Half-Past Dawn

CHAPTER 33

Jack looked around, lost, confused. He lay in a strange bed. A man stood over him, tall and broad. A scar wiggled its way down the left side of his neck; he had the countenance of someone who had seen battle on more than one occasion. But despite the rough exterior, there was a sadness in his eyes.

“Jack?” the man whispered.

“Who are you? Where am I?”

The man placed his finger to his lips. “Not too loud. Listen very carefully to me. I’ve got only a moment.” The man paused. “Hold on to your mind, or you won’t be able to save Mia.”

Jack awoke with a start and stared around the room. The white walls were cushioned, and there wasn’t a single corner or sharp angle in the ten-by-twenty space.

A tube ran into his left arm, the IV drip infusing him with a tired warmth. His chest and arms were wired up, although the monitors were nowhere in sight. A curtain was drawn across what he imagined was a large window to the outside world.

A large leather strap wrapped his chest, not enough to constrict his breath but enough to constrict his escape. Smaller, equally constraining bands wrapped his wrists.

The mental ward of the Tombs occupied the entire fifth floor of the west wing, isolated and unknown to most. Used for the insane, the mentally disturbed, sometimes the perfect place to tuck a VIP, isolating him from scrutiny while matters were sorted out, it was also the facility for evaluations by court-appointed psychiatrists. It was a place far worse than any cell, as not only were you locked up and tethered to your bed, but your release depended on both the judicial system and the far more subjective medical community, where the inexact science of psychiatry could condemn you for life.

As Jack lay there, he fought off panic. He had gotten so close to finding Mia, yet now, having been captured, he couldn’t be farther away. There were no clocks; his watch was gone, leaving him with no concept of time.

The thought drew his eyes to his left forearm, where he was surprised to see it encased in a thick white bandage, entirely obscuring his tattoo.

“Mr. Keeler.” A blond nurse, big-boned and smiling, greeted Jack. She sat quietly in the corner, where she was practically invisible. She rose from her chair and walked over, her warm smile never leaving her face. “I’m so glad to see you awake. I’m Susan Meeks.”

Jack nodded as she leaned over to shine a light in his eyes, checking his pupils. “How long have I been out?”

“Not long, an hour maybe. It’s just past eleven o’clock.” Meeks took Jack’s pulse, fluffed his pillow, and tucked his blankets in without any regard to his restraints. “We took the liberty of bandaging the injury to your left arm-”

“Injury?” Jack asked with confusion as he looked at the heavy bandage on his arm.

“-and redressed your shoulder wound.”

Before Jack had a chance to respond, the door opened and man in a dark suit entered. He stood ramrod-straight, what little hair he had on his head military bristle length. He avoided eye contact with Jack as he read through a single manila folder in his hand. Dark circles rimmed his eyes, although there was no exhaustion apparent in his body language. He glanced at Nurse Meeks, who immediately left. He closed the door behind her, silently walked to the bed, and finally snapped shut the folder.

“Mr. Keeler?” The man’s voice was deep and without sympathy. “What did you take from the evidence room?”

Jack was amazed at the question, at the right-to-the-point approach. “I’m sorry, I didn’t get your name.”

“Gene Tierney, deputy director, New York field office of the FBI,” Tierney answered in a staccato cadence.

“I have permitted access and confidential files down there pursuant to ongoing investigations, which are privileged.”

“I don’t believe the eight dead people down there care about your privileged information.”

“They were shot by others.”

“Who?”

Jack glared at the man, at his brisk and brusque interrogation style. Jack did not like being on the other end of an interrogation, particularly when he believed in what he did.

“What was in the box that you stole?” Tierney pressed.

“Stole? I didn’t steal anything.”

“Witnesses would care to differ.”

“I’m trying to save my wife.”

Tierney’s rapid-fire questions abruptly stopped as he pondered Jack’s statement. It was a moment before he slowly asked, “What do you mean, save her?”

“A man by the name of Nowaji Cristos kidnapped her. He is going to kill her.”

Tierney stared at Jack, his face a mass of confusion at Jack’s statement.

To Jack’s surprise, the door opened, and standing there was his doctor, Ryan McCourt, a thick medical file under his arm. With him was an elderly female in a white gown with a stethoscope.

