Chapter Two
Should I Stay Or Should I Go Now?
Michael lay still in his hospital bed. He was staring toward the window, watching the night close in. His thoughts were miles away from his forced imprisonment in this hospital bed.
The place brought back uncomfortable reminders of the first time he met Wilton Knight and Devon. He'd been pinned down to a bed then too, trapped by snaking wires and machines breathing for him and keeping him alive. Back then, he'd wanted to get up and punch something… anything!
Now pain and weakness kept him pinned to the bed. He resented the fact that his body had betrayed him when he most needed it to heal and be strong again.
Devon was pacing the middle of the room. "We found the remains of a false beard with traces of makeup. Whoever it was, he disguised himself as one of their scientists. The guard said he didn't suspect Dr Hanson was a fake."
"Whoever he is, he's going to pay." Bonnie watched him pace. She looked pale and grainy-eyed from days of lack of sleep and too many cups of strong, black coffee.
Devon turned to her. "But there's the rub. Nothing seems to be missing. Nothing is out of place or tampered with. And yet..."
He turned back to the bed. "Michael, are you listening to me?"
Michael was still staring out the window. "Yeah…" He nodded slowly.
Bonnie took hold of Devon's arm. "Let's leave it for now. Michael's getting tired. I really think we should go. We can come back to this tomorrow."
She glanced at Michael's recumbent form. "Rest... Rest, Michael. Take as long as it takes..."
Michael doesn't respond. Bonnie shook her head as she walked ahead of a troubled-looking Devon out of the room.
He took half a dozen steps out of Michael's room and stopped. He turned and stared at Michael's still body through the open door.
"His wounds are healing well but he's not..." he said grimly. "He seems to be out of it all the time. Like he wants to be somewhere else but here."
Bonnie watched him with compassion. "It could be just a temporary after-effect. Mental scars take longer to disappear. Michael has been through a lot."
"Yes…" Devon nodded. "But Michael's walked away from death before and not looked back. His withdrawal is not because of that. I believe it goes far deeper..."
He sighed. "It's almost as if he longs for something he can't find." He paused. "Or someone…"
"Let's go get something to eat and we can talk about it," Bonnie replied as they moved off together. "I need more coffee, and you need to rest."
Behind them, in his hospital bed, Michael lay still. His eyes had moved up to stare at the ceiling. He bit down hard on the inside of his bottom lip to prevent the tears that burned at the back of his eyes.
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Down in the hospital carpark, Kitt waited and watched. The sun sank at the end of another long day of inaction. The Trans Am tapped into Michael's hospital room.
"Michael, are you feeling better?" he called softly.
Michael sighed as he composed himself. Then he lifted his arm and spoke into the commlink on his left wrist. "Kitt, where are you, Buddy?"
"I'm down in the parking lot, Michael," Kitt replied a trifle testily. "Dirty, dusty and humiliatingly wedged in between a foreign disaster and a Detroit mistake!"
Michael smiled at the car's brusque tone. "How long have you been there?"
"Since they brought you here nine days ago. You have no idea how many baby carriages and wheelchairs have bumped into me. I have been used as both a lunch table and a make-out spot. Some woman even applied her make-up using my side mirror."
He paused and then said, "So, if for no other reason – other than the preservation of my dignity – please get up out of that hospital bed. You've been there for far too long. I miss you, Buddy."
Michael smiled wryly. "Soon, pal... soon."
Kitt softened his tone. "Michael... We both know you're strong enough to leave now. If you're going through an emotional crisis or having trouble resuming your life again, I may not be able to solve it but I'm ready to listen."
Michael dug deep into himself and tried to sort out his tangled thoughts and emotions. As much for himself as for Kitt, but the words just wouldn't come.
Finally, he said, "The problem is... I'm not sure what sort of life I want to resume again – if any."
"I'm here for you, Buddy," Kitt replied softly.
"Thanks…" Michael reacted to the sound of someone coming into his room.
His nurse walked in, carrying a tray holding small plastic pill cups. She shook her head. "I've had patients who talked to walls but never to a watch. You better take these pills before I do." She held out a small container and a cup of water.
"Thanks…" Michael frowned at her as he downed the tablets and followed with the water.
"Well done…" The nurse nodded as she flipped the switch for the TV camera that baby-sat the patients and allowed for remote night-time monitoring.
The nurse appeared on Kitt's screen as she tucked Michael in and turned out the lights before she quietly left the room. Kitt watched closely as the nurses, orderlies and doctors changed guard. The personnel entrance was directly in front of his windscreen.
"Good night, Michael," Kitt whispered. "Sleep well… I'll keep watch and make sure no more harm comes to you."
