POCKET CHANGE 3: HIDE and SEEK
By Sharon R.
Chapter Fifteen
The noise reverberated in his head to the point that he thought he could feel his own ear drums beating in sync with the thudding. Reaching out to grab hold of Todd, Carter found that his own hand was slapped away, not by Paulette who was cradling his body, but by Jules who sucked in the air between his teeth, and laughed - no, snickered - with a satisfying menace.
"Too late, Doctor Carter," he admonished with his drawn out British accent, enjoying his spectacle. "Had you not selfishly left the chore to someone else, young Mr. Casey here would have been spared, don't you think? Such a waste."
"It should have been you," another voice called out to him from behind, so close he could feel the breath skim past his cheek, his tussled unkempt hair tickling his ear lobe ever so slightly. "What's the matter," she asked still unseen, "wasn't I good enough for the likes of you? Was my breeding not up to your specifications?"
He tried once again to reach out to Todd, only there was too much blood. He couldn't get a grip as his hands slipped from the boy's arms, his fingers leaving a trail of sticky smeared blood behind on Todd's lifeless arm. Without warning his wrists were jerked upwards, his feet slipping out from under him, his body hanging hopelessly at the mercy of his agonizingly stretched shoulders.
"Life - is pleasant. Death - is…" No. Not again. How many times had he heard this spit at him from Jules?
"… peaceful. It's the transition…" Carter flung his head back and forth, back and forth, trying to evade the vile man's words. He tried in vain to move his arms, but only his elbows could be made to jut out slightly.
"… It's the transition that's troublesome."
He could feel the heat as the sun beat down on his head, could feel it burn his arms and ravage the back of his neck as the rough ends of the burlap bag scraped over the raw skin. The smell was putrid, of body fluids and excrement, sweat and festering pus. It was his own revolting smell and was so bad that it turned his stomach.
"Click."
Why hadn't he heard that?
"Click."
He had heard it. He had heard Colleen cocking the gun, but was too busy listening to Jules and watching Luka as he silently came up behind Jules. But as Luka's gun pointed not at Jules, but at Carter's head, Carter wondered why Luka would do that. The look in his eyes scared him as Carter tried to let him know with his own eyes that he saw him. But the gun didn't move, only Luka's finger as he pulled the trigger…
Carter gasped for air as he bolted upright in bed, his arms outstretched as if to clumsily block the bullet from entering him. Holding his breath for a few seconds so that he could savor the silence, Carter put his hands down in his lap, the sheets trembling along with his legs. He finally exhaled but not without a sudden wave of nausea hitting him. Nearly stumbling to the floor, Carter haphazardly made his way to the bathroom running into the nightstand and jarring it painfully with his hip, finally making it just in time to puke into the toilet, the odor of the cold porcelain and previously flushed product adding to the heaves.
Sitting on the cold floor, his bare back against the tiled wall, he could feel his heart beating wildly, the palpitations exploding in his neck and wrists. His dreams had been nonexistent or at least peaceful the previous few nights, but this one was different. He didn't wake up pissed off at Jules, surly at the thought of Colleen manipulating him, or frightened at the prospect of the faceless torturers planning his day of pain. He was strangely settled with his dream being just that - a dream. Something else was stirring inside. Something that made him feel as though he needed to do something. Just what, he didn't know.
The cold water he splashed on his face only served to completely wake him up. It was still dark outside, his watch he rarely ever took off told him it was just past four thirty. Spitting out the toothpaste that barely took the rotten and acidic taste of vomit away, Carter looked at his face in the mirror. Puffy eyes, looking older lately he assessed. He's looked better, felt better, but taking a moment to search inside for that craving of magic meds to take him off to La-La Land, he couldn't find it. Heh, he thought, that's gotta mean something.
"Dr. John, are you alright?" Emily quickly stepped to the side, her back to the doorway, when she saw that Carter was in his bathroom. "I don't mean to intrude, but I heard a noise up here and, well, I worry about you."
"I'm painfully aware of that."
"You're in pain?" she asked, not sure she heard his mumbles correctly.
Carter found a t-shirt in his laundry basket and threw it on before going back into the bedroom. "No. What are you doing up at this hour?"
"My body clock is all messed up. Bridget was antsy, so I thought I'd start my day early."
"It's not day. It's the middle of the night."
"And you? What is your excuse?"
"Bad dream. Weird feelings."
"Oh, dear. You have been through so much, I wish you…"
"Emily, please."
