They

Chapter Twenty-two

IT TOOK HIM twenty minutes to drive from Newport Beach to Fountain Valley; there had been a traffic jam on Harbor Boulevard from a three car accident, and Vince found himself boxed in, unable to move forward. By the time he was able to inch his way around the accident along with everybody else, he realized that by now Frank would be at the hospital. As he raced up Harbor Boulevard toward the 405 Freeway, he wondered what hospital Frank would be taken to. The only hospital he could think of was Fountain Valley General, which was just across the street from the phone booth he’d called from. How convenient for Frank to have called within close vicinity to an Emergency Room.

When Vince pulled into the parking lot of Fountain Valley General, he squealed to a stop and rushed out of the car toward the Emergency room. He was panicky and out of breath, but he was also worried.

He was standing at the Emergency room entrance, not even paying attention to the traffic of patients and doctors and orderlies moving back and forth past him. He came out of his semi-trance-like state and moved over to the registration desk. An overweight black woman glanced up at him with wide eyes. “Help you?”

“I’m looking for a patient,” Vince said. “He would have been brought in by paramedics. Big guy, covered with tattoos, black hair. He was hurt… stabbed, I think.”

The black woman shrugged. “Dough’no. We just got an Emergency run ten minutes ago. You family?”

“Yes,” Vince said, the lie springing to his lips easily. “I’m his brother.”

“Lemme see.” The woman ran her finger down a roster, and Vince looked out at the Emergency Room waiting area. It was half-full of the usual—people nursing cuts, broken bones, women consoling children. His mind refused to let what Frank told him die a quiet death. Maybe there was some truth to it, no matter how crazy or how wrong it all was. Vince a half-human, half-demon hybrid? It was absurd. Maybe The Children of the Night believed he was, but it was ridiculous. There was no God? Vince had long believed that, but if there was no God, there couldn’t be an evil creature named Hanbi that was the father of Satan and Pazuzu and all the other demonic creatures that had sprung from the spiritual imaginations of ancient civilizations. There could not be one without the other. However, if millions of people believed in a benevolent God, why not an evil being? It explained some of the imagery from the dreams he’d been having. Especially the one where the hippie tried to kill him. Why else would a burned-out hippie guy try to kill a child? Simple. He’d bought into the idea that Vince was to be the gateway to the emergence of Hanbi, which in a way resembled the emergence of the Christian Anti-Christ. And what if they all believed this so much that it was now permanently embedded in their psyches the same way Christians believed Jesus Christ was the Son of God, the Messiah, their Savior?

Vince shuddered. Why the hell not? It would explain some of the other dreams: the one with the adults wearing those black robes and cowls, chanting in a semi-circle while a toddler-Vince was placed on a raised dais to be worshipped. They had been worshipping him, tripping out, going on with their weird mix of religion and hallucinogens, and it had just gotten scary and dangerous and then his mother had seen it for what it had really been. Something scary, and just plain wrong, and she’d split. But somehow they’d tracked her down, and then found him. Their conviction in him had never wavered; they’d been permanently hard-wired.

A rush of activity interrupted his thoughts, and he turned toward the commotion. A pair of EMT’s was wheeling somebody in and Vince stepped away from the counter to get a better look. “Sir?” the black woman behind the counter said, but Vince wasn’t even listening. He had to see—

He rushed up to the stretcher as an EMT tried to hold him back. “Please step back, sir.”

“Frank!” Vince craned his neck to get a look.

And as the stretcher was whisked passed him, Vince got a quick glimpse of Frank as he was wheeled down the hall to OR. The brief glimpse was all Vince needed to see; Frank was unconscious, pale, and very bloody.

An orderly gripped Vince’s arm to hold him back. “Sir, please…”

“I’m his brother!” Vince said, his voice tinged with anguish.

“Sir?” The orderly had a firm grip in his upper right arm, and now a nurse joined him, one Vince hadn’t noticed before. The nurse was an older woman, in her forties maybe, and together the two escorted Vince to the waiting area. “We’re doing the best we can,” the orderly said. “And the best way you can help us is to remain calm.”

Vince nodded, fighting back the tears that threatened to spill out. He had to be strong, not only for himself but also for Frank.

“What’s your brother’s name?” The orderly was friendly, and had an open face that was sunny even in such dire circumstances.

“Frank,” Vince said, not looking at the orderly. “Frank Black.”

“Is your brother allergic to any medications?”

Vince shook his head. “No. I don’t think so, no.”

“How old is he, sir?” The nurse asked this question; her voice was kind, gentle.

For a moment, Vince didn’t know what to tell her. He had to think about it, add the numbers up in his head. Frank was two years older than he was, that much he knew. “He’s thirty-five,” he said, nodding. He looked at both nurses. “Thirty-five.”

“Do you know if he’s HIV positive?”

