Chapter 28
Alon began to improve over the next few weeks, with Claude's help. Eventually, he was eating, and could sit up on his won, though he still couldn't walk. He was working on his arms, in the hope of being able to use a wheelchair while his legs got stronger. Alon loved Paul's home, but longed to be able to move around it by himself. Paul's paranoia remained, although the arrival of the security allayed his fears somewhat; there was always someone watching the house.
It was a Thursday evening when one of the nurses came. Dovid was still in Montreal, but had other business and had been staying in another part of town for about a week. He was due back the next day before leaving for LA.
"How's he doing?" He asked Paul.
"Okay,
just fine," said Paul. He was a little flustered.
"Still
eating?"
"Yes,
pureed stuff."
"But he still doesn't talk?"
"No.
Not a word."
"Oh, well," said the nurse cheerfully. "Early
days, yet."
He went to the front door. Paul did not see him out. He heard the front door close.
"Are you
okay, Alon?"
"I'm fine," said Alon, smiling.
Paul heard the front door close again. He went into the hall, and found the door banging on its hinges- it had been left open and was flapping in the breeze. It had made Paul nervous but now he was relieved; he had to stop being paranoid. The security would have come if there was a problem.
That night, Paul bade Alon goodnight and went to bed himself. He was starting to adjust to the situation and feel much more like his old self again. Pierre had told him he was getting some of his colour back. With Alon doing so well, and so much support being given to him by Dovid, Claude, Pierre and Sandrine, he was looking forward to going back to work.
Paul did not hear the front door open, but he heard a commotion coming from downstairs. He crept down the stairs, nervously. He covered his mouth with his hand as he reached the hall. The body of one of the security men was slumped against the hall wall. He was almost completely white, and he was sitting in a pool of blood. For a moment, Paul had to stop himself screaming, crying out, and vomiting all at once, for he felt like he might do all three. He took a second to compose himself. The noise was coming from Alon's room. As he approached, it stopped. Paul gulped. As he approached the door, the noise stopped. Paul paused; he was not really sure what he was going to do. The videophone would make too much noise if he tried to use it. But whoever was in the room obviously meant harm, as he had already killed a security guard.
Paul took a deep breath, and grabbed his baseball bat from the wall. It was a memento, never meant as a weapon, but it was the only thing he could easily lay his hands on. He decided to open the door quickly, to have the element of surprise. All he knew about this sort of situation he had seen on TV. He hoped with all his might that the good guys were going to win this time.
Paul
kicked open the door. Alon was on the floor, seemingly unconscious.
There was a figure over him, which turned around when Paul opened the
door. In the half-light, Paul recognised him. It was the night
nurse.
"You!" said Paul. He was taken aback. He held his
bat up high.
The nurse froze.
"What do you want with him!" screamed Paul, and rained three heavy blows on to the man's head. He fell.
"Alon! Are you all right?" Paul shook Alon, furiously.
"He injected me with something," said Alon, sluggishly.
"Oh, God!" said Paul, and picked him up. He carried him into the next room and went for the videophone. Alon fought to stay awake.
"Police!" called Paul into the videophone. It only took a few seconds to be connected. "There's a man in my house! He just drugged my son!"
"Get out of the house; we'll be right there!"
The police were despatched immediately, and within a minute Paul could hear the noise of the helijet outside. He hugged Alon tightly. He wrapped him in a blanket, and carried him to the front door.
As he opened the door, Paul heard a loud noise, and then felt a burning sensation in his back. It was not painful; just uncomfortable. Suddenly, Paul could no longer stand. He was not sure why. He sank to the ground, gently placing Alon across his knees.
"No! No!" said Alon, sleepily. The adrenaline was beginning to counteract the drug.
Another shot hit the hall wall. Alon dragged himself around to the outside. He tried to pull Paul out towards him, but his arms were too weak. He cried with frustration. He fell backwards as he let go of Paul. A policeman jumped over them both, followed by two more, and a fourth stopped at Alon and Paul. There was the sound of pulse weapons fire inside the house.
"You okay, kid?" asked the officer.
"Him- my Dad!" said Alon, and wept. "Please help him!"
The
officer signalled to another. They brought a life support bed over,
and placed Paul on it. They did their best but had to wait for a
medic to finish it.
"I think we'd better get him away; he
looks pretty bad," said the first officer.
"Medair will be here in 2 minutes," said the other.
"I don't think he has that long," said the first.
The two women nodded to each other, and pulled the bed away.
"Come on, kid," said the first. "We've got to get your dad to hospital!"
"I can't walk," sobbed Alon.
Another officer appeared from somewhere and scooped Alon up. Before he knew it, they were airborne.
