Deadly vendetta, p.5
Deadly Vendetta, page 5
Luke wanted to talk, and I didn’t. I was a quiet man by nature, but when it was a topic that interested me, that was a whole different story. I could plot and scheme for hours, but, now, I just wasn’t in the right mindset. The reason was none other than I was hurting all over. My nose and mouth were both throbbing, and my body felt like I had been used as a human punching bag. My nose vibrated every time I made so much as a peep. It was a weird feeling—one I was not fond of in the least. I was finding it difficult to breathe properly, since breathing through my nose packed full of a ton of gauze was out of the question, and having my mouth wired shut was making it a challenge as well. I was a mess.
I pleaded with my eyes in hopes that he’d gotten the message. We had always been in tune with each other, but, for some reason, his judgment was clouded, and he continued on. He was keyed up, throwing out scenario after scenario, looking for answers. His problem-solving skills had always proved to be spot on, but this time, he kept running into a brick wall at one hundred mph. Ordinarily, I would have welcomed the brainstorming session, but I needed to get my argument together for the doctor in the morning. I was leaving—with his blessing or without!
Faking sleep did the trick, and he got the hint. I only meant to rest my eyes but fell immediately into a deep sleep induced by drugs and trauma. Darkness surrounded me. I sensed that I was in a closed space, and I started to freak out. I was not a fan of closed spaces and would wager to say claustrophobia was right at the top of my list of things you never needed to know about me. As I moved my hands up to my face, they hit something fluffy. Almost like a pillow of sorts, but different. I felt around me, and all my hands came in contact with was more pillowy substance. I was unable to roll over, as I was lying flat on my back. The air was still and heavy, and, as I moved my head to the left, I saw a couple of small pinholes—just enough to realize I was in a cemetery, being buried alive! I tried to scream, but my mouth had been taped shut.
My funeral was taking place, and, as I lay unable to tell the world I was still alive, I hovered over my coffin, invisible to those around me. Luke, my Dad, old college pals, and colleagues from the firm were gathered around, weeping silently. Sheriff Dan Osborne was conducting the eulogy, telling everyone I was not the man they thought they knew. I was the devil reincarnated and was better off dead. As they lowered me into the ground, I watched as shovels of dirt were being thrown on top of me by the two tattooed men from the morgue. And then I woke up frantic and gasping for air.
Sweat poured down my back and drenched my hospital gown. I was in a total panic as I strained to get my bearings and take in a deep breath. Both of these things were proving to be impossible, which made me panic even more. Thank God Luke had stayed the night, because he was there in a flash, bringing me back to reality. Through the years, he had always had a special way of calming me, with not just his presence but a firm, reassuring pat with his warm, massive hand, but it did little to calm me now. I was spiraling, unable to catch my breath, when a warm sensation from my IV flowed through my veins, and I relaxed enough to gain control.
Next thing I knew, it was morning, and the sun was peeking through the curtains in the corner window of my hospital room. I still felt like death warmed over, but whatever had been given to me last night in my state of panic had worked like magic. My head was still a bit groggy, but I wasn’t on edge anymore, which meant I could plead my case to the doctor when he made an appearance today. In the meantime, I urged Luke to go snooping around. I needed to know what had happened in the morgue after I’d made my sudden departure yesterday. Luke was skeptical, but he wasn’t one to tell me “No.” So, he took off to solicit answers.
I was on pins and needles waiting for answers, so I turned the television on for some mindless background noise. A commercial was advertising a company called Sonic Airlines. Their claim to fame was non-stop travel between the west coast of the United States to Europe in two hours. That was pretty impressive, and I marveled at modern technology. Visiting Europe was on my bucket list, in particular, Amsterdam, but I hadn’t gone, simply due to the fact that I didn’t like to sit still for that long. But a two-hour flight was totally doable. I caught myself with the first smile of the day on my face dreaming of the possibilities before me. Then I took the time to write down reasons for why I needed an immediate release. I knew it was going to be a tough sell, given that my condition wasn’t the best.
Number one on the list was that my life depended on it. Number two on the list was that my life depended on it. Number three on the list was that my life depended on it.