"I was only going to say that you should find a beautiful woman to fall hopelessly in love with." Emily waited for Carter's inevitable smirk and sarcastic retort he had so often given her when she made the suggestion that he needed a loving woman in his life, but instead he sat in a chair at the far end of the room and stared out the window into the murky darkness. "What is it John?"
"Don't know. Just a feeling."
Your vision will become clear only when you can look into your own heart. Who looks outside, dreams; who looks inside, awakens -Carl Jung 1875-1961, Swiss Psychiatrist
The sky was full of them - full of helicopters flying overhead, their lights blinking and strobing, the bellies of the ships just barely above the tree tops. He needed to get everyone to safety. There wasn't much time.
"Luka?" Sam shouted from the doorway, her thin frame covered only in an oversized t-shirt. The wild man-made wind swirled the leaves and plant cuttings Sam had left behind from her day of gardening, occasionally pummeling her bare legs. "Luka?"
"Get everyone inside," he shouted back at her, his eyes trained on the sky. "Get the children out of here, Colleen. Go."
Did she just hear that? Sam came up behind him and gently put her hand on his back. She had to shout as well for Luka to hear her. "Luka…?"
One after another, the military choppers passed overhead. Luka began pacing and mumbling to himself not totally cognizant, his attention focused somewhere else. "Bob will know…," he said as he balled his hand into a fist and mindlessly beat it against his thigh.
"Know what, Luka?"
"Bob will know what to do," he shouted again, almost as though he were having a conversation with someone else. "I told you to get the children inside. The nurses will help." Back and forth he wandered speaking, or rather shouting, into the air. "Colleen, tell Sera to gather the mothers. I have to get to Bob. Where's Sean?"
"Sean's not here. Sean is… Luka, look at me. I'm not Colleen." She followed him around in his aimless pacing as he looked at everything but Sam, the wind blowing the strands of blond hair across her face. "Luka… Luka, stop." Her words went unheeded. "The helicopters are from Fort Drum. Sometimes they do maneuvers. I should have told you…"
"The Midway or clinic," he ordered interrupting her, "go there and don't leave the children. Why can't you just do what you're told?"
Squatting down, Luka put his hands over his ears, the noise too much for his already fractured thought process. His mumbles weren't clear to Sam.
"… ambush…"
She kneeled down in front of him hoping to get his attention, to wake him up. "Luka, look at me. Look -at - me."
His dark eyes opened wide and without removing his hands from his ears, without moving anything else, he turned those eyes upward and connected with Sam's almost magnetically. "Does Jules know you're here? Did you bring them here?" he asked darting his eyes skyward.
"What? Who?"
"I should have known. You used us all. You took everything from me," he said standing up and walking away, turning every few steps to come back to Sam, his voice still raised to counter the thudding of the choppers. "Are you laying with him? Do you do the same thing to Jules as you do for me? That you want to do with Carter?"
"What are you talking about?" The words hurt, stung, and made her feel dirty as though she had actually done what Luka had inferred.
"If you sell your passion, your body parts, what exactly am I to pay you? I assume my love making is of some value." His eyes gave away his profoundly deep anger and hurt, though Sam was too lost in her own wounds at that point to analyze his lucidity, or lack thereof. "You want cash? Maybe a trade then. Drugs? My soul? Or was it just Carter's soul you wanted, because you damn well almost got that too."
Sam's tears flowed freely as she put her arms out to him wanting to push him away while at the same time needing to hold him, comfort him, bring him back to the present. "Luka, please," she pleaded.
"Was that a smile on your face? Did you enjoy taunting me with the gun to Carter's head?" Luka walked straight up to Sam and finally got in her face. "I think you felt some sort of sexual charge out of the show you gave me and Jules. Is that what does it for you?" He grabbed her wrist as she wiped the tears from her cheek and held it tightly, very tightly, in front of her face. "Did you really think I would let you blow Carter's brains out? Or did you think that your performance would make me hard?" With that, he pulled her hand down and into his crotch, holding it there for effect. "Is that all I am to you? Or does Jules service you better?"
"I don't know what you're talking about." Sam sobbed almost uncontrollably as she fought to stay in control. "Luka, you're hurting me. Please… I love you, but…"
Something in Sam's voice brought him back to her. As the last of the helicopters flew overhead, Luka's face seemed to unfold from the hell it had been in. A final gust of wind popped him in the face forcing him to suck in a deep breath like the first of a newborn baby. "Sam?"
