Chapter 11

Susan rode in the back of the ambulance with Tommy to the hospital to comfort him if he happened to awaken. God stayed kind to him, though. The child remained unconscious from the time they left the orphanage through the surgery to reset his arm and fix the damage Martin had caused. He had not lost as much blood as she had feared. At first arrival in the hospital, they listed him in serious condition. Twelve hours later, they moved him into the children's ward where he continued to sleep.

When Susan left the hospital, she felt exhausted. She had waited until she knew that Tommy rested peacefully in recovery. The ordeal had drained her both emotionally and physically. She wanted to return home and step into a long warm shower to help settle her nerves. She would instruct one of the aides to let her nap for two hours.

The elevators were not congested at mid-afternoon. Susan stepped into the first one that opened. There were three people inside the elevator when she boarded it. She felt too tired to take much notice of them, other than they were an elderly woman, an orderly, and a strapping man buried under a heavy coat. She leaned against the back wall and gazed up at the ceiling lights.

The orderly pressed the DOOR CLOSE button impatiently. He seemed obviously in a hurry to get to another part of the hospital. Susan stifled a yawn as drowsiness slipped over her. The doors slid closed and the elevator gave a jolt as it began to drop. Two bells sounded before the elevator came to a stop. The orderly stepped forward as the doors slid open. He forced his way out before they were all the way open. In time, the doors slid back shut.

As the elevator began to move again, the old woman tried to strike up a conversation. "These elevators take entirely too long." She directed her speech toward Susan in an obvious attempt to hide her distrust for the big man who stood in the opposite corner of the elevator. "I missed the floor the first time around. My husband is in the ICU on the second floor."

Susan chanced a peek out of the corner of her eyes at the man. "What is your husband here for?"

"He had a heart attack." The old woman looked up at the screen that flashed the numbers of each level they approached. "Oh! Here is the floor."

"I hope your husband pulls through," Susan said with care.

After the woman had left, Susan could not help but pay more attention to the considerable man in the corner. His eyes had been averting hers ever since she had gotten on the elevator. Now the two of them were alone, he stared at her. It made her feel uncomfortable. There were only three more floors before they would reach the lobby. His attention was bothersome. She thought she smelled alcohol. He smiled at her from behind his collar. Unfortunately, he blocked the way to the emergency call device. He turned to her and her heart jumped.

"Excuse me, miss." His voice was slurred. "Can you help me?" He sounded as if he started to cry. "I have lost my family."

At once Susan cursed herself as her heart softened. The man could not possibly have been a threat to her or anyone else. She could tell immediately that he had the mind of a child. He must have gotten on the elevator without the people responsible for taking care of him. When the elevator reached the lobby, she took him by the hand and led him to a police officer standing guard in the lobby. She told the man goodbye and made her way out of the hospital.

One of the women who helped her with the children had brought her car up to the hospital earlier and parked in the underground garage. The interior of the garage seemed cool despite the warming temperatures outside. She could see the bright sunshine shining through the openings that ventilated the garage. She drew her jacket about her as she stepped off the elevator. A yellow Buick drove past her as she sought out the Bobcat Station Wagon that was hers. The compact cars were growing scarcer with each passing year. It would be easy to locate the car. It sat on the next level up when she found it.

Several cars drove past her as she walked up the ramp. She thought only of getting home and showering after she checked on the rest of the children. The car's engine sounded abnormally loud, and it seemed to be approaching her faster than any of the others. She turned too late to react with only a brief second left to live, long enough for her to see the weird grin of the driver and the grill of the Lincoln targeting for her mid-section. She stood frozen in terror, unable to utter a sound in her disbelief.

"For God's sake, get out of the way!" Brody yelled as he used his weight to push Susan out of the path of the car.

The Lincoln slammed into a minivan. Susan was still lethargic in her movement. Everything seemed to be a dream to her. Brody had to pick her up from the floor of the garage. The impact between the Lincoln and the minivan had left the two vehicles joined. The Lincoln's wheels were squalling amid bluish-white smoke as it tried to back away from the van.

"It's Martin Stone!" Brody barked at Susan. "He's here to kill you! Now get up!”

