Chapter Twentythree
The garage was empty when the Griffon arrived.
Roger decided to use the main elevator. He would probably have a better chance of surprise if he came in through the front. He found hmself wishing for his old service revolver - he would have to depend on his wits and his fists this time.
The elevator door opened and Roger stepped into the golden alcove. The nameplate on the office door was missing. So were the mirror, the lacquered table, and the white orchids. He assumed Norman had removed them. The office door was locked. The apartment door was slightly ajar.
Roger entered cautiously, not sure what to expect. His footsteps clicked on the slate floor. He stood there stunned. The place had been stripped to the bare walls.
The light was wrong too, cold, grey, streaming mercilessly through the glass panes of the now empty greenhouse. Rowan's tame jungle, green and sweet-scented, was gone too. It was eerily quiet. All he heard was the anxious pounding of his own heart.
Every room was the same. Any sign of habitation, any sign of Rowan, had vanished. Only the painted summer sky in the bedroom remained.
Roger next went into the lab. This was empty too. His footsteps echoed on the cold tile floor mockingly. Was he too late? He buried the thought, knowing he had to go on. There was only one place left to look - her office.
He went to the door leading to the storage/passageway between the lab and the office. It was unlocked. Roger pulled it open.
There was evidence of a battle here. The file cabinets (though also empty) had been tossed about and dented, paint had been scraped off the walls, there was torn fabric caught on the open drawers. There was a bright smear of blood, still fairly fresh, on the door before him.
He restrained himself from rushing in (not knowing who or what waited on the other side) and quietly opened it a bit.
The lifeless body of a giant of a man lay before him. His head was smashed, presumably by the broken hourglass beside him. The fine white sand had spilled out, and was turning red from the blood still seeping from the wound. Ro's tiny tree lay near him too, its container shattered. There was absolutely no sound.
Roger, still hidden by the door, closed his eyes and grimaced. Had he just missed them? Steeling himself for the worst, he pushed the door open and strode out. A muffled sound made him turn towards the desk.
Roger's heart leaped when he saw Rowan. He dashed towards her. He undid the gag first, kissing her bruised mouth, then started working on the heavily knotted rope binding her to the chair.
"Are you alright?" he asked, struggling with the intricate knots. "Yes," she answered, " but we have to get out of here fast. They are using me as bait to trap you. Rosewater is crazy, Roger - I don't know how we are going to stop him."
Roger got one of her hands free. She started to work on her other hand while he undid the ropes around her waist and legs. It felt like hours before she was freed. Roger grabbed her hand - "Let's get out of here," and started to pull her towards the side door...when they heard a metallic click.
The tall man before them was a twin to the corpse. He was aiming a tranquilizer gun at them. He fired.
Rowan stepped in front of Roger instinctively. If he was knocked out, neither of them had a chance. The drug-filled dart hit her squarely over her heart, the needle penetrating deeply.
"Ro!" gasped Roger. "I'm okay, don't let him reload," she replied urgently. She didn't tell him the drug had already started to enter her, or that the liquid was red and oily.
Smith turned and leaped over the desk, attacking the gunman like a tiger. (He didn't see Rowan try to pull out the dart, only to have the needle snap off, then crumple to to the floor as the drug took effect.) He smashed his gloved fists into the man's face repeatedly, releasing months of pent-up fury.
He would have cheerfully killed the man if two police officers hadn't dragged him off. Roger struggled to get free, even as two other officers cuffed the gunman. The negotiator seemed entranced with rage until Dastun hit him in the shoulder to get his attention.
"Roger," growled the major, "if you kill him we'll never know who's responsible, and I'll have to take you in for murder." Dan watched as the crazed look in Roger's eyes faded.
"I know who's responsible," said the younger man sullenly. He finally stopped struggling. Dan nodded to the two cops, and they released the negotiator.
"You know your word alone won't be good enough for the courts. We need him too." Dan gestured towards the prisoner. The officers hustled the bloodied man out the front door.
"Besides," Dastun continued, "I don't think Rowan would like you spending your wedding day in jail. Where is she? Have you found her?" He looked anxious.
"Of course, she's right over there..." Roger turned towards the desk. She was nowhere to be seen. "But that's not possible..." he ran over to the desk.
Rowan was collapsed on the floor.
"Dan, call the EMTs!" he yelled. Dastun peered over the desk - "Oh my god," he muttered - then got on his radio calling for medical help A.S.A.P.
Smith sat down beside her and felt for her pulse. It was so fast that he couldn't make out the individual beats. What had she been injected with? It couldn't have been a tranquilizer.