Nodding, almost reluctantly, she brought her free hand to her face trying to push back the sobs, her fingers becoming moist from the wet of her eyes and nose. "Luka, please… I don't know what you're talking about," she repeated as she stepped back and moved her other hand away from his groin although still gripped harshly by Luka.
"My God…," he said, his voice still raised to offset the noise of the choppers even though the last one had cleared the tree line, "… I… did it, Sam. I… I killed her." Stunned as he saw his own hand wrapped tightly around her wrist, he let go and moved away, horrified at his actions. "I'm the one who shot Colleen. I killed her." It was as if the seal of rust and corrosion on a centuries old chest had been broken open revealing that which had been kept a mystery for generations. The relief he felt was tempered by the horrified look on Sam's face as she stepped back almost reflexively. "I had to kill her."
The sudden disappearance of the choppers and the revelation of Luka's recent past combined with the morning wake up songs of the mountain birds and muted sunlight sneaking up over the horizon couldn't have been more contrary. And the small sobs a few feet away coming from the barefoot little girl in a pale pink Barbie nightgown who had come outside to see what the commotion was all about, brought Luka's world crashing down around him.
Yet it is in our idleness, in our dreams, that the submerged truth sometimes comes to the top -Virginia Woolf 1882-1941, British Novelist, Essayist
"Randi, who's that in chairs?" Kerry asked trying to get a good look at the man in the overcoat. "He looks familiar.""A detective working on a murder case. Said he needs to speak to Dr. Carter."
"He's not on until tonight."
"Oh," Randi said, cracking her gum, "told him to wait while I checked the schedule. I assumed he'd be on days again."
"I'll talk to him." Kerry opened the security doors and waved the man in. "Were you here the other day?"
"Yes, hello." Pulling his coat back to reveal his badge and holstered gun, the man introduced himself. "I'm Detective Danielson. I've been working on a murder case that involved two of your doctors."
"I wasn't aware that they were involved."
"Not technically. They're the only people here who knew the victim."
"Well, Dr. Kovac is out of town and Dr. Carter isn't on until this evening. Is there something I can do for you?"
"Maybe there is," he said pulling out a notepad and flipping through the pages. "I need to do a follow-up interview with an Artie Bishop."
"Artie? In Waste Management?"
"I guess so."
"Randi, call down to Waste Management and have them send Artie up here."
Pointing to the bay door with her pencil, Randi kept working on the computer. "He's outside with creep-face Bobby. I think they're avoiding trauma-1."
"Figures. We just had a messy trauma." Walking the man back through security and out the door, Kerry left him with Artie who was shooting baskets. "Artie, this police detective needs to talk to you. And when you're done I expect you to get in there and clean up the trauma room." She looked over her glasses directly at Bobby who was leaning against the wall behind the basket. "Got it, Bobby?"
"Yes sir, Dr. Weaver… m'am." He caught Kerry's dirty look as she went back through the doors, but didn't let it phase him. "Ooh baby, she's one hot mamma. Hey doofus," he spit out at Artie, "what'd you do? Put the makes on the little neighbor girl?"
"I didn't do anything," Artie protested back.
The man seemed to enjoy watching Bobby pick on Artie.
"Cops don't come calling for nothing, lame brain."
"You should know."
Danielson flipped open his notebook again and traded looks with the man sitting in the car to the side, nodding as he began his questioning. "Artie, I need to ask you some questions."
"Am I in trouble?"
"Have you done something?"
"No."
Bobby now became the spectator, but just couldn't keep his mouth shut. "He's too dumb to know if he did."
"Shut up," Artie yelled, loud enough for the paramedics returning to their rig to take notice.
"What can you tell me about Dr. Kovac and a nurse named Sam? Do you know where they are?"
"On vacation."
"And where would that be?"
"It's a secret. Nobody knows."
"Even you? I heard that Sam trusted you enough to tell you."
Bobby snorted. "That Russian doc has been shagging her for a while now. I heard she's quite the whore."
"Is not. She's a nice lady. She's not… not what you said." Artie threw the basketball at Bobby missing him by several feet. "And he's Croatian, stupid."
Danielson took out a pack of cigarettes and lit one, then leaned against the wall next to Bobby and offered him one as well. "You know Artie well?"
"Good enough to know that he has wet dreams about Nurse Sam and every other set of tits in this place."