All my reasons pointed to that one equation. The doctor was aware of what had physically transpired in the morgue, but not to the extent of how much it had impacted me mentally. To heal physically, I needed to be in the right headspace, or I would be climbing an uphill battle on all fours, only to slide down at every curve, getting nowhere fast.
With Luke away, my paranoia took it upon itself to return. I looked at every person with skepticism and trusted no one. I didn’t like this about myself, but this was no time to let my guard down because I was certain the second that happened, the next attack would come. Next time, I might not be lucky enough to live to tell the tale. I loved life too much to let that happen and also had worked way too hard to graduate at the top of my class in law school to let some thugs take me out. But the attacks had changed me. My mind now seemed to be playing tricks on me, focused on seeing the evil in the world instead of the joy. I almost threw a punch at the male nurse who came to take my vitals—all because he had tattoos on his arms. I needed some fresh air and sunshine to rein in my thoughts of doom.
So, I scribbled a note to Luke that I would be in the solarium. I edged my way out of bed, wincing in pain. After putting on my hospital booties with the rubber appliqués on the bottom to keep me upright, I painfully moved toward the door. The only part of me that didn’t hurt was my pinky. I ached all over. On my way out the door, I took a quick glance in the mirror and was horrified. I looked like a zombie, my skin drained to a light-gray pallor, straight out of that old TV show, The Walking Dead. This, for some reason, made me laugh. I laughed so hard I couldn’t catch my breath, and I doubled over, wheezing through metal and gauze. If you can’t laugh at yourself once in a while, a reality check on what kind of heartless monster you have become needs to happen.
Every step was a challenge, but I kept my head down and inched my way outside. The sun was high in the sky, as a slight breeze rustled the leaves on the Bigleaf Maple tree offering shade in the far-right corner. I looked up. The sky seemed bluer than normal, and billowy clouds were moving in precision to an imaginary song. Life almost felt normal, full of promise. That was, until I gingerly sat down and became racked with pain, which turned into stomach spasms. I tried to get to a trash can before I heaved, but I tripped on a tree root and crashed face first onto the mosaic-bricked ground. I learned fast that throwing up with your jaw wired shut was on the list of things you never want to do. I managed to roll over, and, as I tried to get up, Luke appeared in just the nick of time. His impeccable timing was never more welcome.
“What, may I ask, do you think you’re doing out of bed?” Luke inquired. As I peered at him through a half-open eye, I laughed again. Belly laughs consumed me, and tears ran down my face, stinging the cut in my cheek. At that point, it was all I had, and, if I didn’t laugh, I would have broken down and fallen into a depressed, sorry state. I refused to feel sorry for myself—even in this unfortunate situation. Life was throwing me curveballs, but I had showed up to the game and was ready to play. Or, at least, I was at bat, and, hopefully, I wouldn’t strike out.
Finally controlling myself, I managed, with lots of help from Luke, to get upright again and find my way into a chair. I was dying (bad choice of words) to know what, if anything, he had found out. “I’m not kidding, Jonathan—stay put. I am off to find you some peppermint tea, and, when I get back, I don’t want to find you anywhere but in this chair. Do you hear me?” Luke sternly said. Peppermint tea had always been my drink of choice when my gut was doing flip-flops. I had consumed copious amounts after our many trips into the forest, discovering the gruesome souvenirs the serial killer had left behind. I was flattered that Luke had remembered.
I was soaking up some rays with my face to the sun when something caught my attention. It was a noise that sounded like the crumpling of paper, but, as I opened my eyes, I saw no one close by. Looking around, I saw a wad of paper down by my feet. Knowing this hadn’t been there before I’d closed my eyes, I jerked my head to and fro, looking for the culprit. Up above, on a catwalk, looking down from a window to the solarium, stood one of the tattooed men, staring down at me. He raised his hand and made a motion across his throat that indicated he was going to slit my throat. Flashbacks from twenty years ago flooded my mind as I had seen Sheriff Osborne make the same, exact gesture. Shivers ran down my spine, and I felt a coldness sweep over me.
