Detectives Logan and Green arrived at Newman Halfway House, with Agent John Doggett, only to find the place in an uproar.
Several squad cars were already there, lights awhirl, the place swarming with police.
And ambulances…
"What happened?" Logan asked a cop, his Police ID out.
"Some sort of attack," the cop said. "Whoever it was, he went through the place like a knife through hot butter."
"Where's the Director?"
Logan had met Gus Hogan once.
A decent guy…
"Over there…" the cop waved vaguely. "Along with the rest of the bodies…"
Logan followed the wave to a neat row of sheet-draped bodies. Five bodies, to be exact.
Stan Profaci walked up to Logan.
"What happened?" Logan demanded.
"Witnesses say this guy just…tore through the building, tore through all the guards and attendants. He apparently killed the Director too."
Profaci looked gray as he continued.
"He killed some of the Residents too; whoever got in his way."
"Jack McCoy?"
"Not here."
"What happened here?" another voice from behind. Logan turned to see Dr. Emil Skoda.
"Dr. Skoda…what are you doing here?"
"I wanted to talk to Jack," Skoda snapped. "Where is he?"
"According to witnesses, he's not here," Profaci replied. "The guy who attacked the place grabbed him and ran off."
The teenagers, and Willard Tappan…
Was Jack McCoy going to end like them?
The Tree…
He killed all his victims there…
"The Tree!" he said. "We need to go there now, before it's too late!"
He didn't want Jack McCoy to die.
Especially like that…
…..
John Curren laid his unconscious victim down, right under the Tree. Its roots snaked out, like tentacles, wrapping around the victim's ankles, tying them together.
Jack McCoy won't be able to escape Justice this time…
Curren would have loved nothing more than to rend Jack McCoy's body apart right now. He would have loved to see McCoy's blood seep into the ground, feed the roots, and feed the Tree the blood it needed…
But Curren had used all of his sap-produced strength in the attack on the Halfway House; on killing all of those foolish enough to get in his way. He'd been forced to settle for merely knocking Jack McCoy out.
I'll drink some sap, he decided. Then, I'll kill McCoy as I killed the others…
Please, let me in, he prayed to the Tree, and it opened to him, let him in, offered him of itself, giving sweet sap to drink…
…..
Grass soft under his cheek, the feeling of tree-roots under his body.
Sirens wailing in the distance…
Jack McCoy's eyes fluttered open as he awakened to a throbbing head.
Memory was slow in coming.
At the House…
Skoda called, said he wanted to talk to me…
It was almost time for Dinner…Everyone was in the Rec Room…
Then the Main Door just…exploded; and this whirling fury burst in…
There wasn't much after that. Just brief impressions much like being in a tornado's path.
Where am I?
McCoy tried to move.
My feet…
He sat up. Somehow, tree roots had tangled around his ankles, binding them together securely.
Fright tingled its way down his spine as he looked up at the Tree.
Those kids were killed here...
Willard Tappan was killed here…
McCoy didn't want to die here. Not like that.
His fingers poked and prodded at the roots binding his ankles. They didn't even give an inch.
Then, McCoy heard this rumbling, creaking sound, the tree's trunk opened, and this…scarecrow of a man stepped out.
McCoy recognized him.
"John Curren."
The man moved jerkily as he swiveled to face McCoy.
Hair, matted and tangled, almost falling to his shoulders, skin rough and pitted, looking almost like tree bark, eyes white all the way through…
"Jack McCoy…" Curren's voice came out a sand-paper rasp. "You're just like Tappan, aren't you? Promise me the sun and the moon, then betray me, and let Tappan off…"
McCoy remembered the Kapinski Case, how he had cajoled Curren into pleading Guilty; so he could proceed against Willard Tappan.
And all it took to unravel everything was a mental breakdown…
"Think I wanted that, John? I wanted Tappan to pay for what he did to you."
"Then…why didn't you?"
McCoy bowed his head, Curren's agonized wail echoing in his ears; and all he felt was shame.
Shame that he had so completely failed John Curren, and-by extension-everything he had ever believed in.
I want only two things, McCoy remembered saying this to Claire Kincaid.
Respect from the living, and justice for the Dead…
"I'm sorry…" he whispered. "I didn't…I…I had a breakdown, had to be put in a hospital. I was out of my head for a good long while. It wasn't my plan to leave you hanging like that; or to let Tappan walk the way he did."
"Well, you did!" Curren snapped. He stood there, aiming that white-eyed gaze down at Jack McCoy
"Everyone betrayed me!" he snarled. "Tappan robbed me, and Kapinski too. You left me to rot, and my wife divorced me. Each and every single one of you stole from me. You took everything from me. Money, home, family, career, and self-respect."
He sighed, laid his hand upon the tree's rough bark.
"Only this tree has proven a true friend. It gave me shelter, and sustenance. And it asks such a little thing in recompense, such a trivial thing…"
Now, he knelt, smiling; and McCoy was chilled at that smile.
"It's not a regular tree, Jack," Curren continued. "It needs blood, and flesh too. I was happy to give those two children to it; and even happier to give Willard Tappan's blood to it. Now, it's your turn, Jack. Any last words?"
Last words..?
McCoy looked around.
I'm going to die here…
"Police! Freeze!"