"Yeah, well I don't know why I even bothered to ask him for help." He took a long drag and discreetly looked between the two guys, then nodded again towards the car. "Those mongoloids can't retain information long enough for it to be a busted secret anyway, if you know what I mean." Artie heard it all, it was meant for him to hear, and Bobby was getting quite a bit of enjoyment out of the detective's flair for words.
"I'm not stupid," Artie gave back. "I have a job. At least I don't live at home anymore."
"You're a charity case and you live in a half-way house for dummies with half a brain." Bobby amused himself and elbowed the detective who managed a smile, but was obviously not wanting to continue this 'friendship' with the slacker much longer. "She wouldn't have told you jack shit, 'cause she knows you're nothing more than a slow-tard, low IQ shit for brains."
"Am not. She told me. She did."
Carl DeRaad exited an exam room and handed a chart to Kerry Weaver. "Good to see you back in the ER."
"Don't get used to it. I'm covering for Kovac. Are you going to admit her?"
"Three day hold, only, until I can talk to her primary." His attention was eerily drawn to the bay doors. "Who's that talking with Artie?"
"A cop working on that murder case - John and Luka's friend."
Carl stood up straight and continued staring out the doors, an ugly feeling building inside. "Danielson?" Without another word to a nodding Kerry, he walked out past security and into the bay.
"… she told me take a left on Route 3 at Fletcher's," Artie angrily pitched. "See? I do so know."
"Excuse me, I'm Carl DeRaad. I work in Psychiatry. Can I help you?" Carl was a polite and professional doctor, but this time something kept him from reaching out to shake the stranger's hand.
"Chicago P.D.," the man answered. "Just getting some information from my friend here."
Carl could read people - read them well, and Artie sure didn't look like he was this man's friend.
"Boy doesn't seem to want to cooperate."
"Tell you what. Why don't you let me talk to him. Come back tomorrow morning. I'm sure by then our Mr. Bishop will be better prepared to answer your questions."
Without another word, the man walked back to the car and got in the passenger's side next to another tall man, a third in the darkness of the back seat.
When the phone rang, Carter hoped it would be someone other than Norman Tyson who had been on his back since Sean died wanting to know who would be taking charge of the camp. Carter's idea of Toomay didn't bode well for the chauvinist and Carter was sure this was going to come down to a battle in the boardroom. Hearing Carl DeRaad's voice initially irritated him having been hunted down by the psychiatrist the day before.
"Carl, look, I appreciate your interest in my case, but your need to define me as paranoid is frankly… paranoid."
"That's not why I'm calling."
"Patient?" Carter asked, leaning against the hall console.
"No. Artie Bishop."
"What about him."
"I was in the ER doing a consult. I saw Artie out in the bay with a man. When I went outside to talk to the guy, he was in no hurry to stick around."
"A cop?"
"Danielson. But I never knew a cop to be driving around in an -"
"- eighty thousand dollar car," they said in unison.
Carter stood tall, more alarmed than ever. "It's the guy. Shit. How did he know…?"
"Listen, I heard you talking on the phone yesterday at your house. Heard you tell your friend about the girl and Artie. John, I gotta say, I believe you and I am very concerned."
"You heard me talk…" Carter paused, pulled the phone away from his face and looked around the empty foyer suddenly feeling not quite so alone. "Carl. I can't talk right now. Stay put." Hanging up, Carter rushed through the house yelling for Emily.
"Yes, yes, what is it?" she answered, racing from the kitchen drying her hands in a kitchen towel.
"That day that we were having phone problems. Did you call the phone company?"
"No. You did. Don't you remember? The repairman came and fiddled around with the phones."
"No, I didn't." Carter motioned Emily to step outside the back door. "Did you ever leave the guy alone?"
"No. Not at all. I even invited him to stay for coffee, but he wasn't much of a talker."
"Okay. I think just the phones are bugged, so don't use them. But to be safe, be careful what you say in the house. I'm going to go to the hospital and then probably out of town. I want you to use your own cell phone and call Beth Casterline at the Foundation. Tell her I have to take an emergency trip on the Foundation Jet immediately and that I'll call her within the hour with more details." Carter turned around as he started running back to the house. "And call from outside."
He didn't care what cops were sitting in their usual speed trap hiding places, Carter flew in the Jag all the way to the hospital. Luck must have been on his side as he blew a few stop lights and still made it without any police cruisers in his rear view mirror.