Ryan glared at the agent. “Excuse me, no one is authorized to speak with this man until he’s been examined.”

Tierney stared back, but the battle of wills never manifested. The agent walked out the open door, letting it close behind him.

“Jack,” Ryan said softly as he turned, having trouble meeting his friend’s eyes, suddenly lost for words.

“Hi, Jack,” the woman said as she brushed a few gray strands of hair from her care-worn face. “My name is Dr. Emily Sebert.”

She took a seat on the bed, then paused, allowing Jack to get comfortable with her presence before laying a gentle hand on his feet. “How are you feeling?”

“Fine.” Jack slowly nodded, although his emotions were anything but.

“I thought you were dead,” Ryan said. “I saw what was left of your car.”

Jack nodded.

“A lot of crazy accusations are being thrown around.”

“Honestly,” Jack said, “I couldn’t give a shit.”

Ryan nodded, understanding Jack’s attitude. He waited a moment, allowing a comfort to grow. “Look, you’re under my care for the moment, doctor-patient confidentiality. You want to fill me in on what happened?”

Jack looked at the woman sitting at his feet on the bed.

“Emily’s to be trusted,” Ryan said. “We work together on occasion, and she won’t say a thing.”

“I promise.” Emily held up her three fingers in a scout’s honor sign.

Jack looked between the two of them, not sure if he was being set up. He had known Ryan since grade school, since they played Little League baseball. They were close, having carried each other home after drunken parties, playing wing man for each other. They had even dated the same girl in high school, each giving her up in deference to the other.

And so Jack told him. He told Ryan everything he could remember about the night before, about waking up at home that morning. He told him about the mysterious box that Mia gave him, which he took from the evidence room before it fell into Cristos’s hands. But throughout, Jack was careful to leave out certain aspects, things that he had seen, such as Adoy’s translation of the tattoo, his conversation with his father, and his suspicions of the FBI, things he thought to be irrelevant or not germane to Ryan’s understanding of what was going on.

“I’m terrified for Mia,” Jack said. “I’ve got to find her before it’s too late.”

“Well,” Ryan said, “you’ve got help now. No need to do it on your own.”

“Can you get me out of here?” Jack said, trying not to sound desperate.

“I’m not sure yet, but you know I’m sure as hell going to try.”

“Thanks,” Jack said with sincerity.

“Well,” Ryan said, perking up, “we need to check you out.”

“What, you think I may be disease-free?” Jack tried to joke, but it fell hard.

“Let’s just make sure you’re OK for the moment.”

As if on cue, Emily leaned toward Jack. “Do you feel any pain?”

“Where?”

“Anywhere,” she said with a soft, coaxing smile.

Jack looked up at Ryan. He had never mentioned that he was shot, nor was he about to. The nurse had bandaged him up and that was just fine for the moment. He didn’t want anyone poking around in his chest costing him precious time.

“She’s reviewed your file. She knows the illness you’re dealing with.”

“I’m not tied up in this bed because I have cancer.”

“No,” Emily said, quickly changing the subject. “Have you been experiencing headaches over the last week?”

“No,” Jack said with a shake of his head.

“Nausea…”

“Look, I feel fine-”

“Have you seen a change in colors? Do they appear more vibrant?”

“Just a bit,” Jack said. They were more brilliant than at any time in his life.

“Do you hear any high-pitched whine, white noise? Has your hearing grown more acute?”

“A bit,” Jack answered like a bored patient.

“Have you…” She paused, almost afraid to ask. “seen things?”

Jack turned away, thinking, remaining silent. He had avoided certain things for a reason. His silence ended her line of questioning.

A smile suddenly blossomed on Emily’s face, as if she had become a different person. She reached across the white blanket and took his left arm, examining the bandage. It was thick, wrapping his arm from elbow to wrist “How did you get this?”

Jack stared at her, afraid to say that he had no idea. “I’m not really sure.”

“Does it hurt?”

“No. It’s a tattoo.”

“Really?”

Again, Jack remained silent.

“Are you sure?” Emily spoke to him as if to a child.

“Ryan?” Jack looked to his friend. “This is bullshit.”

