Hi all,
As always, I give you heartfelt thanks for reading and reviewing. I hope you continue to enjoy the story.
Thanks as always to the Usual Suspects, without their help, this chapter might not have been written.
Chapter 8
Doctor Montgomery made his way into room 327; he was puffing a little from the exertion of jogging through the halls to get to this room. The blond detective was seizing.
The long body tightened under the white sheets. The man's chin tilted up as his back of his head arched back towards his spine, while the arms and legs vibrated with the strain of the seizure.
"Oh hell" Montgomery started to mentally prep himself; it looked like he might have to start on the surgery without the aid of Doctor Hermonson. The seizing stopped and the detective once more lay still on the gurney. "Send him to x-ray, get a couple of fresh head shots. I need to know exactly where I need to go before I get started. Just get me two or three good shots. Put a rush on it, people. Prep him for surgery as well, just incase."
The nurses and x-ray tech scurried to obey.
Montgomery stared after them and they wheeled the man off to x-ray. "He was stable… what happened?" He muttered to himself as he looked back at the charts one of the nurses had shoved into his hands, pondering this development. It wasn't unexpected, but it was happening a great deal sooner then he thought that it should. He went back to perusing the charts. He must have missed something, and that bothered him.
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Berry Brockman stared at the black public address speaker bolted to the wall. Room 327… wasn't that where detective Hutchinstein was? The palms of his hands began to sweat and his vending machine coffee almost slipped out of his hands. He looked up and down the darkened hall. 'What the hell am I doing here?' He wondered as he ran a nervous hand through his perfectly combed hair, mussing it slightly.
'What am I doing?' He asked himself again.
(Getting your story…that's what you doing. You don't want the morning news to start with the weather for a lead story, do you? How boring is that? Wouldn't you rather the day started with you and your story? Hmmm?)
"My story..." Berry made a face as he looked at the tepid dregs of the coffee in the paper cup.
(Your scoop… you have the only survivor left in that room…snatched from the coroner's table… a great story is laying there, just behind that door over there.)
He looked again at the closed door to detective Starsky's room.
(How are you going to get your story standing out here? In there is where the story is… just go in there and get it.)
He bit his lower lip. He had done a lot worse things to get a story. Talking to an unconscious man was nothing compared to some of the things he'd done to make it to where he was today. Holding the man's hand was nothing new either. Touch often worked to get people to open up to him, to tell them all the gory details.
(So what's holding you back now, Berry?)
"Nothing." He squared his shoulders and tossed the paper cup into the trash as he made his way back to the survivor's room.
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Now that The Other had Berry back on track, he headed off to the place where the guide was. It was time to work on him some more. The Other smiled to itself. This was going to be the fun part.
We have a problem The Visitor interrupted The Other and his plotting.
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Starsky followed the new voice to yet another swaying lump. He stared at it for a long time. Would it turn into a child as well? Would it disappear also, once he pulled it out?
'Help me'The voice sounded male.
Starsky could not ignore the plea. He knelt down and took a hold of the lump and pulled up. It was not as easy to pull up as the other had been. Starsky strained for a time before the lump began to budge. He dug his heels in and strained some more. Finally, inch-by-inch the lump pulled up and out of the ground. This time the lump formed into a vaguely human male shape, the man smiled at him and then slowly dissipated.
'Thank you.' The words were breathy, whisper quiet and faded away just as the man had.
Starsky looked around for the man he had freed and was not surprised to find him gone. Just like the little girl, though he didn't go 'poof' like she had. Another lump called out and he headed in that direction.
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(How did it happen?) The Other asked The Visitor after he finished explaining the reason for his intrusion into The Other's territory.
How it happened is not important. He is in the field. The Visitor swirled in agitation as he spoke. His vaporous form took on a tornado-like shape.(So? That is where we want him.')
Not like this we do not. He is not ready yet and he is interfering with our previous work. He could do a great deal of damage there. He is upsetting the field.
(Then he must be stopped.)
I concur. But how? He will not listen to me. The Visitor swirled violently for a moment.
(I have an idea. Come with me.)
The beings of mist floated off together.
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Starsky moved about the lumpy field. It slowly dawned on him that it was a field of people. He pulled up those lumps that called out. And he wondered about the ones that did not. Should he do something about those, or should he leave them?
He knelt down and tugged experimentally on one of the silent lumps. It did not budge. He took a firm hold and pulled harder. Nothing happened. "C'mon!" Starsky grunted as he yanked at the silent lump. It yanked down unexpectedly, slamming him into the ground. "What's wrong with you?" He snapped at the motionless lump.
The lump remained silent and unmoving.
Starsky shook his head and moved on, still trying to make sense of the senseless. Walking between the rows gave him a purpose, something to focus on since his guide had left him alone. The guide led him to pain. But the words the guide had spoken were kind, welcome.
He wanted to follow. It hurt, but the pleasure of hearing that voice had been worth it, just as it had been worth it before… before when there was pain. He had wanted to give in, to give up and not face that pain anymore. But the hands and warm voice called… beckoned him to him to come back. He concentrated hard and could just make out a shadowy form and blond hair. But he confused and wondered why the guide would want him to suffer, to be in pain? Why should he go to such a painful place?
And yet… yet he found he had wanted to follow the guide. Then for whatever reason, the guide had changed. The guide's hand, which had been warm and inviting in the beginning, had gone cold. The guide's voice, the warmth in it, the deep concern he had heard in it, had changed. The words changed, asking him things that he wanted to forget.