A loud pop echoed through the garage as the Lincoln finally broke free of the minivan, ripping off the remnants of its bumper in the process. Brody drew out his Magnum revolver, the barrel of which was nearly as long as his forearm. Martin shouted at the two of them as he turned the Lincoln in their direction. The gun thundered out its authoritative voice twice. The explosive concussion from the firearm caused Susan’s ears to ring painfully and made it hard for her to hear anything else that happened around her.

The first shot caught Martin in the shoulder and neck as his windshield shattered. The second bullet pierced his forehead and ripped out the back half of his head in a brilliant spray of blood, brain, and bone. The car still moved toward his two intended victims. Brody quickly aimed for the closest front tire. Susan covered her ears that time, but the gun’s thunder was still too intense. The tire exploded and pulled the front of the car to the left. It struck a support column and stopped suddenly, the back wheels still spinning on the concrete.

Brody left Susan alone for a moment and raced over to the car. The tires squalled and spewed a choking plume of smoke as the car continued to drive against the column. Brody walked around the back of the car with his pistol drawn, ready to fire at a moment's notice. He soon realized it was unnecessary. Martin was deceased. Brody reached in through the driver’s window and shut off the engine. He then returned to Susan.

"You are lucky that I came up here to ask some more questions about the boy." Brody holstered his pistol.

"He could have killed me," Susan whispered. "Why?"

"I do not know." Brody pulled Susan over to the minivan. "The chief’s going to load his shorts when he sees our new van." He had to force the door open. "Could you wait a few more minutes while I radio this in?"

"Yeah," Susan replied wearily.

After Brody called out an ambulance and another unit, he turned back to Susan. "I needed to ask you something about the boy."

"What is it?" Susan stifled a yawn as best she could.

"Have you ever noticed any markings on his body? Anything that seemed peculiar?" Brody clasped his hands together as if he expected a positive reply.

Susan's mind was so confused she could not remember exactly at that moment. She tried to fix a picture of Tommy in her head. She was surprised she knew little about him and shook her head.

"Nothing at all?" Brody sounded disappointed.

"I think..." Susan remembered Tommy's wrists. "There are scars around his wrists where he had been tied to his bed... chained actually."

"Could I go up to see him?" Brody closed the door to the van. "I just need to confirm something."

"He's sleeping." Susan sensed something important in the man's request. "It would not hurt for me to spend a few more minutes here."

"Come on!" Brody took her by the arm and led her back to the elevator. "This will not take long."

A few moments later, Susan returned to the children's ward with Brody. It depressed her to see so many children suffering through all sorts of terrible diseases and injuries. Some were fighting the battle of their lives. Here, a young girl was losing her battle with leukemia. There, a small boy lay bandaged about the head from a bicycle accident.

The nurse, a pleasant Korean woman with a loving appeal, led them to the bed where Tommy lay sleeping. “Miss Farnsworth, the little boy is still resting peacefully.”

“Could you please turn him over on his left side and let us look at his right hip?” Brody asked with subdued discretion. “We need to determine if something that I believe might be there.”

At Brody's request, the nurse reluctantly, but gently, rolled Tommy over on his left side. She lifted the gown to expose his right hip and buttock. Susan gasped simultaneously as the nurse did. They stared in horror at the scar branded into the child's flesh. On the cheek of the right buttock, someone branded the image of a long-stemmed rose, which had a serpent coiled about the stem, appearing to be ready to strike. One could not miss the three sixes hidden within the coils of the serpent. Brody had to ask permission to take a picture. Susan consented shakily, backing away from the horror she understood. She began to wonder what other secrets the little boy harbored, for that one had been dark enough.

The nurse did her duty for the boy. She took exceptional care not to awaken him. However, as soon as she had finished tucking him back in, she hurried to the hospital sanctuary to pray for him.

"What does it mean?" Susan held her hands to her mouth to cover her despair.

"Come on and I will explain that to you." Brody took Susan's arm and led her away.

As they left the room, Brody glanced back at the youngster once more, the wall of stone around his heart beginning to crumble. Somehow, Tommy had survived the ritual that had claimed the lives of many other children. Visions of the other victims filled Brody’s dreams when he slept. Medications and a heavy workload protected him from sleeping too much and revisiting those tiny, mutilated bodies. Brody knew the time approached when he would have to take a bullet to end his misery, but not before he nailed the people responsible for the tortured murders of young boys and girls. They cried out to him from their unmarked graves for vengeance. He turned away before the sight of Tommy would bring him to angry tears.