James Patterson - Toys

I clung to his back, choking him and wrestling to dump the bike and flip it over, to flip him.

My weight tipped us some and started us sliding broadside-but the wheels hit a parking curb and we flipped almost straight up into the air. We were still going so fast the momentum shot us right out over the ledge.

Then we were plunging downward-ten stories to the pavement below.

There, in all probability, we would both die.

The next few seconds were the longest of my life. I was truly flying, twisting and turning in blissful weightlessness, helpless yet absolutely free.

But a harsh, hate-filled noise interrupted the thought, pushing it away and sucking me back to-

The motorcycle rider was trying to twist himself around so that he could land on top of me-maybe I’d absorb enough impact for him to survive the fall.

Not going to happen! I would have yelled, if there’d been enough time to form the words.

But I did hook my leg tightly behind his. Then I threw my shoulders back and away from him, causing our tangled bodies to shift in the ever-louder, whistling-now screaming- air.

For those few seconds, I had been watching the pavement below. Now I saw everything at once-bricks, glass, the side of a building blurring like the view out a train window as it plunges into a tunnel…

The stinging air was pulling, ripping at my hair, my clothes, my lips, my eyelids… and then-

The murderer skunk hit the ground first. I smashed into his body like a pile of lumber landing on a sack of rotten fruit.

And then-nothing at all.

Short circuit?

Death?

I had no idea.

In my first blurred instants of consciousness, before I could even open my eyes, I was somewhat aware of movement-and also that I was floating along flat on my back.

Next came a sharp, clean smell. Antiseptic.

I was in a hospital!

The murmur of voices chattering all around me began to come clear.

One was a woman’s, soft, concerned, and very familiar- Lizbeth.

Another-a man’s, deep voiced and commanding. That would be Jax Moore, the Agency chief, my boss. Lizbeth’s boss as well.

There were others, but I didn’t recognize any of them at this point.

I realized I must be in New Lake City Hospital, the finest Elite medical facility in the world. I opened my eyes and saw that the other voices belonged to the personnel who were hurrying me on a gurney down a shockingly bright hallway. And to several other people accompanying us-all high-level Elites-some of whom I’d seen earlier at the president’s inauguration party.

It appeared that I was enjoying a taste of fame and celebrity. Lucky thing I was still wearing my tux-or, at least, what was left of it.

“Hays,” Lizbeth gasped as my eyes fluttered, her lovely face leaning close. “How do you feel, my darling?”

“Never better,” I mumbled.

The truth was, I hurt horribly all over, and the constant, astounding pain was getting worse fast. I’d been badly injured before, a number of times, but never in a way I couldn’t handle-nothing like this present, unbearable agony.

Of course, I’d never fallen ten stories before. Two or three, sure. Even four once… but ten was clearly more than the doctor, or doctors, ordered.

“What happened to the motorcycle rider?” I said through clenched teeth. “That killer scum? The skunk?”

“They’re scooping him up with shovels,” Moore growled at my side.

“Damn! I was trying to keep him alive.”

“We know-you gave it a hell of a shot. Now shut up and take it easy, we’re almost at the OR. You need some parts replaced, buddy.”

I relaxed and managed to give Lizbeth maybe a quarter of a smile. I knew I was in the best possible hands and that Elite medicine had reached a point where I could be good as new-hopefully within a week or two.

But the damn pain was getting worse, and I was weakening in a way I’d never felt before-like the very life was ebbing out of me.

Was that possible-could I be dying? And no one would tell me? Not even Lizbeth? I didn’t want to die, especially not so suddenly.

I managed to whisper, “Love you, Jinx. Love the kids.”

And she, “Love you, Hays. More than anything in this world. Hang on, sweetheart.”

Then the operating room doors swung open and I saw lots of lights. Hospital attendants pushed me inside, then lifted me from the gurney to the table. There, masked, gowned surgeons were already waiting with ultraprecise, computer-moderated surgical tools.

“No time to lose with him,” one of them said grimly. “He’s on his way out.”

Dammit, I didn’t need to hear that.

With swift precision, the medical experts adjusted the overhead lights, hooked me up to the banks of monitors and machines, and deftly slid a catheter into my arm. The blessed sedative relief started flowing through my veins, soothing the fiery ache of shrieking nerves.

As I began to slip over the edge of oblivion, I felt the pressure, although no pain, of a laser scalpel opening up my torso.

Then I must have gone into another dream.

Faint and far away, I heard these incredible words:

“My God, look at that! You see that line? That’s scar tissue. He’s had some sort of surgery here. I think the skin’s been grafted. You see how the follicles are different over here from over here?…

“Look here, underneath… It looks like… Holy shit! You see that?… You see what that is? That’s the remains of a navel cavity! This guy used to have a belly button! Hays Baker is no Elite.

“He’s human. This man is a skunk.”

I was being chased by commandos and trained wildcats. If the cats got to me first, I’d be torn to pieces.

On and on I ran through a murky landscape, the color of dark blood, with the ground endlessly collapsing beneath me and my leaden legs scrambling desperately to stay ahead of God only knows what kind of danger.

The strength I had always depended on was gone-I was weak, helpless, someone who didn’t matter anymore, someone who couldn’t fight back.

Shadowy terrors clutched at me, and everywhere I turned, hateful faces loomed close, screeching those awful words I imagined I’d heard:

He’s human.

The worst thing by far was the terrible shame of the words.

This man is a skunk.

I could feel the wildcats now-so close-and hear the sound they made, like a high-pitched drill.

I had no idea how long my horrible fugue state lasted, but I finally woke soaked in my own sweat. I must have been thrashing terribly because the bedding was twisted around me like restraints.

Then I realized it wasn’t bedding at all; it was restraints. I was being held captive for some insane reason that I couldn’t comprehend.

Did someone think I might harm myself? Why would I do that?

Faces above me blurred in and out-from dream to reality-until they solidified, glaring down. Not wildcats. One was my partner, Owen McGill, and the other my boss, Jax Moore-except there was no mistaking them for old friends now.

For the first time, I noticed how cold-eyed and thin-lipped Jax Moore’s handsome face was, and how McGill’s macho, chiseled jaw could have a brutal, almost mechanical look to it. Elites could certainly appear that way, more machine than man.

“Well, well, our traitorous skunk’s awake,” Moore said, wrinkling his nose as if I were offal he’d accidentally stepped in. “How are you feeling, Hays? We haven’t given you anything for the pain. Why should we?”