As I reached down to pick up the paper, Luke appeared like an angel. He must have sensed the tension I was feeling, because he placed his hand on my shoulder and gave me a pat. “You know I’ll always have your back, no matter what, don’t you, Jonathan?” he said warmly, as a reassuring smile spread across his face. Not doubting this for a second, I let him know we were in this together. My main concern was that I feared this was even bigger than the two of us. We may have just met our match, and if we didn’t start acting fast, we might not get the chance.
I was afraid to open the note. I hated that fear had become a part of me, consuming my every thought. The paper was written on nondescript, everyday lined notebook paper, but what was unusual about it was that it appeared to be written in blood. Scribbled in childlike writing, it said . . .
CONSIDER THAT YOUR FREEBIE!!
YOU WON’T BE SO LUCKY NEXT TIME!!
How much stock could be put in this, I was unsure, but I wasn’t one to tempt fate. Luke and I sat there for a moment, in silence, both lost in thought. Not being able to help myself, I took a glance up to where the man was before, but he was gone. I swept the room, half expecting him to be standing in the corner, laughing at me, but, everywhere I looked, unfamiliar faces stared back at me like they had seen a living, walking corpse. “Luke, could you please help me back to my room? I’m feeling self-conscious.” I whispered. So much for the sun warming my soul.
Making my way back to my room, even with Luke’s help, proved to be laborious. I was out of breath and crippled in pain but determined not to succumb to whoever was behind this madness. Right when we were rounding the corner to my corridor, we ran straight into a man dressed head to toe in surgical scrubs. As I excused myself, I locked eyes with the tattoo man. I would know those evil eyes anywhere. When I looked at them, they were filled with vile wickedness. I eyed Luke, and confusion washed over his face as Mr. Tattoo took off in a full sprint toward the stairwell at the end of the hall.
Wheezing, I tried my hardest to run after him, but my legs refused to cooperate. Reading my thoughts, as usual, Luke yelled to me to stay put and call security ASAP. I watched as he disappeared around the corner. I could hear heavy footsteps and Luke yelling, “Enough is enough—give yourself up, or else.” You tell ’em, big guy, I whispered to myself and said a silent prayer that he wouldn’t get hurt. I would never forgive myself if something happened to him while he was trying to save my sorry ass from who knows what. Another reason to get better—so that I could start an investigation on my own before another death occurred. This was getting out of hand faster than I could blink an eye.
When the security for the hospital showed up, Luke had already made his way back to my room. Not being able to keep up with Mr. Tattoo, he had been left in his dust. The hospital security, up to this point, had been pretty much non-existent, but I was still holding out hope. I asked them, with the best smile I could muster up, if they would at least go investigate the stairwell and surrounding areas for any evidence. I had nothing of any substance to go on, and I was as bad as Luke, hitting brick walls about who could be wanting to cause me harm. I didn’t hold out much hope that they would find anything, but it was worth a shot in the dark, since I was grasping at straws at this point.
With me tucked back in bed, Luke sat in a chair by my bedside. I urged him to tell me what he’d found out in the morgue. But first things first. Questions about my Dad needed answers. Had he, indeed, gone back to drinking—and where the hell was he? After my introduction twenty years ago, Luke and my Dad had become the best of friends. They were almost inseparable, and, with Luke as my Dad’s Alcoholic Anonymous sponsor, I knew he would know all the dirty details. I was almost 100% positive that I knew the answer, but I needed to hear it straight from Luke’s mouth. It felt like a punch in the gut when Luke affirmed my suspicions.
Needless to say, I was devastated but not the least bit surprised by this news. We had come so far as a family finding our way back to one another after my Mom passed that I was bound and determined not to let gin take over his life again. Seeing that I was upset, with good reason, Luke assured me he had it under control and to concern myself only with getting well enough to find the lunatic who was bound and determined to cause me harm. As far as where the hell he was, Luke couldn’t shed light on that subject. That led me to believe that Luke really didn’t have things under control and that I should, indeed, concern myself, reassurances or not.