He lifted her into his lap, so that she was leaning up against him. As he moved her, a tiny vial fell out of her hand. Roger picked it up. An oily red residue clung to its inner surface. It was the drug he had originally been given. Worse, where was the needle portion of the dart? He opened her blouse. There was a tiny spot of blood directly over her heart. The needle had broken off inside her.
Dastun came over with some cold water and handed it to the negotiator. He watched anxiously as Roger daubed Rowan's face, trying to revive her. To the relief of both men, she started to move, and finally opened her eyes. Roger gave her some of the water to drink. She started to take a deep breath, then winced in pain. Ro looked down at the wound and touched it in surprise (Alex didn't take my heart, she thought) then looked back at Roger.
Rowan touched his face. "Are you okay, love? Did we escape?" she asked him softly.
Roger bent his head towards her: "Yes, sweetheart, yes. You were hurt a little, but we're getting help, they'll be here soon." He glanced up at Dastun, who mouthed the words, "They're coming."
Rowan nodded. "Tell them to use the medicine locked in the third cabinet on the top shelf," she said. "That's the only antidote, he didn't use a tranquilizer."
She snuggled up against Roger. "I feel so hot," she murmured.
A chill went through Roger at her words. There was no third cabinet anymore. The lab, with its rows of plant-based medicines, was empty.
"Rowan," he whispered, "what else can we use?" Her skin was beginning to flush slightly. She felt feverish. "Rowan, please talk to me," he begged. He hugged her tightly, rocking her like a child.
She opened her beautiful green eyes, but seemed to have a little trouble focusing on him. A serious expression passed over her face: "Roger, please keep your promise to me whatever happens, the promise you made about using Big O only for good, to protect the people. I don't think I'll be able to help anymore, you'll have to do it for me. Please, love." She spoke so quietly he could barely hear her.
Roger shushed her with a kiss on her soft mouth. "Nothing is going to happen. Besides, you promised to always be with me, and you always keep your word."
The pained look on her face startled him.
"Okay," he said, "I swear I'll keep my promise - my word is as good as yours - that's why we're the best negotiators in town."
She smiled at that, and seemed to relax a bit in his arms. Roger smoothed her black hair from her face, then looked back at Dastun (who was standing impatiently by the front door, talking urgently into his radio.) "Damn it, Dastun, where are they?" he yelled.
"They had another emergency - the prisoner committed suicide. He had a cyanide capsule in a tooth. They're coming up now," replied Dastun. The scarred vein on his head was throbbing like it would burst. He went back over to Smith.
Roger was cradling Rowan tenderly in his arms, whispering something to her that made her smile. Dan had never seen such a loving expression on anyone's face before; Roger Smith was the last person he would ever have expected it from. They were a good match, these two. Once they got through this, they could get through anything, he thought.
As Dan watched, he noticed Rowan suddenly jerk slightly (as if she'd been shocked with electricity) then fall limp in Roger's arms. The young man sat there stunned for a moment, holding her like a rag doll. "Rowan?" pleaded Roger softly, "Rowan, please baby, answer me." Silence.
He stretched Ro out onto the floor and started doing CPR on her. Tears were streaming down his handsome face as he worked frantically on her.
The med techs finally arrived with all their equipment and brusquely moved Roger out of the way.
They checked her vital signs first. One of the techs hooked up a monitor of some sort to her, then set up an I.V. drip. The other placed an oxygen mask over her face. He then pulled open her shirt to better examine the tiny wound. He carefully sliced open the smooth skin to get a better grip on the needle. He pulled it out with some difficulty.
The other tech charged the defibrillating paddles, the shrill whine filling the room. "Back," he said, and applied them to the motionless form before him. There was no change. The monitor readings remained flat. He attempted again, using a higher charge. Still nothing.
The other tech injected something into Ro, then stepped back as the the first man applied the paddles a third time to work their modern magic.
There was no response. She was flat-lined.
"Keep trying," begged Roger. "Can't you give her something, another drug, more oxygen, ANYTHING, please don't give up!"
"I'm truly sorry, sir," the EMT shook his head. "There's nothing more we can do." The other tech opened up a collapsable stretcher. They started to put Rowan onto it.
"WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!" Roger pushed them away from her, cuddled her lifeless body in his arms.
"Wake up, Ro, please wake up, don't die now!" He caressed her face, her body, buried his face in her hair. "You promised," he whispered.
Dastun, his own grim face wet with tears, gently tugged Roger away, letting the EMTs finish their sad job. Roger stood there, utterly stricken, as they covered her with a white cloth and carried her out of the room.
The expression on Roger's face burned itself into Dan's brain. It was the look of a man who had seen the true face of hell. His black eyes seemed empty pits of darkness, his face the color of ashes. It was as if Roger's soul had died with Rowan.