“I know,” Ryan said as he laid a hand on Emily’s shoulder, a subtle indication to slow down. “We’re just talking, that’s all.”

The two doctors paused, building up to something.

“Jack, we believe the tumor is pressing on an area of your cerebral cortex,” Emily said. “It might be from the impact of the accident or just the natural progression of growth. It may be causing you to either pass out or lose bits of memory or…”

She looked at Ryan, passing the baton.

“It might be causing you to imagine or see things,” Ryan said quietly.

Jack looked between the two doctors. “You think this is all a delusion? You think I’m running around chasing ghosts?” Jack tried to flex his restrained wrist. “You think I wrote this fucking thing on my arm?”

“Jack.” Ryan tried to calm his friend.

“Don’t you dare Jack me. Yeah, I’ve got cancer, but I’m not crazy.”

“Jack,” Emily said softly, trying to calm him.

“My body may be failing, but not yet. Don’t you dare tell me I’m going crazy or dying, because I don’t give a shit how long I live, as long as it’s long enough to find my wife and catch the son of a bitch who has her.”

“Sometimes when hit with a tragedy,” Emily said as she rubbed Jack’s foot, “we imagine things, fantasize about ways to save the one we lost, bring them back from the dead. With where the tumor is located combined with the stress and anxiety over Mia, this may be occurring.”

“What are you saying?”

“Is it possible,” Ryan asked sympathetically, “that maybe you’ve been imagining things? Could Mia have gone over the bridge with you in the car?”

“Absolutely not,” Jack shot back.

“Our memory is a tricky thing,” Emily said. “Often, we rewrite our recollections to make them more ideal than the actual occurrence, seeing ourselves as heroes, forcing our minds to paint a more ideal picture than what was witnessed. You said that your mind was blank until it was triggered by her perfume. Could your mind be blocking out her death in favor of hope?”

“No, she’s alive, dammit, I feel it.” Jack said through gritted teeth, although fear began to creep into his soul. “I spoke to her, for Christ’s sake.”

“Is it possible that this case you’ve been chasing after,” Emily added, “all of your running around trying to find her, is just you not dealing with her death?”

The door opened, and Tierney poked his head in. “We need to talk.”

“It can wait.” Ryan didn’t turn to acknowledge his presence

“No, it can’t.”

Tierney and McCourt stood in the hallway.

“I don’t have time to be playing around here,” Tierney said. “I’ve got eight dead and the world calling me for answers.”

“That is my patient in there, and this takes time. If you push me, I’ll postpone my findings until morning.”

“You listen to me-”

“No, you listen to me,” McCourt said. “Remember, you called me down here as his friend and physician to help you deal with a situation. If you want to tell me what’s going on, if you want to give me a question or two, I’ll get you answers. But that’s your only option.”

Tierney calmed himself and finally spoke. “Is he crazy?”

“Why would you ask a question like that?”

Tierney handed Ryan four files, labeled Nowaji Cristos, James Griffin, Mia Keeler, Jack Keeler. Ryan looked at the first, James Griffin, and he felt his heart collapse.

As the seconds ticked by, Jack tried to avoid looking at Emily, who sat at the edge of his bed.

Finally, the door opened and Ryan stepped back into the room. His face had gone ashen.

“Ryan,” Jack demanded, “what the hell is going on?”

“Jack…” Ryan said. “Jimmy Griffin’s body was found last night. He was tortured. Every finger, every bone in his left hand, was snapped in two, a slow, methodical torture.”

Jack was lost for words.

“After they failed to get what they needed from him, they went for Mia; you were collateral damage.”

“He’s not dead,” Jack shot back. “I saw him. I spoke to him.”

“Are you sure it was him?” Ryan said gently.

“Of course I’m sure. I spoke to him for at least fifteen minutes.”

“Had you ever met the man? Do you know what he looks like? Are you sure it was him and not someone setting you up?”

Jack’s breathing quickened. In all honesty, he had no idea. “Ryan, what the hell is going on?”

“Relax, Jack. I’m a friend, remember that.”

“Friends don’t have to remind friends.”

“You know what I’m saying. I’m talking to you instead of you talking to them.” Ryan pointed toward the door. “I’m your doctor and your… well, you know.”

