Thank you Lord

Janice turned a corner at an intersection in the hallway and froze, listening. There was something ahead of her. She took an involuntary step backwards, holding out her little cross as if to ward off whatever may be coming towards her.

Then she heard the voice, wavering, as if from great pain.

"Help…meee…"

Janice blinked. The voice called out again.

"P-please…is someone t-there? Please h-help…me…"

The moonlight reflected off the little cross, and Janice steeled herself. If someone else was alive, she had to help them if she could.

"Is someone there?" She called. "I can’t see you."

"H-help. P-pleeeaaase…"

She started moving cautiously forward, clutching the cross to her bosom. A dozen yards down the hall, she spied the person calling for help.

"Oh, God. Doctor DuPaul!"

Janice ran towards Alex, who was slowly, painfully clawing and scratching at the floor. Alex weakly raised her head as Janice reached her.

"Here, let me help you…I…"

A smear of blood, looking black in the moonlight, disappeared back into the hall, marking the way she had come. Janice knelt beside the woman and gently rolled her over.

"Oh, no."

Janice shook her head in horror. Alex was drenched in blood, soaked in it.

"Wh-what happened?" She studied at the pain etched in Alex’s face. "Where’s Doctor Black?"

"D-dead…all dead…"

"God. Oh, God…"

Janice cradled Alex in her lap and rocked her, crying. She gently brushed the long hair away from Alex’s eyes, eyes that suddenly turned a murky black.

Static electricity crackled through the air, making the hair on Janice’s arms tingle and stand on end. She glanced up, seeing blue sparks dance along the window ledges.

"What…"

A strong hand suddenly gripped her wrist, and Alex stared blankly up at her, the whites of her eyes completely gone; they were now just bottomless, emotionless pools of ebony.

"I’m so sorry." She whispered. "But I need you."

A pure, white light seemed to envelope Janice, smothering her. She stiffened as recent memories flashed through her mind, and then she groaned and slumped over the motionless, dead body of Doctor Alexis DuPaul, exhausted.

***

"Excuse Me?"

The receptionist looked up from her typing. She had a gold nameplate on the counter that read: Janice Hamilton.

"Yes? Can I help you?"

Alexis DePaul spoke into the microphone centered in the glass window.

"I’m here to see Doctor Black?" She unclipped the temporary security badge from the pocket of her navy blazer and held it for the receptionist to see. "We have an appointment."

"Oh. Excellent."

The receptionist peered over the bifocals that perched on the tip of her nose and graced Alex with a brief smile. She shuffled paperwork into a manila file folder and stood, indicating a heavy wood door to the left of the glassed window.

"You’re right on time, doctor. Just through here. Let me buzz you in. Doctor Black and Detective McGurry are expecting you."

"Thank you."

The receptionist pressed a buzzer and Alex stepped through the doorway into a dingy hallway smelling faintly of antiseptic. The door was heavy, a wood veneer over reinforced steel. Heavy enough that Alex had to tug hard to pull it open.

A subtle warning, Alex mused. Even with the office facade, behind all the niceties; you can never forget this may as well be a prison.

A bored, overweight guard scanned her badge and admitted Alex into the administrative wing of the hospital with a curt nod. The receptionist gave Alex a cursory once-over and motioned her to follow.

"This way, please."

The receptionist turned on a heel and led Alex past rows of offices, her eyeglasses now hanging from a chain around her neck, bouncing gently on her bosom.

Alex felt the guard’s eyes on her, following her all the way down the hall. She did her best to ignore the feeling, Out of habit, she carefully studied her surroundings.

Not much to see, really; the carpet was a bland industrial grey, and harsh florescent lights buzzed overhead. A few generic pictures of lush green forests and babbling brooks failed to brighten the drab walls. The office doors were basically the same heavy security door as at the front entrance, and all the windows were of frosted, unbreakable glass; heavy wire mesh zigzagged through the double layers.

Absently, she wondered how anyone could work in this atmosphere and stay sane.

"Nice place." Alex failed to keep the sarcasm out of her voice.

"Mm."

"Lovely décor."

"Mm-hmm."

Alex grinned to herself. So much for small talk.

The receptionist paused at an open door and stepped aside. "Here we are."