“Not that I know of.” How could he know that? He’d only known Frank for a week. Knowing that brought the pain and sorrow to come surging stronger. He sniffed back tears and shook his head. “No,” he said. “He doesn’t have HIV. At least not that I know of.”

Another nurse joined them. She appeared to be Vince’s age and had reddish hair. “If you’ll please come with me, sir, we’ll do the best we can to take care of your brother.”

Vince glanced back once more in the direction Frank had been taken and nodded. He let the redheaded nurse lead him back to the waiting area, feeling a tremendous weight settle on his shoulders. He heard the nurse and orderly that had been questioning him retreat to the OR, presumably to assist in working on Frank. The redheaded nurse had a kind voice. She sat down next to him. “We’re going to do everything we can but you have to be strong for him, okay?”

Vince nodded, not looking at her. He was frightened, and he was scared, and while he knew the nurse picked up on that, she didn’t know that he was frightened and scared for reasons she wouldn’t even be able to understand.

“MR. BLACK?”

At first Vince didn’t look up at the sound of the man’s voice. He was thinking of Frank and the last week or so that they were together. He was thinking of Mike Peterson, and Tracy Harris and his mother, and he was too preoccupied to remember that he’d lied to the admissions people that he was Frank’s brother so he wasn’t even focusing on that when the voice called out again. “Mr. Black?”

Vince looked up and was not too surprised to see that it belonged to a doctor.

He didn’t know how long he’d been in the tiny waiting room by himself. The redheaded nurse had led him there; it was segregated away from the main waiting area, most likely reserved for loved ones of critical patients for their privacy. He’d been sitting by himself in a chair just leaning forward, elbows resting on his knees, staring at the floor and thinking when the doctor entered. He glanced at his watch quickly—it was now almost five p.m. How long had he been here?

The doctor was tall, wearing green scrubs, his surgical mask hanging around his neck. He had a dark complexion and a mop of black hair. Vince nodded and stood up. “Frank’s my brother,” he said quickly. “How is he?”

“He’s in very serious condition,” the doctor began. “I’d like to start by saying that—”

“Can I see him?”

“It might not be a good idea for you to see him right now,” the doctor began.

“Please,” Vince said, imploring the physician. “Just for a minute.”

“We’re going to be giving him a stronger tranquilizer,” the doctor said, frowning. “He almost came to while he was in surgery. He’s lost a lot of blood. To be perfectly honest, I’d advise against seeing him now in the condition he’s in—”

“I have to see him!” He had this undying need to learn everything that Frank had gone through the last twenty-four hours.

The outburst of emotion had the right effect. “Only for a minute,” the doctor said. He put his hand on Vince’s shoulder and escorted him down the hall.

Vince tried to control the tears, but it was hard. As he walked with the doctor down the hall, all he could think of was the past week. How Frank had risked his life, as well as the life of his wife and children, to track Vince down and help him get to the bottom of this enigma regarding his mother. The fact that Frank had put so much on the line, even though Vince realized that he had his own personal motives as well, were weighing heavily on him.

“He was stabbed numerous times in the upper torso,” the physician said, relating the clinical details in a calm, yet caring manner. “Two of them were flesh wounds, but the other three were very serious. The other wounds are life-threatening and unusual.”

“Unusual? How? I don’t understand?”

The doctor glanced at Vince; he looked hesitant. He’s hiding something, Vince thought. “He’s currently on a ventilator to help him breath, and his blood pressure is low,” the doctor continued. “We’ve got him on—”

“Is he going to make it?” Vince asked.

They reached the door to the room Frank was in. The doctor looked hopeful, but grim. “We’re doing everything we can. The next forty-eight hours will be critical.”

Vince took this information well and nodded. Frank was tough. He could get through this.

“I’ll leave you with him for no more than two minutes,” the doctor said. “Then you’ll have to leave. He’s going to need his rest.”

“Yes,” Vince said, as the doctor opened the door to the room and allowed Vince entry.

Vince stepped into the room. It was a large triage area and Frank was the only patient, lying in a bed in the middle of the room. He was hooked up to a myriad of machines; ventilator, IVs, blood pressure gauge. It seemed to take forever for Vince to cross the room, but when he approached Frank’s bedside he saw that Frank’s eyes were closed. Vince winced at the sight of Frank’s bandaged, battered body. He was looking at a different man than the longhaired, menacing tattooed figure he’d met at Baxter’s in Irvine. Frank’s chest was heavily bandaged, as was his abdomen. His shirt and pants had been peeled off and a blue hospital blanket was pulled over his legs and groin. There was a bruise covering the left side of his face that extended to his temple. The only thing colorful about Frank now was his tattooed arms; his skin was deathly pale. As Vince leaned closer, he thought to himself, he’s gonna be all right. He’s gonna be all right.

Frank opened his eyes.

Vince jumped back, startled. Frank stared up at the ceiling and, for a moment, Vince wondered if Frank was even conscious. If perhaps the act of opening his eyes was some sort of subliminal command, the way comatose people will behave when they are in a deep sleep. He watched Frank for a moment, unable to breath, and then Frank’s eyes rolled toward him, resting on him. “V… Vince,” Frank sighed.