“Can you loosen these straps?” Jack asked.

Ryan looked to Emily, who sat in silence, her hand never leaving Jack. She subtly nodded.

Ryan leaned over to unfasten the metal clasps of the strap around his chest and the Velcro leather straps around his wrists. “Tell me about this guy Cristos.”

Jack took a deep breath, waving his arms around in momentary relief. “Did they tell you about him? His background? Our background?”

“Yeah, Tierney just explained it to me. It’s all in this.” Ryan held up a thick manila file.

“He has Mia.”

“How do you know?”

“He told me. But more important, I spoke to Mia. She told me, dammit.”

Ryan sat on the bed, rubbed his face, gathering himself. “And you saw him? This Cristos?”

Jack nodded. “I did a lot more than see him.”

“I heard.” Ryan paused. “More than a year ago, you convicted this guy of murder, sought and got the death penalty. You were the last person he spoke to. He asked for you. What did he say to you?”

“Nothing. He just spoke about life, the weather… and death.”

“What did he say? Can you remember?”

Jack remembered… death is not always final, not always permanent; death is never the end. And as he thought on those words, pondering them in the context of his current conversation, he realized that from Ryan’s perspective, they might take on a whole new meaning. “I don’t remember.”

“Last fall, you saw Cristos executed at Cronos prison. You saw him die.”

“Don’t talk to me like I’m a child, Ryan. He didn’t die. People… people within our government conspired to save him.”

Emily and Ryan exchanged a glance.

“Jack, more than twenty people saw him die. The coroner confirmed his death.”

“He was paid off.” Jack felt as if he was arguing with a child. “Do you want to just get to the point? They have obviously fed you a bunch of lies and are playing you.”

“OK.” Ryan sat up, composed himself. “Jack, at seven this evening, they-”

“Who’s they?” Jack asked.

“The FBI guy outside-Tierney-he said you walked into the lobby of the Tombs, alone. Talked to an Officer Knoll and went downstairs. They say Charlie Brooks buzzed you in… and then…”

Jack felt his mind slipping, realizing the inference. “That’s not true.” Although Jack tried to avoid it, there was desperation in his voice.

“Jack-”

“I didn’t kill Charlie, dammit. He was a friend. I didn’t kill those cops. The only man I shot was the man who struck Mia and who was about to shoot me. There’s got be video footage,” Jack pleaded.

“I didn’t see any video. I did see pictures of the aftermath. It looks like a war zone.”

“Yeah, and Cristos was right in the middle of it, the cause of it. Pretty horrific work for a dead guy.”

“Jack-”

“Did they speak to Larry Knoll, the guard at the desk? He let us through security. What about the lobby cameras? Surely they got Cristos on video.”

“I asked the same thing,” Ryan said. “They say the cameras were somehow interfered with, nothing but static. And Larry, the guy at the desk, is in a world of trouble for letting you out of the building.”

“What about the cops who arrested me? They saw him on the roof.”

Ryan shook his head with sympathy. “Just you, Jack. No one else was on that roof but you.”

Jack’s head throbbed. He closed his eyes, trying to find something, anything, that would convince his friend of his sanity.

Ryan took a moment, forming his words. “With such a tragedy befalling Mia, when hit with such trauma, sometimes the mind runs and hides. It plays tricks on us. With the accident, hitting your head, it probably jostled the tumor. That is why the colors were brighter, why you could hear things…” Ryan turned on his bedside manner. “And it made you see things. “

“And you saw the tumor,” Jack said facetiously. “You saw that it moved? I don’t recall any X-ray since I got here. A week ago, you said it wouldn’t have an effect for several months, and yet in less than a week, I’m having full-blown hallucinations?”

“No, I haven’t taken an MRI, but I know what I’m going to find. This isn’t you I’m talking to. There are some things you’ve said… they don’t make sense.”

“Bullshit! You know me, Ryan. I didn’t just go through what I went through imagining things. I saw Griffin, I went into the depths of the Tombs with Cristos-in flesh and blood, not some ghost-and his three guys. I was nearly killed trying to get that case.”

“And where is that case, Jack?” Ryan’s words sounded like a summation of all of the facts, bringing his point home.

