a black and white Border collie stood up and stared towards his face, so I could see whom it was. The voice wasn’t the Colonel’s or Doctor Cohen’s replacement. It was no one’s voice I knew. Long legs in jeans, wide hands with hair on the knuckles, dark reddish skin. A belt made of wide leather with a silver and turquoise buckle, ordinary dress shirt with the cuffs folded back, slim waist and broad shoulders. The coldest eyes I’d ever seen. I took a step backwards. He was dark haired and black-eyed like either a Mexican or Native American. I delicately extended a probe into his thoughts, and found a lazy swirl of inanities as he stared at the black and white Border collie.
“Well, hello, little hero,” he smiled and I froze. How the hell did he know I was in the dog? I willed myself back out, but something held me inside with a grip I couldn’t break. Twisting and turning, I pushed, but nothing worked. I could hold him out of my mind, but I couldn’t get loose from him. His hand came up and in it was a gun, huge black automatic, a forty caliber twenty shot Glock. The end of the barrel was huge.
“Colonel says hi, Danny,” he smiled and shot. I felt the dog die; her death throes were brief as the heavy bullet smashed her head into pieces. Heard myself scream and fall out of the chair, yet my mind, my essence was ripped free from my body to snap into a formless darkness.
Chapter 40
I was pure thought. The concept of ‘me’, ‘I’ was meaningless. I drifted, cut loose from my moorings. I knew I had a name, but ‘name’ was a word I found useless. I floated in a void so empty that I wasn’t even aware that I or the void existed. Gradually, a light appeared. A diffuse glow that I followed to its source. I could hear nothing; see nothing but dark and light. When the light overpowered the darkness, a vibration disturbed the light, so that it pulsed in time with the vibes.
I identified it as a heartbeat and immediately words began to have meaning. Light became images. I opened eyes I didn’t know I had and looked down at a body laid out on an exam table, hooked up to machines that breathed, recorded the heartbeat, pressure and respirations, a body that was on was life-support. The readings from the EEG machine were flat line, the other graphs slowly declining.
Me. It was me I recognized on the table. Stretched out, both arms flat with IVs, poor shrunken legs covered with a sheet and thin blanket.
I looked down at myself; saw the room was crowded with people still wearing fancy suits and dresses. Thanksgiving decorations were on the walls and windows. I could not hear their words, only see their faces and tried to touch them as my feet floated to the floor.
Felice, her face a hollow cheeked mask of fear, her parents around her. My father looked like he’d had a heart attack. The Secret Service men who were like family expressed that same fear. I would’ve thought it was anger.
I saw the monitors go flat and medical personnel fly into the room, pushing my family aside as they brought the crash cart to my bed. Zapped me, worked on me for thirty minutes before they gave up and walked resolutely out to break the bad news.
Drew the sheet up and brought my family in one by one to kiss me goodbye. I watched it all curiously; it’s hard to be concerned with your own death when you’re still alive in your mind.
They left me there until the last person said goodbye, and when they were all gone, two orderlies came in, checked my wristband, covered my face as they slid me onto a gurney and took me down the hallway to the morgue. Curious, I followed them, passing through the doors without needing to open them until we descended to the basement where the morgue lay hidden. I saw no other newly dead spirits. In truth, I didn’t feel like a spirit but more as if I were dreaming. They left my body outside in the hallway in a line of other gurneys and other bodies as one of them went to open the doors to the outside ambulance bay.
I touched myself. Felt my cool skin, but felt no connection to this form other than that I knew it was mine.
As th
e doors slid overhead, I saw an ambulance back up and from behind that a black SUV with blackened windows. Three men exited, climbed the dock with stretchers and walked down a short hallway towards the two orderlies. I watched as the strangers pulled silenced weapons, and shot the orderlies in cold blood, point-blank, picked them up and threw them into the SUV. Next, they examined and rejected everybody, but mine.
One man removed his hood and I saw his red-skinned face. He closed his eyes, his body went very still, and I could hear, feel and see again.
“Hello, little kachina,” he whispered. “Keith, Turtle. This will be violent. As soon as I release him, hit him with the adrenaline.” He let me go and I felt the snapping, rushing sensation as my mind was sucked back inside my body at the same time as a huge needle punctured my flaccid heart. It felt like I’d been zapped by the mother of all lightning bolts. My heart galloped like a mad horse with its tail on fire. I gasped in air and my face turned beet red. The Indian put an oxygen mask on me, his fingers on my pulse.
“Heart’s over two hundred. Hit him with that vasodilator.” Another needle into my elbow vein. “Welcome back, Danny. We’ve learned a few things about you since the Colonel had you. Now, since you are officially dead, no one will miss you. Whoops, the morgue attendants sent your body to the crematorium by mistake. When you wake up, I’ll explain how I trapped your mind out of your body.” He gave me a third shot, and before he even pulled the needle out, I was asleep.
Chapter 41
“We don’t need to send him out anywhere,” the Indian’s voice said over my head. “He’s able to enter an unwary mind and read their thoughts.”
“What’s his range?”
I froze. That voice belonged to the man I hated. I peered between my lids, and saw through a slice of windows, blue sky and not much else. The air smelled dry and hot. A faint breeze stirred over my head.
“He’s awake,” he said and pried my eyes open. I tried to punch him; he pushed my arms down without any effort. I tried to yell for help and my voice made only a squeak.
“Danny. Or is it, Daniel?” The Colonel came over to block my view.