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Time passed and the last of the staff either entered or left the personnel entrance area. Those leaving moved faster than those arriving. A large man dressed in the uniform of a hospital orderly moved into the building with those still entering. He walked casually and slowly, seemingly concentrating on the small, black pager in his hand.
Martoni smiled as he read the short message. "All right… Consider it done, Boss."
He walked confidently along the hospital hallway, seeming to know where he was going. No one looked twice at him or questioned his reasons for being there. He paused at a corner, then walked in the direction of the intensive care unit.
Secure in his bed and hovering in that 'twilight zone,' of half-wakefulness, Michael fought against slipping back into a troubled sleep. But he couldn't force his eyes to open. They felt grainy and painful.
"So much for painkillers…" he complained in a low mutter as he slipped back into oblivion.
In the shadows of the darkened room, a man dressed in an orderly's uniform entered and walked toward the bed. He pulled a length of white rope from the pocket of his uniform top. He handled it lovingly as he moved closer. He stopped and stared down at his sleeping victim.
"Too bloody easy…" he muttered under his breath. "Like taking candy from a baby. But the payout will be worth every red cent…"
He twined the strangling cord between his strong hands and moved it closer to Michael's unguarded throat. "Good night, Mr Michael Knight. And goodbye, forever…"
Outside in the carpark, Michael's hospital room was still showing on Kitt's screen. He saw Martoni's stealthy approach. Emergency signals flashed across the screen.
"Michael… Michael!" Kitt shouted. "Michael!"
But Michael slept on, oblivious to the impending danger. Kitt switched to his audio/video transmission control.
"Code Blue! Code Blue! Room 202!" he called over the hospital's system, shattering the evening stillness.
Martoni froze with shock. His hands were still extended and holding the killing rope. He lunged forward again, intent on getting the job done before he was discovered.
"What the…" Michael was startled awake by all the noise and the sudden pressure in his throat that suddenly choked off his breathing.
Martoni abandoned the rope and changed to using his hands, as the sound of the alarm continued. The nurses and orderlies reacted to the call and started to race toward Michael's room.
Michael and Martoni, bathed in shadows, wrestled on the bed and then crashed to the floor. Martoni managed to renew his choke hold and squeezed tighter. Weakened by his half-healed wounds and fighting to stay conscious, Michael's fingers scrambled for a weapon with which to free himself from Martoni's death clutch.
He found it – a bedpan. With his last breath of strength, he swung out and bashed the bedpan into Martoni's sweated face. Metal crunched into flesh and bone, smashing the man's nose and knocking him out.
Michael groaned as he rolled over and pushed his unconscious assailant to the floor. He felt depressed before, but now he felt worse. And his abused throat hurt like hell!
"Are you all right, Michael?" Kitt queried anxiously.
"Thanks, Buddy…" He groaned.
Framed in the open doorway, Michael's nurse stared into the room. Behind her, a cluster of hospital personnel peered over her shoulder.
"Thanks for coming in time…" Michael muttered. "I was almost out of options…"
"Any time…" The nurse's lips curved wryly as she retrieved the bedpan. She stared at the large dent in the bottom of it. "Remind me to never get on the wrong side of you, Mr Knight," she said with a note of heightened respect.
Michael rolled over and sat up, turning his back on the hospital staff. "Thanks, pal…" he said into the commlink.
Kitt sighed. "I'm only sorry they don't allow cars into hospitals. I would have been a lot closer, and that man would never have gotten anywhere near to you."
"I know you would have, Buddy..."
Behind him, the nurse frowned at him. She shook her head as she began to tidy the room and remake the bed. "That man needs some serious medication. Never seen anyone who talks to himself as much as he does…"
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The next morning, Bonnie and Devon walked with Michael across the hospital grounds. Michael was dressed in his pyjamas and a robe.
"I don't believe you're thinking clearly," Devon commented with a trace of dissatisfaction.
"I've had days of thinking," Michael replied firmly, as he walked to a garden bench seat and sat down on one end. "It's final, Devon. I'm leaving The Foundation. And there's nothing either of you can say or do that could stop me."
Devon watched him with compassion as they joined him on the seat. "You've just gone through a series of harrowing experiences, and I don't believe you're seeing the reality of your situation. You need to give it time. Take some time to get your head straight."
Michael turned and looked at his good friend seated on the other side of Bonnie. "I've had a ton of days to think clearly, and my decision is made."
His shoulders slumped. "I've had one incomplete life already – as Michael Long. My life now, as Michael Knight – may not even be the final answer. I'm not sure I want to live out my life as that man anymore."
Devon watched him. "Well, it won't be that easy to leave. Believe me, I know." His lips thinned. "Don't think I haven't already tried. I live with ghosts too. People I have left behind and things I wish I'd done or said before they slipped away."