Jack thought that no matter what he said, they had already tried and convicted him; they were going to rule that he was temporarily, if not permanently, insane. But with every question, Jack’s self-doubt grew. He didn’t remember how he got home, what happened after the accident. There were holes in his memory. And the conversation with his father kept ringing in his head. Reality is all a matter of perspective… and no one was seeing his perspective.

“The cops who arrested you said you were alone on that rooftop, that there was no case.”

Jack said nothing. Reality is all a matter of perspective…

“You gave it up to a man who is dead,” Ryan said.

“Jack.” Emily finally spoke. “Was there ever really an evidence case, or could this all have been in your imagination?”

“Ryan, please.” Jack began to beg. “You’ve known me forever. If I can’t convince you… please, for Mia…”

“OK. “Ryan looked at Jack, his face troubled, his hand shaking. “You’re right. We’re jumping to conclusions, moving too fast. Let’s slow down-no, better yet, let’s start over. Tell me what happened when you woke up this morning. Take your time.”

Jack inhaled as he smiled at his friend. “OK. I woke up, tired, groggy, struggled out of bed as I usually do. Walked downstairs. I was parched. I grabbed a Coke, looked around for the paper. It wasn’t there. Grabbed it off the porch. Went back to the kitchen. Checked the garage, noticed the Tahoe was gone, assumed Mia took it since she left me the Audi-”

“Did you see the headline?”

“No, not yet.”

“And the girls weren’t home?”

“They’re at my mom’s.”

“Good,” Ryan said. “Remember-details.”

“Right.” Jack smiled “I went upstairs-oh, wait. I let the dog out when I got the paper.”

“You did?”

“Yeah, actually.” Jack was thinking, trying to keep order to things in his mind. “Actually, I played a bit on the kitchen floor with Fruck before I grabbed the Coke.”

“With Fruck?” Ryan asked as he nodded.

“Yeah, I’d assumed Mia fed him. I let him out when I grabbed the paper.” Jack refocused. “So, I went upstairs-”

“How long have you had Fruck?”

Jack smiled. “God, I don’t know. Years…”

“Jack.” Ryan spoke quietly, his heart breaking with every word. “Fruck was your dog when you were a kid. I was with you when he got hit by the garbage truck. He died in your arms in the driveway… you were seventeen.”

Jack’s head began to throb. He looked around the room, feeling as if he needed to hold on to something.

Ryan stood up and motioned for Emily to walk with him to the corner of the room. They became lost in a conversation of whispers and soft tones. Ryan passed her each of the four files, one by one. Jack’s hearing had grown more acute, but he couldn’t make out their words as they nodded to each other before walking back his way.

“Jack,” Ryan said in a calm, reassuring voice, “Emily is a psychiatrist, the best in her field. I respect her opinion as much as her experience.”

“Jack.” Emily spoke softly. “You are going to be moved to a special hospital where we can better care for your state of mind. You can undergo radiation treatment which may alleviate the tumor’s impact on your brain function, but until that time, you are a danger to yourself and anyone around you.”

“What?” Jack exploded. “Ryan, don’t do this! Please! Mia is out there… you’ve got to get me out of here. Don’t do it for me. Do it for her.”

“I know. My heart is breaking for you, Jack. I can’t even imagine

…” Ryan took a slow, measured breath, trying desperately to calm himself. The last five minutes since he’d walked back into the room were leading up to this moment. He had waited too long already but still had trouble finding the way to broach it. “Forgive me for not telling you when I came back into the room, but we needed to judge your state of mind.”

“Forgive you for what?”

“They found her, Jack,” Ryan said almost in a whisper.

Jack closed his eyes, a sense of relief filling him, washing away his fear. He truly didn’t care what they did to him, as long as she was safe. He no longer cared about dawn or whether he lived or died. Love was such a simple thing, a thing that if truly felt and experienced compelled one to give everything he had to the one he loved. He let his anger slip away. None of it mattered, as long as Mia was safe to get home to their girls, to hold and protect them forever.

But when Jack opened his eyes, he saw a tear on Ryan’s cheek, Ryan, the one who was not known for emotion, the one whose wife had called heartless on more than one occasion.

“Jack, I don’t know how to tell you this, but Mia’s dead.”