The cold flooded him
Starsky shivered at the thought, reliving the memories of the guide as he directed Starsky to recall the reason he was here. The dead. Starsky had been surrounded by the dead. They, whoever 'they' were, had thought he was dead. They were going to cut him open and drain his blood. He had been stacked in a pile of corpses. The cold, stiff bodies sucked and pulled his warmth from him. Sucked his life from him. The voice as asked him to remember the horror of it all. To tell him how he felt, what he felt and thought as he lay buried in those bodies.
The voice… Starsky stopped walking. The voice had been different, changed. Perhaps that voice didn't belong to his guide. His guide had never asked him to remember anything. His guide asked only that he follow... follow the sound of his warm voice. And to… and to… there was one other thing that the voice of his guide had asked, but he couldn't remember what it was. Starsky concentrated as he walked along, trying to remember.
That was when he heard the faint echoes of the voice calling to him once more. Saying his name and asking for information. Starsky mentally pulled back from the voice. It had taken him a while, but he now knew, deep down, that this was not his guide. This was a deceiver.
Starsky stopped walking. If that voice was a deceiver, what had happened to his guide?
Had his guide given up on him? Had it all been a trick of some sort? Where was this place? He hadn't always been here. That much he was sure of. He looked around at the field once more. Some of the lumps swayed as though buffeted by a non existent breeze. As he watched, one of the taller lumps pulled itself out of the ground and disappeared with a 'poof'. He hadn't been anywhere around it.
He shook his head. The other lumps did nothing. They didn't seem to react to the lump freeing itself. Thinking back, nor had they reacted when he pulled someone out of the ground. The more he thought about this place. The stranger it was. The white spaces. The odd lump filled field… where lumps, when pulled out of the ground turned into humans and then disappeared. He seemed to be the only 'mobile' person around.
What happened to the people to make them into lumps? And what happened to them once they came out to the ground? Were they dead? If they weren't dead, where did they go? It was so confusing.
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Young Kenny Hutchinson could sense him closing in. Getting closer. Ever closer. He held his breath and held perfectly still. If his father couldn't see him, he couldn't find him. If his father couldn't find him, Kenny knew he wouldn't get the crap beat out of him. For now. He could live with having the beating come later. They always did, regardless of what he did or did not do.
He was his father's punching bag. Any excuse was a good one to Richard Hutchinson. And it was always his fault. Nothing he ever did was good enough.
If he didn't get straight A's, it was because he wasn't applying himself. –WHAM! - Or trying hard enough –WHAP! - Or maybe it was because he was a slacker –SLAP! - Or just plain stupid –SMACK!-
It really didn't matter to Richard Hutchinson. Any reason would work. If it were too sunny; or cloudy or whatever the trouble was, it was always his fault. Kenny chewed nervously on his lip, trying to breathe as shallowly as possible. He slowly curled into a ball. Experience had taught him to do that. He could then 'roll' with the punches or kicks.
He thought back to when he had tried to tell his father's best friend, George Phillips, about his father and what he did. Kenny had figured that maybe, just maybe, Mr. Phillips could talk some sense into his father. They were best friends after all. Kenny had never heard his children complain about their father beating them, so he gambled that the man could stop his father.
It hadn't worked. George Phillips did not believe him and thought Kenny was lying. And since he was lying, Mr. Phillips told his father all about what he had told him, which promptly led to the worst beating that Kenny had ever gotten. It was then that the truth had finally sunk in. No one would believe him.
Not ever.
Everyone thought his father was the salt of the earth. A wonderful friend and neighbor. Richard Hutchinson would give the shirt off of his back to help someone. That's what everybody thought. Everybody but Kenny, his sister and his mother, they knew better. The genial attitude was a façade. Richard had a bad side to him that he hid very well from the rest of the world.
'Please don't let him see me, please don't let him see me.' His father came closer. Young Kenny curled up tighter, pulling his knobby knees up tight under his nose, wrapping his arms around them to hold them in place. His arms quivered with the strain. He wished his legs weren't so long. He seemed to trip over everything these days.
'You're so clumsy, you even trip on your own shadow.' his father had mocked him earlier today.
Kenny could sense him out there, getting closer and closer. 'Please don't let him see me, please don't let him see me…'
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The Other shot The Visitor a superior look. (I told you I knew how to get to the guide. He is losing ground and will sink into the field soon.)
You are correct. Perhaps you were correct in bringing him here. He will fit in nicely in the field. This one was easy compared to Starsky-
(Do not say his name! Names have power.)
The Visitor said nothing. Then they went back to focusing their thoughts on the guide, encouraging him to go deeper and deeper in to the field. Encouraging him to remember things he would rather forget.
XXXX
"I need to see those x-rays now." Doctor Montgomery called as he entered the prep area.
"Here they are sir." The lab tech handed over the x-rays.
Montgomery grabbed the manila folder and flipped it open as he strolled to the backlight, jammed the x-rays into place and then he flicked the light on. He stared for a very long time at the pictures, puzzled by what he saw.
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Kenny Hutchinson could sense his father staring at the spot where he was hidden. He held his breath and waited, all the while wishing he had never been born. Wishing he could just disappear and never come back. If he could just make himself invisible, his father would never find him. He would never be hit again. He squeezed his eyelids together and wished as hard as he could to just blend into the scenery. Blend and fade away into nothingness.
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The Visitor and The Other silently watched as the blond lost all form and slipped into the ground to become just another lump in the field.
TBC