Alex nodded her thanks and entered the room. The two men chatting intently in the room abruptly stood. A large, dumpy man Alex took to be Detective McGurry raked his eyes over her curves and ran a hand through his thinning hair; he gave her a cheesy grin and unconsciously straightened his cheap tie. The tall, reed thin man she recognized as Dr. Black cleared his throat and held out a hand.

"Ah, Dr. DePaul. So glad you could come. It’s a pleasure to see you again."

She gave them both her brightest smile. After a brief round of introductions they took turns shaking hands.

Black indicated a chair. "Please. Sit Down."

Alex slipped into the vacant chair, setting her thin leather briefcase in her lap and looked around the office.

The room was Spartan with few personal touches; the large mahogany desk was void of any clutter, other than an expensive fountain pen and a file folder centered on the desktop. A framed photograph hung on the wall. Alex recognized the picture: her ex-husband Steven shaking hands with Dr. Black.

The photo was snapped at a conference in Washington DC a few years previously, to accompany an article for a prominent medical journal. Both men played to the camera, stroking their egos and completely ignoring a younger, freshly married Alexis DuPaul, who looked to be trying her best to disappear into the background.

Alex sighed, trying to wipe away the memory. She wondered if Black had pulled the picture out just for this occasion.

"Well. So..." Dr. Black cleared his throat again and pried his eyes away from her chest. "Dr. DuPaul. Thank you for coming. I..."

"Please, call me Alex."

A light sheen of sweat broke out on McGurry’s forehead as Alex crossed her legs and smoothed her skirt over her the tops of her thighs. Alex casually flipped her hair back over her shoulder. The long, thick braid of curly, jet-black hair tickled the back of her neck.

"Of course. Doctor, my husband held your work in the highest regard. I came as soon as I received your message."

"How is Steven?"

"Fine, I assume." Alex cocked her head at an angle and arched her back, watching the men watch her. "Considering that we no longer speak."

"Oh." Black squirmed in his seat. His eyes snapped back up to hers. "Yes. I’m sorry, I did hear about the divorce. I..."

Still staring at her legs, McGurry blurted, "So, you Italian, or what?"

"Excuse me?" Alex turned in her chair to face the detective, who was scratching at the stubble on his thick neck.

"Well, you got a great tan, but not from one a’ those booths, an’ it’s been rainin’ like the end o’ days the last month here. Dark hair, brown eyes, dark complexion. You got a little accent. It’s soft, so I didn’t notice at first, an’ your face reminds me o’ all the broads I met in Italy when the wife an’ I went on vacation in Rome a couple years back. I figure you prob’ly took your hubbie’s name when ya got married." McGurry looked smug. "Well? How ‘bout it? Am I right?"

Black gaped open-mouthed, looking back and forth from McGurry to DePaul. Alex kept her face impassive.

"Impressive, Sherlock."

McGurry beamed.

"But not quite. I’m Greek, on my mothers’ side. I’ve been living in Europe the last few years, teaching forensic medicine and advanced psychology." She unbuttoned her suit blazer and leaned over, just-ever-so-slightly, giving McGurry a quick glimpse of her necklace, a small gold cross, dangling loosely under her blouse between some very impressive cleavage. She made a show of batting her eyes. "I moved after my divorce. DuPaul is my maiden name."

McGurry grinned, unruffled. "Hey, I was pretty close."

"Sure you were."

"Got’cha ta tell me what I wanted to know, didn’t I?"

His grin spread wider. Alex snorted with disgust and glared at Black.

"I hope you had a valid reason for requesting my assistance." All business now. "I can’t imagine that you wasted taxpayer’s money bringing me here just so the two of you could ogle my tits and douse me with this peculiar flattery."

Black blushed at the accusation, but the detective just sat back and stroked his chin, watching and grinning like the proverbial cat that ate the canary.

"My apologies." Black cleared his throat and raised an eyebrow at the file. "You received my fax? She nodded. "Good. First impressions?"

"Well," she began. "I’ve seen the news footage, of course. Terrible. I understand there’s still no suspects?"

"Toots," McGurry grunted, "there’s a whole lot more to this situation than the media knows."

Not quite the answer she hoped for. "With an investigation of this magnitude, that would be expected. But what, exactly, can I do for you?"

The two men exchanged a sharp look, and McGurry shrugged.

"Sooner or later she’s gonna have to know what she’s gettin’ into. Let’s not waste any more time; the Feds have already cleared her."