Detective Mike Logan's voice, coming out of nowhere, was the sweetest sound Jack McCoy could ever remember hearing…
…..
"Police! Freeze!" Logan was appalled by the sight.
It was John Curren.
The man snarled-like an animal, Logan thought-and began to move.
"Down, Jack!" Logan yelled, and obediently, McCoy threw himself flat to the ground, just in time to avoid the hail of bullets as every officer on the scene fired.
Bullets riddling his body, Curren fled.
Into the tree..?
Logan blinked, heard various and assorted variations of what the fuck? from all the other cops. Even Emil Skoda seemed a little startled.
"Skoda! Get Jack out of here!" Logan ordered. He watched as the psychiatrist ran up to McCoy, began fussing with the man's ankles.
"I can't," Skoda finally said. "The tree's roots have wound themselves around Jack's ankles."
"According to Curren, the tree drinks blood," Jack looked ill at the notion.
Logan knelt by him too, looking at the roots fixing his ankles together,
"It's my fault," McCoy looked down. "If only I had not gotten sick…"
"It's not your fault, Jack!" Logan heard Skoda's fierce denial. "You did the best you could. Curren's fate is his own fault, and no one else's."
A roar of rage filled the air as branches flailed and roots writhed. Logan pulled Skoda down, just in time to avoid a branch sweeping over their heads.
Fuck…
Logan pulled out a knife he had always kept on his person, just in case, and handed it to Skoda.
"What am I supposed to do with this?"
"Cut Jack loose, and get him out of here!" Logan ordered. "We'll take care of Curren. And the tree too!"
…..
Emil Skoda hefted the knife in his hand. It wasn't big. But it looked wickedly sharp…
"Careful, Emil," Jack was shivering. "This tree likes blood. No slipping, please."
"Hold still, Jack. No jerking, please."
A psychiatrist, Skoda was a full MD. He had gone through the whole Internship and Residency program that all doctors went through. He had seen surgery up close.
Hope my hands are steady enough for this…
With Jack McCoy holding still, so still he scarcely seemed to be breathing, Skoda grabbed one root, sliced into it as deeply as he could; and black, vile-smelling blood spurted out.
Blood…from a tree…
Skoda didn't have much hair on his head, but what he did have was standing on end.
Especially when the tree started screaming…
Something hit him in the back, but he had braced for it, continued to cut McCoy's feet free from the bleeding roots…
Minutes later, he was dragging McCoy away, the other man trying to pull himself back to his feet, not quite succeeding.
With McCoy safely out of harm's reach, Skoda slumped to the ground, keeping protective arms around his patient.
"Everyone out of the way," Detective Ed Green spoke calmly.
He had a bottle in his hands. Aftershave, Skoda realized. Green opened the bottle, stuffed one of his linen handkerchiefs into the opening, brought out a lighter.
Uh-oh…
Everyone got out of the way.
Green lit the thing, then hurled it at the tree.
He's got a good arm…Skoda thought distractedly, still holding onto McCoy.
The tree caught fire, flames racing up the humanlike trunk, spreading to the branches like wildfire, and the screaming-a high, keening wail-caught on his nerves.
Skoda wanted to curl up and plug his ears, block that awful sound. McCoy did curl up, hands up to his head, over his ears.
And all the others too, all the cops. And…
The Tree bursts open in a ball of fire, and a…flaming creature…a man, races out, body wreathed in fire, hands outstretched, heading right for Skoda, and Jack McCoy…
Skoda can't move. Rooted to the ground by pure, unabashed terror, all he can do is hold onto Jack McCoy…
A hail of bullets bring the burning man down, and he falls to the ground just a few short feet away…
…..
Detective Mike Logan stared down at the charred body.
Dead.
The Tree was still burning. It had stopped screaming, its branches had stopped thrashing.
Jesus, Mary, and Joseph…
Jack McCoy was crouching just a few feet away, staring fixedly at Curren's body; Emil Skoda kneeling next to him, hand on his shoulder.
McCoy looked to be in shock, not moving, just staring at the charred corpse, and Logan remembered years past.
Jack's seen burned bodies before. He doesn't need this…
"Get him to a hospital, Emil," he ordered. "We'll clean up here first…"
"Yeah…" Skoda sounded shaken too. He stood, hand still on McCoy's shoulder, as he guided the other man back to his feet.
…..
Bellevue Psychiatric Unit
Dr. Emil Skoda heard the light knock on the door to the small Observation Room, and Mike Logan walked in.
"How is he?" the detective asked.
"Not good," Skoda sighed. "He hasn't moved or spoken since we got here."
Jack McCoy sat there, on the hospital bed, head bowed, staring at nothing.
Skoda remembered what McCoy had said, there, at the Tree.
It's my fault. If only I hadn't gotten sick…
Skoda sighed again.
"I've signed him in, Detective Logan. A Seventy-Two Hour Hold. After that…we'll see."
"Shit…" Logan muttered. "He was beginning to come out of his shell too…"
"I know…"
"Why is this happening to him?"
"It's mental illness, Mike. It hits everyone differently. All we can do is be there for them, in every way we can."
Skoda looked down at his patient. McCoy was almost catatonic now, almost completely withdrawn.
And there was still the fact that he had seen Jack McCoy bleed green.
That was when the thought occurred to him.
I might be in over my head…