DeRaad was waiting for him in the lounge and quickly walked with Carter into Trauma-1 where Artie and Bobby were cleaning up.
"Artie, what did you tell the man?" Carter asked hurriedly.
"I didn't want to tell him anything, but Bobby was calling me names and saying mean things about Nurse Sam, and…"
Carter shot Bobby a dirty look but maintained his focus on Artie. "It doesn't matter what Bobby said." He cringed inside as he realized the dirt bag had the same name as his own brother.
"I didn't like that policeman," Artie assessed. "Something wasn't right about him. He called me a mongoloid."
Bobby laughed out loud. "Calls 'em likes he sees 'em."
"Shut up," Carter said, pointing at Bobby before taking a deep breath and composing himself for Artie's benefit. "Artie, you absolutely have to tell me, what did you tell the man?"
"I stuck up for myself, just like you said, Dr. Carter," he said proudly. "Bobby called Nurse Sam a… a… whore and said that she would never tell me anything. But I showed him."
Carter grimaced knowing that Artie had done just what he had told him to do. "What exactly did you tell the man?"
"That she said to take a left on Route 3 at Fletcher's."
"Okay. Where? What city?"
"He doesn't know what he's talking about," Bobby interrupted. "That cop could have told him to bend over and grab ankles and Artie would have done it, maybe even enjoyed getting poked up…"
With that, Carter flew to the other side of the room and crashed Bobby up against the wall, rattling the mayo stand still holding instruments. "How about you shut your mouth, huh?" Carter's forearm held tightly against the kid's neck turned Bobby's face a dark shade of red. "So far Artie has shown more common sense and intelligence than you ever had, even before you fried what few brain cells you were born with."
"Yeah," he managed in a strained voice, "you'd know, wouldn't you. Everyone knows you're a junkie."
DeRaad in his calm manner stepped in between the two and pushed Carter away from Bobby. "Tell you what, Bobby," he said rather evenly, "you keep your mouth shut about this, leave Artie alone, never talk to that cop again, and I won't put you in the psych ward to be evaluated along side the violent sex offenders."
"You can't do that," he protested.
"All it takes is another doctor's signature for a three day hold," DeRaad answered.
Carter stepped back to Artie. "And I know several who would be more than willing to help. Now, get out."
With Bobby out of the room, Carter was able to attend to a less defensive Artie. "Okay, I know you, and I bet you didn't tell him everything."
"Just that she said to take a left on Route 3 at Fletcher's," he repeated.
"Nothing else?" DeRaad asked.
Artie shook his head. "That's all she told me. He didn't ask what Nurse Sam showed me on the map."
"Well there has to be more than one Route 3 in the country," Carter gave to DeRaad slightly relieved. "Artie, you were very smart. I'm proud of you. Can you show me? Can you show me on a map where they went?"
"It's a secret, I promised."
Stonewalled again, Carter fought within himself to keep his cool. "Artie, Nurse Sam and Dr. Kovac are in danger. That man you talked to wasn't a cop, but you knew that, didn't you? He was a very bad man who wants to hurt a little girl Nurse Sam is taking care of."
"I don't want him to find the little girl."
"I know you don't. But you have to trust me. I need to get to them first. Can you help me? Please, I know Nurse Sam would want me to know." Artie finally nodded and Carter took him by the arm out to the Admit desk where he could use one of the computers.
Artie quickly pointed to the map of New York State and the small town of Oswegatchie.
"Shouldn't we call the State Police there?" DeRaad asked.
"No. These guys are good. I don't know who they are but they know what I'm doing, they disguise themselves as cops, and the last thing I need to do is bring attention to Sam and Luka."
"How'd it go, Artie?" Kerry asked, returning to the board. "Ready to get to work in the trauma room?"
Thankfully, Artie clammed up and looked to Carl and Carter for help.
"Artie is not feeling well," Carter chimed in. "He's going to take a few days off."
"I'm sorry to hear that, Artie. You want me to call your mother?" Everyone knew Artie and his family.
"No thanks." Carl gave Artie a friendly pat on the back. "I'll get him home."
"Kerry, I need to talk to you about some time off, you know, to, ah… decompress," Carter fudged.
"Are you alright?"
Carl stepped in and continued Carter's charade. "He's making good progress, but stress from the job will just set him back, I'm afraid. Call it doctor's orders."
Carter tried his best to put on a look of haggard exhaustion as Kerry looked him over.