He glanced at Bonnie. "You've seen too much, Michael. You've witnessed the violence and the injustices. But you've seen the great good that we can do. You've been part of it too long just to walk away."
He sighed regretfully. "Michael, certain men are chosen to enjoy a little and endure much... You're that breed of man."
"No, Devon. You're that breed of man. I want to be the kind without any responsibility. I don't want to be involved in any more of the so-called 'great' schemes of this world."
His hand clenched into the fabric of his robe. "I want to go to bed with the sun and get up with it too. I want to walk along a deserted beach and not waste my time looking back over my shoulder to see if I'm being followed by anything more dangerous than the gulls flying overhead."
Devon's expression filled with deep concern. "Michael, I don't think you mean that. That's not who you are. We all know that."
Michael stared at him. "I'm tired, Devon. In both my body and soul. It seems as if it's been one long process of getting tired. I think I'm finally there. That beach is looking mighty nice right now. A little house with a rocking chair and a front porch to put it on. Coffee for breakfast and wine for when the sun goes down."
"Michael…" Bonnie put out a denying hand.
Devon stopped her with a hand on her shoulder and a shake of his head. He turned back to Michael. "Even though there's someone out there who still wants you dead? His henchman refused to talk, but we both know who it is. You got in his way back at the data centre."
Michael stared at him, but he didn't respond.
Devon nodded. "All right, Michael… Have it your way. We'll be back in the morning. We'll leave Kitt on guard, just in case."
He huffed a short laugh as he rose to his feet. "Though I doubt we could drag him away anyway. He's already insisted you be moved down to the ground floor room so he can be closer to you. He would have made a good doctor."
"Dr Kitt…" Michael stood from the bench as he fiddled with the commlink on his wrist. "Thanks, Devon. That means a lot."
"Never forget we're here for you, Michael…" Bonnie put a hand out toward him. "We'll always be here."
"Thanks. I know…" Michael watched as she got up and walked slowly away with Devon. Then he turned toward the hospital entrance to the grounds.
Waiting outside the main doors to the facility, Reginald leaned back against the side of his limo. He frowned at Devon and Bonnie as they approached him, walking arm in arm.
"You people are lookin' like he's up and died already," he said worriedly.
"No…" Bonnie sighed. "But he's not exactly alive either."
RC shrugged. "Hey, where I come from breathing is alive. The rest is up to you."
Devon stared at him. "Thank you, RC. You've just said something that's basic yet true. Michael needs the will to live. A reason to care. And I've got to find that for him. Yes, he has a right to that even if FLAG may lose him forever…"
"Well, that's a tall order," RC admitted. "But if anyone can pull it off, it's you, Devon. I got faith in you."
"What are you going to do, Devon?" Bonnie breathed. "Who are you going to see?"
"Someone we should have thought of asking days ago…" Devon reassured her with a gentle smile as he pushed her toward RC's care. "You two go back to the house and don't wait up for me."
He glanced up at the westering sun. "I'll have to spend some time getting there, and then all my powers of persuasion to get this person to agree to my plans for bringing Michael back to us."
※※※※※
Devon walked quickly to the carpark and got into his red sports car. He always preferred to drive into the city than to be driven in RC's fancy limo, though at times it was more practical. He drove out of the city, and along the coastal highway where the waves crashed and retreated against the rocky shoreline.
It was getting dark by the time he turned off the highway onto a secondary road. Finally, he turned into the semi-crowded carpark of an intimately situated seafood restaurant that sat in a long hollow of land overlooking the ocean. The place had a decidedly Tudor style to it and was nestled within a quaint beachside community.
"Paradise…" Devon shook his head at the name of the town that had been proudly displayed on a sign at the entrance to the hamlet.
He cut the ignition and got out of his car. The dreaming quiet rolled in, making him feel uneasy.
This was a world away from FLAG and exactly the kind of beachside living Michael had recently spoken about. A row of charming, old-world houses lined the landward side of the road. Every dwelling had an uninterrupted view of the ocean and a wide porch on which to sit and watch the waves roll back and forth in their timeless rhythm. Gulls wheeled and cried overhead in their endless search for food.
"He'd go bat-crazy inside a month…" Devon remarked drily, as he turned from the bucolic view.
He walked down the crazy-paved concrete path inset with crushed seashells that led to the double glass front doors. He pushed through them and a dozen conversations surrounded him.
The place smelled of wine, beer and seafood. It was crammed full of that same old-world charm with antique furniture and framed prints everywhere. It wasn't unpleasant and seemed to be warm and friendly.