“Tell me—tell me what happened in the morgue.” I inquired with bated breath. Just as Luke opened his mouth to explain, Dr. GQ peeked around my curtain. He was dressed to the nines and smelled like he had just jumped out of a cologne advertisement in a magazine. I’m not gay, but if I were, I would have jumped his bones on the spot.
He allowed Luke to stay as he did an exam, for which I was thankful. It was weird, but I was a tad uncomfortable being alone with him. Is there such a thing as being so good-looking that you’re intimidating? I think I felt inadequate, due to my present state. Let’s face it: I was more than a disaster. My latest fiasco in the solarium had left me with a new gash on my left eyebrow and scuffed-up knees. It didn’t bode well for me getting sprung from here, but I pled my case anyway. For what little good it did, because I got a big fat NO, absolutely not, no way, no how!!! I got the message loud and clear.
It looked like I was stuck in here for the long haul, but one thing was for certain: I was not going to let Luke out of my sight. I’m not normally superstitious, but every time I was left alone, bad things happened, and my body couldn’t afford any more of that. I desperately needed some good news, but, when Luke began explaining what had happened, I knew it wasn’t going anywhere promising. His eyes didn’t have that twinkle in them that he got when he was excited. He picked at his left thumbnail and hung his head like a dog that had just gotten in trouble for stealing food off someone’s plate.
“Oh, gosh, Jonathan—you know I never want to disappoint you. With much trepidation, I wandered from room to room, but there was not a soul in sight, none that were alive anyway. When I came to the door marked “Morgue,” I held my breath, and my knees buckled. The door squeaked open, and I was greeted with the grim reality that there were many sad people out there mourning the death of a loved one under one of the sheets. It was eerie, cold, and downright depressing, and I admit I wanted to run to the elevator as fast as I could, but, instead, I called out for anyone to answer. I was greeted with stone-cold silence. The room was illuminated with bright fluorescent lights casting shadows under the slabs—that creeped me out. I wanted so desperately to get answers for you, and I’m truly sorry I let you down.”
I could see in his eyes that he’d been destroyed by this. As sad as he was that he couldn’t get answers, I was equally bummed out. I had been having good vibes that he would find some answers, but, instead of answers, he hit, yet another, dead end . . . great!!
As I was dozing, hospital security came in with more bad news. Surprise, surprise—they’d found nothing! I had a sneaking suspicion that they hadn’t even looked, but, on the off-chance they had, I didn’t want to accuse them of something and risk pissing them off. I had enough enemies already, so it seemed. I was due some good news since I’d been living in Doomsville, but that wasn’t in the cards, because in walked the deputies from yesterday. Well, at least one of them. Right from the get-go, they had me on edge. Deputy Osborne was back in all his glory, but he had a new guy along for the ride. The new guy was a pipsqueak of a guy, or it may have seemed that way since Osborne was a Goliath of a man. He looked like he was hiding a secret and wanted to blurt it out in the worst way. I, on the other hand, didn’t give two shits about what he had up his sleeve. And I told him so. When had my hospital room transformed into Grand Central Station?
It was clear he didn’t care how I felt and was too busy taking great satisfaction in keeping me on edge. I rolled my eyes and went on making small talk with Luke. It wasn’t like me to be rude, but I wasn’t into mind games—plus, I was still feeling like death!
Deputy Osborne spoke first. “As much as I dislike you and would much rather spend my time elsewhere, I have something that needs to be discussed.”
He was downright gloating, which now had my curiosity piqued. What kind of bullshit had he dreamed up? With a smirk on his face and a look of contempt laced with hatred, he proceeded.
“There’s been an accident. What appears to be a firebomb was thrown through your Dad’s window at 11:30 p.m. last night, and, to my knowledge, there were no survivors.”
I was noticeably shaken. If my jaw wasn’t wired shut, I would have had to pick it up off the floor. A million and one questions swirled in my mind, but before I could verbalize any, the deputies were out the door. I could hear them giving each other high fives and laughing as they walked down the corridor. I looked at Luke, and he looked as if he had seen a ghost. The color had totally drained from his face, and tears had already formed in the corners of his eyes.