The garage was empty when the Griffon arrived.
Roger decided to use the main elevator. He would probably have a better chance of surprise if he came in through the front. He found hmself wishing for his old service revolver - he would have to depend on his wits and his fists this time.
The elevator door opened and Roger stepped into the golden alcove. The nameplate on the office door was missing. So were the mirror, the lacquered table, and the white orchids. He assumed Norman had removed them. The office door was locked. The apartment door was slightly ajar.
Roger entered cautiously, not sure what to expect. His footsteps clicked on the slate floor. He stood there stunned. The place had been stripped to the bare walls.
The light was wrong too, cold, grey, streaming mercilessly through the glass panes of the now empty greenhouse. Rowan's tame jungle, green and sweet-scented, was gone too. It was eerily quiet. All he heard was the anxious pounding of his own heart.
Every room was the same. Any sign of habitation, any sign of Rowan, had vanished. Only the painted summer sky in the bedroom remained.
Roger next went into the lab. This was empty too. His footsteps echoed on the cold tile floor mockingly. Was he too late? He buried the thought, knowing he had to go on. There was only one place left to look - her office.
He went to the door leading to the storage/passageway between the lab and the office. It was unlocked. Roger pulled it open.
There was evidence of a battle here. The file cabinets (though also empty) had been tossed about and dented, paint had been scraped off the walls, there was torn fabric caught on the open drawers. There was a bright smear of blood, still fairly fresh, on the door before him.
He restrained himself from rushing in (not knowing who or what waited on the other side) and quietly opened it a bit.
The lifeless body of a giant of a man lay before him. His head was smashed, presumably by the broken hourglass beside him. The fine white sand had spilled out, and was turning red from the blood still seeping from the wound. Ro's tiny tree lay near him too, its container shattered. There was absolutely no sound.
Roger, still hidden by the door, closed his eyes and grimaced. Had he just missed them? Steeling himself for the worst, he pushed the door open and strode out. A muffled sound made him turn towards the desk.
Roger's heart leaped when he saw Rowan. He dashed towards her. He undid the gag first, kissing her bruised mouth, then started working on the heavily knotted rope binding her to the chair.
"Are you alright?" he asked, struggling with the intricate knots. "Yes," she answered, " but we have to get out of here fast. They are using me as bait to trap you. Rosewater is crazy, Roger - I don't know how we are going to stop him."
Roger got one of her hands free. She started to work on her other hand while he undid the ropes around her waist and legs. It felt like hours before she was freed. Roger grabbed her hand - "Let's get out of here," and started to pull her towards the side door...when they heard a metallic click.
The tall man before them was a twin to the corpse. He was aiming a tranquilizer gun at them. He fired.
Rowan stepped in front of Roger instinctively. If he was knocked out, neither of them had a chance. The drug-filled dart hit her squarely over her heart, the needle penetrating deeply.
"Ro!" gasped Roger. "I'm okay, don't let him reload," she replied urgently. She didn't tell him the drug had already started to enter her, or that the liquid was red and oily.
Smith turned and leaped over the desk, attacking the gunman like a tiger. (He didn't see Rowan try to pull out the dart, only to have the needle snap off, then crumple to to the floor as the drug took effect.) He smashed his gloved fists into the man's face repeatedly, releasing months of pent-up fury.
He would have cheerfully killed the man if two police officers hadn't dragged him off. Roger struggled to get free, even as two other officers cuffed the gunman. The negotiator seemed entranced with rage until Dastun hit him in the shoulder to get his attention.
"Roger," growled the major, "if you kill him we'll never know who's responsible, and I'll have to take you in for murder." Dan watched as the crazed look in Roger's eyes faded.
"I know who's responsible," said the younger man sullenly. He finally stopped struggling. Dan nodded to the two cops, and they released the negotiator.
"You know your word alone won't be good enough for the courts. We need him too." Dan gestured towards the prisoner. The officers hustled the bloodied man out the front door.
"Besides," Dastun continued, "I don't think Rowan would like you spending your wedding day in jail. Where is she? Have you found her?" He looked anxious.
"Of course, she's right over there..." Roger turned towards the desk. She was nowhere to be seen. "But that's not possible..." he ran over to the desk.
Rowan was collapsed on the floor.
"Dan, call the EMTs!" he yelled. Dastun peered over the desk - "Oh my god," he muttered - then got on his radio calling for medical help A.S.A.P.
Smith sat down beside her and felt for her pulse. It was so fast that he couldn't make out the individual beats. What had she been injected with? It couldn't have been a tranquilizer.