“Frank,” Vince said. He reached out, touched Frank’s arm gingerly.

Frank’s eyes were droopy; his pupils dilated. The drugs were taking effect. “H… Haow…”

“Easy, buddy,” Vince said, whispering, leaning closer to him. “It’s okay, just take it easy.”

“After the thing… got me,” Frank began, “they took me. My mother… she was furious with me.”

Gladys Black? The woman who had abandoned Frank as a child, had sacrificed Frank’s sister in a satanic ritual? Vince nodded, not knowing what to say.

“They took me to their home,” Frank said, his voice clear, struggling to maintain the strength of its former timbre. “Can you believe that?” His eyes went blank for a moment, his features slackened, then the muscles in his cheeks grew taut as he fought to control himself. “They took me home…”

“Take it easy,” Vince said, trying to calm Frank down. Frank was trying to tell him something, but he didn’t want the doctor or any of the nurses to interrupt him. “Easy does it.”

“…to somewhere… near Laguna…” Frank said. His eyes drew closed and he sighed. Vince waited, the hum of the machines in the room sounding very loud all of a sudden. “Laagunaaa Hills…”

“Yeah?” Vince whispered, trying to calm his own nerves down.

Frank’s eyes drifted open again, locked with Vince’s. His hand reached out, gripped Vince’s arm. “They took me… to one of their rooms… they let… they let it out again.” Frank winced, motioned to his heavily bandaged torso. “They let it… loose on me again. They… let it… eat me.”

Vince glanced back at the doorway; the coast was still clear. “Frank, listen, you need to relax. You can tell me everything when—”

“I don’t know why they let me go” Frank continued. He swallowed, then coughed. “Next thing I remember, I was outside… in… Fountain Valley? Huntington Beach maybe? I… started walking… saw how bad it was… found a phone booth…”

“—you get out, okay?” Vince was trying to calm Frank down, trying to get him to just relax and sleep, but he was still listening to what Frank was saying. Did he just tell me that they ate part of him? Is that what the doctor didn’t want to tell me?

“Tracy… where is she?” Frank said, his voice failing.

“She’s safe, Frank,” Vince said, his mind racing. “You’re going to be okay.”

“You… knew…” Frank was struggling to speak. His pupils dilated to wide discs, obscuring the whites. “…Tracy…”

Vince’s heart began to pound as Frank’s breathing became more labored, his eyes grew wider. The beeping of the heart monitor was racing as Frank’s heartbeat accelerated and Vince glanced at the monitor. Surely that couldn’t be a good sign. The green indicator on the machine was blipping like crazy. Frank had stopped talking and was lying slumped on the bed, staring sightlessly upward.

Vince turned toward the doorway. “Help! Doctor! Somebody!” He raced toward the nurse’s station just as a nurse rushed in, almost knocking him over. “The monitor—” he began, hovering in the doorway, watching helplessly as the doctor that had escorted him to Frank’s bedside rushed in.

Another pair of medical professionals joined them, and Vince could only watch in growing shock as a defibrillator was wheeled over. The dark-haired physician squeezed a dollop of gel on the defibrillator pads, placed them on Frank’s right pectoral muscle and on his left side. He watched the cardiac monitor as the nurse watched the dials on the defibrillator. “Clear,” she said.

Whump! Frank’s back arched as his body was jolted with electricity. There was a short pause as all eyes went to the monitor. Flatline.

“Damnit!” The doctor placed the pads back into position. “Increase the voltage, in five.”

The five seconds that passed were the longest Vince ever experienced, and when the nurse shouted “clear!” again and Frank was jolted with the defibrillator pads, Vince turned and bolted out of the room. He couldn’t bear to watch anymore, couldn’t bear to be in the same room as the doctors and nurses fought to save Frank’s life. He couldn’t bear to be in the same room because the sinking feeling that he had when he watched Frank flatline was that it was over. Frank wasn’t coming back.

Vince stood outside the triage room for a moment, collecting his bearings. Other medical personnel breezed past, some clutching charts, some pushing gurneys with patients. They didn’t pay attention to Vince. After a moment, Vince could hear what was going on in the triage room and he closed his eyes. They zapped Frank a third time, then a fourth. Each zap was followed by a bustle of activity—the administering of oxygen and CPR and fluids, then the all-clear signal, followed by another zap. Vince waited outside the closed triage room door, unable to move, transfixed by the sound of the medical personnel fighting to save Frank’s life. It felt like he was in a holding pattern, frozen until the final verdict was pronounced.

When it finally came it was in a single sentence, from the dark-haired doctor. “Time of death five minutes after five p.m., Pacific Time.”

With no clear destination in mind, Vince moved.

He headed down the hall, away from the triage room, not really knowing where he was going, only knowing that he had to get away.