"Okay. I'm glad you took me up on my offer. Take as much time as you need. We'll make do."
Once Kerry was out of ear shot, Carter managed a wide grin. "Gee Carl, I didn't know you were such a good actor."
"Treat enough pathological liars and you learn a few tricks."
Getting flight plans approved in anything less than twelve hours - post 9/11 - is nothing short of miraculous, but it helps when your family name is synonymous with dollar signs during election time, and Carter's grandfather had been very generous to Republican candidates. For once, John Carter wasn't too proud to call in a favor from someone he hadn't even voted for.
The small private airport in Saranac Lake handled a regular clientele of vacationing higher-ups from New York City, so the Carter Foundation Leer jet luckily didn't look out of place when it touched down. Sam wasn't on the best terms with him back in Chicago. He cringed to think what his presence at their 'secret' vacation spot would bring out in her. A car he had arranged for was waiting as directed and he started off on the hour or so drive further into the mountains towards Oswegatchie. Once he got to the little Fletcher's Motel on Route 3, the description Artie had given him fit like a 'T'. Over the rumble bridge, a sharp left turn and on the right on the rise stood a small white house with a prominent stone chimney.
The house was so quiet. Too quiet. Sam sat at the little kitchen table, her eye on the door hoping that Luka would walk back in. Not only had Amanda heard Luka's confession, but Alex had followed Amanda from the bedroom that morning and was standing on the stoop outside the door when Luka had fallen apart. Amanda spent her time by herself watching Grover from the boulder or rocking on the screened porch looking at her mother's things she had brought in her backpack, and most unwilling to talk with anyone. Alex found things to do in the attic and garage, but he was no more talkative than Amanda. Sam was left to worry about Luka who had wandered away, worry about the children, and wonder about what she had heard come from Luka. When she heard a car come up the driveway she hoped it was Uncle George or one of her cousins - anyone she could talk to.
Carter parked behind Luka's SUV and turned off the engine. He sat for a moment gathering his thoughts. He knew where he was going to take them, just not how to convince Sam to leave with him. He was struck by the beauty, fresh air and almost severe silence of the place when he got out of the car. The squeak of the aluminum storm door drew him to Sam who stepped outside, walked down the broken brick pathway towards Carter then surprisingly threw her arms around him.
He was shocked at first by Sam's secure hold on him, her tears soaking through his shirt, her ragged breaths becoming less and less held back.
"I don't know what to do. He needs you, Carter."
"What happened, Sam? Where's Luka?"
"Something's changed. He's not the same."
"What happened?" he repeated, softly stroking her hair.
"I don't know. He hasn't been sleeping. He wanders around. Doesn't talk much. And then this morning when it wasn't quite light yet, these helicopters from the army base flew overhead and he lost it. He called me Colleen, wanted to know where Sean was."
"He was hallucinating?"
"No, I don't think so. He finally woke up outside, right here. And started yelling at me about killing Colleen. Amanda heard, and Alex… Did he? Did he really kill Amanda's mother?"
"He didn't have a choice, Sam." Carter held her tight. He didn't want to have to tell her - not this way at least. "Colleen… she got involved with some really bad people, even the guy who kidnapped us last year. She had a gun to my head. Sam, he saved my life but it's eating him up inside. He's afraid of losing you - was scared to tell you."
"Oh God, Carter, I don't know what to do."
Carter finally managed to push Sam's shoulders from him so that he could look at her face. "Where is he now?"
"He went to the camp. Said he wanted to be alone, didn't want Amanda to have to be near him."
"What camp?"
"It's a hunting cabin up Skate Creek Road at the end of the driveway. He hates that place, said it gives him the creeps. It doesn't make sense that he'd go there."
"It makes perfect sense," Carter said almost to himself. "It'll be okay, Sam."
Drying her tears, pushing her hair behind her ears, Sam finally realized the strangeness of Carter's appearance. "Why are you here? How did you know?"
"Ah… Artie. It's a long story, but we have to get you out of here first thing in the morning." Carter caught sight of Amanda peaking at them from behind the screens of the porch. "Tell her I'll be back as soon as I talk with Luka, okay?"
Sam watched Carter as he disappeared out of sight, down the driveway and around the corner. She was left on her own again, standing in front of the house that had given her so much peace and happiness as a child, now holding two children whose lives had been so dramatically changed that morning. Closing the door behind her as she went back into the house, she didn't notice the empty spot in the corner where the shotgun had been stored.