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.”
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