Along with the framed prints of horses, flowers and English hunting scenes, there were signs that shouted the daily specials written on chalkboards. The booths were filled with people having a very good time. Not one of the chattering patrons paid any attention to him as they consumed their meals.
As Devon stopped at the entrance to the main area, a slightly harassed-looking young waitress appeared at his elbow holding a menu. "Table for one, Sir?" she asked with a bright smile.
"No, thank you…" Devon held up one hand. "I'm here to see someone. Not to eat."
The young waitress made a small moue but managed to hang onto her bright look. "If you say so. But we got a great special on lobster cakes tonight. Best on the coast…" She left the comment hanging and the menu on offer between them.
"Sorry…" Devon shook his head. "But I'm not staying…"
"Suit yourself…" The young woman's bright smile vanished, and she hustled away, looking less than pleased with his dismissal.
Devon shrugged as he turned back to the restaurant. Over the noise of the various conversations, he heard the sound of a piano being played and then a female voice began to sing a tender love ballad.
The chattering audience slowly went quiet as the liquid notes of the ballad continued to move them. Both food and drinks were momentarily forgotten. Lovers drew closer and sighed.
"Stevie…" Devon glanced down at the placard adjacent to the entrance door. Stevie Mason's photo was on it and an announcement that read: 'APPEARING TUESDAY THROUGH SATURDAY.'
The patrons who half-filled the room were engrossed as the ballad continued. The pianist moved his fingers over the piano keys as Stevie, looking lovely in a simple black evening dress and totally involved in the love song, turned toward the entrance and saw a man she never expected to see again.
She frowned slightly with confusion but continued to sing as she stared at him. She finally sang her song to its conclusion as Devon watched and waited.
The assembled patrons all sighed and then respectfully applauded as the song ended. Conversations were resumed and glasses raised. Stevie recovered her composure and smiled as she took her final bow.
She turned to her accompanist and said, "Thanks, Aaron. Let's take ten, okay? I need a long cool glass of lemonade." She put down her microphone.
"Got ya…" Her pianist nodded as he stood up.
Stevie turned back to the room and her eyes locked on Devon's as she stepped down from the small dais that passed for a stage. She stood looking at him, seeming to be debating within herself what to do next.
Devon held his breath as he remained standing on the other side of the room. He waited for Stevie to come to him. If she turned and walked away, he would have his answer. She wanted nothing more to do with him or Michael, and he couldn't blame her. Nothing between them had ended well.
Stevie sighed. She knew she should turn and walk away. Put as much distance as she could between herself and the complicated and dangerous distraction that was Mr Devon Miles. And the clandestine world he inhabited.
But something about him stalled her intentions. His face looked thinner and his eyes haunted. Like he'd been through some recent and very personal trauma. The fact that he appeared to be alone, firmed her resolve. Where was the man she'd loved and lost twice?
"Michael…" she whispered, against her better judgement.
She needed to know. She doubted Devon would willingly seek out her company for anything less. With her body tense with emotion and her attitude, defensive, she crossed the room.
Reaching Devon, she stared up into his amazing blue eyes. She'd always found them mesmerising. Especially when they were concentrated on her, as they were right now.
"Hello, Stevie…" he said softly.
Forcing the words, she said, "He's dead, isn't he? You've come to tell me Michael's dead, haven't you? I can see it in your face. Thank you for that, at least."
Devon's intense gaze clouded with pain. "No. He's alive… Well, bodily, he is. But part of him is…" He paused and then said, "Something in Michael has died and he needs you."
Stevie stared up at him. "He needs me? Or you need me to make him right again? For you."
Her lips compressed. "There were times when I thought you two were father and son. You're so much alike. His pain was your pain."
She shook her head. "But needing is not something either of you were ever comfortable with. Not in the real emotional sense. You forget that both Mr Michael Long and Michael Knight left me when it suited him. Why should I care now?" She tried her best to keep her voice from trembling with suppressed emotions.
Devon nodded. "I know he did, and I cannot say how sorry I am for it. But he needs you now, Stevie. None of us can reach him and he's only going to sink lower and lower into depression. He thinks he has nothing left to live for. Soon he will be lost to us, for good."
"Oh, Mr Miles…" Stevie sighed. "You are very good. Very, very good at getting your own way. A little emotional blackmail goes a long way."
Devon stared down at her fresh beauty. "You are the only one I could think of who may be able to help him. I wouldn't be here, asking, if I didn't think so…"
"All right…" Stevie blew a long breath as she fought against the sting of her tears. "You can buy me a drink and we'll talk. But promises I am not going to make until I've heard exactly what you have in mind. My heart couldn't take him leaving me all over again."
"Fair enough…" Devon eased a sigh of cautious relief as he stood aside to allow her to go before him into the restaurant's tiny bar area.
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