He lifted her into his lap, so that she was leaning up against him. As he moved her, a tiny vial fell out of her hand. Roger picked it up. An oily red residue clung to its inner surface. It was the drug he had originally been given. Worse, where was the needle portion of the dart? He opened her blouse. There was a tiny spot of blood directly over her heart. The needle had broken off inside her.
Dastun came over with some cold water and handed it to the negotiator. He watched anxiously as Roger daubed Rowan's face, trying to revive her. To the relief of both men, she started to move, and finally opened her eyes. Roger gave her some of the water to drink. She started to take a deep breath, then winced in pain. Ro looked down at the wound and touched it in surprise (Alex didn't take my heart, she thought) then looked back at Roger.
Rowan touched his face. "Are you okay, love? Did we escape?" she asked him softly.
Roger bent his head towards her: "Yes, sweetheart, yes. You were hurt a little, but we're getting help, they'll be here soon." He glanced up at Dastun, who mouthed the words, "They're coming."
Rowan nodded. "Tell them to use the medicine locked in the third cabinet on the top shelf," she said. "That's the only antidote, he didn't use a tranquilizer."
She snuggled up against Roger. "I feel so hot," she murmured.
A chill went through Roger at her words. There was no third cabinet anymore. The lab, with its rows of plant-based medicines, was empty.
"Rowan," he whispered, "what else can we use?" Her skin was beginning to flush slightly. She felt feverish. "Rowan, please talk to me," he begged. He hugged her tightly, rocking her like a child.
She opened her beautiful green eyes, but seemed to have a little trouble focusing on him. A serious expression passed over her face: "Roger, please keep your promise to me whatever happens, the promise you made about using Big O only for good, to protect the people. I don't think I'll be able to help anymore, you'll have to do it for me. Please, love." She spoke so quietly he could barely hear her.
Roger shushed her with a kiss on her soft mouth. "Nothing is going to happen. Besides, you promised to always be with me, and you always keep your word."
The pained look on her face startled him.
"Okay," he said, "I swear I'll keep my promise - my word is as good as yours - that's why we're the best negotiators in town."
She smiled at that, and seemed to relax a bit in his arms. Roger smoothed her black hair from her face, then looked back at Dastun (who was standing impatiently by the front door, talking urgently into his radio.) "Damn it, Dastun, where are they?" he yelled.
"They had another emergency - the prisoner committed suicide. He had a cyanide capsule in a tooth. They're coming up now," replied Dastun. The scarred vein on his head was throbbing like it would burst. He went back over to Smith.
Roger was cradling Rowan tenderly in his arms, whispering something to her that made her smile. Dan had never seen such a loving expression on anyone's face before; Roger Smith was the last person he would ever have expected it from. They were a good match, these two. Once they got through this, they could get through anything, he thought.
As Dan watched, he noticed Rowan suddenly jerk slightly (as if she'd been shocked with electricity) then fall limp in Roger's arms. The young man sat there stunned for a moment, holding her like a rag doll. "Rowan?" pleaded Roger softly, "Rowan, please baby, answer me." Silence.
He stretched Ro out onto the floor and started doing CPR on her. Tears were streaming down his handsome face as he worked frantically on her.
The med techs finally arrived with all their equipment and brusquely moved Roger out of the way.
They checked her vital signs first. One of the techs hooked up a monitor of some sort to her, then set up an I.V. drip. The other placed an oxygen mask over her face. He then pulled open her shirt to better examine the tiny wound. He carefully sliced open the smooth skin to get a better grip on the needle. He pulled it out with some difficulty.
The other tech charged the defibrillating paddles, the shrill whine filling the room. "Back," he said, and applied them to the motionless form before him. There was no change. The monitor readings remained flat. He attempted again, using a higher charge. Still nothing.
The other tech injected something into Ro, then stepped back as the the first man applied the paddles a third time to work their modern magic.
There was no response. She was flat-lined.
"Keep trying," begged Roger. "Can't you give her something, another drug, more oxygen, ANYTHING, please don't give up!"
"I'm truly sorry, sir," the EMT shook his head. "There's nothing more we can do." The other tech opened up a collapsable stretcher. They started to put Rowan onto it.
"WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!" Roger pushed them away from her, cuddled her lifeless body in his arms.
"Wake up, Ro, please wake up, don't die now!" He caressed her face, her body, buried his face in her hair. "You promised," he whispered.
Dastun, his own grim face wet with tears, gently tugged Roger away, letting the EMTs finish their sad job. Roger stood there, utterly stricken, as they covered her with a white cloth and carried her out of the room.
The expression on Roger's face burned itself into Dan's brain. It was the look of a man who had seen the true face of hell. His black eyes seemed empty pits of darkness, his face the color of ashes. It was as if Roger's soul had died with Rowan.