"You should look at this." Black pushed the thick file across his desk. "Reports on the investigation, by both local and federal authorities. And my own initial analysis on the situation."

Alex took it, opened the file, flipped through. She read for a moment, glanced at crime scene photos, the first a picture of what looked like a terrorist bombing. The photo grabbed her attention, and she studied it intently.

"Satellite photo." Black pushed his tiny round spectacles back to the bridge of his nose. "The information that has been released to the media came from that file."

"What happened here?"

McGurry scratched his jaw and glanced over at Black, who nodded back. "Go ahead."

"Okay," McGurry pointed at the file with his pinkie. Gold and diamond flashed on his finger. "This is the deal. The crater you’re gawkin’ at? A month ago, that was a run-down warehouse district located out by the waterfront. Scumville, USA. Lots’a drug activity, prostitution and whatnot. Not a fun neighborhood for honest folk. You get me?"

Alex nodded. McGurry shifted his weight, and the flimsy chair beneath him groaned in protest.

"At midnight on the first of the month, police dispatch took a phone call from an officer on scene. He was drivin’ his beat, and a half-naked woman covered in blood runs screamin’ outta this here theater…," he reached across to the file and flipped through the set of photos, until he found a picture of an old, recently renovated movie theater, then continued. "...an’ collapses right in front of his cruiser. He calls it in an’ stops to help her."

"All right."

"Mind you, the only reason we know all this, ‘cause the officer left his two way radio on and transmitting."

"Okay."

"The woman’s outta her mind, screamin’ some crazy horseshit about bugs. Huge fuckin’ bugs. She’s just babbling, talkin’ about nothin’ that makes any sense. We figure she was higher’n a kite. We can get you a copy a’ the tape, you want."

"If you think it’s necessary." Alex shrugged. "Were you able to identify her?"

"Nope."

"Go on."

"’Kay. Anywhoo, officer Meyer, the first on the scene? He’s got the woman sittin’ in the back of his cruiser, covered with a blanket. He’s tryin’ to calm her down, when backup arrives; a pair of patrol officers. She’s still goin’ on an’ on, talkin’ how all these folks were getting kilt inside. Ripped apart by the bugs, she said. So Meyer gives the backup officers the lowdown, an’ they head into the theater ta check it out."

McGurry leaned back into his chair, tipping it backwards onto two legs, and folded his hands behind his head. He relaxed, savoring the moment. Alex exchanged a blank look with Dr. Black.

"Well? What did they find?"

"See, now, that’s the thing. We don’t really know."

"I don’t understand."

"We’ve had to kind’a piece this scenario together with the help of the Feds."

McGurry stood abruptly and paced in a little circle while he spoke. He stopped and stared out the window, collecting his thoughts.

"See, apparently, there was some kinda big ta’doo goin’ on at the theater, a black tie sort’a shin-dig. The guests wore masks, costumes. Completely anonymous. Nobody was supposed to know who anybody else was.

He hawked and swallowed, then continued.

"The theater was owned by a big-time local scumbag named Melvin Sputka." McGurry snorted. "The name’s an alias. Total horseshit. Nobody knows what the fuck his real name is, where he comes from, nothin’. No background on him at all. One day, he’s not even a blip on the radar, and the next, he’s...." McGurry broke off and looked over at Alex. "Hell, he’s been under police and Federal surveillance for more’n a year, but we barely even have a handful of pictures of him, and those are iffy."

"Iffy?" Alex asked.

McGurry nodded absently. "Yeah. Blurry, like the exposure was fucked up on all of ‘em. We can’t explain it."

"Strange."

"Yeah. Strange." McGurry rubbed his forehead and continued. "We do know he was a heavy player in the local sex industry. He was manufacturing new designer drugs; running prostitutes, you name it. He owned a whole slew of sex shops that specialized in bondage and S&M shit. Now, about this fuckin’ party. Exclusive invitations were sent to a ton o’ the movers and shakers of our fine state. For some reason, lots of big wigs from around here showed up to cut loose an’ have a good ol’ time. Local celebrities and folks with big money, politicians, you name it. Partyin’ with the druggies and freaks."

"I suppose that’s odd," Alex closed the file. "But maybe they were just all slumming. Taking a walk on the wild side."

"They weren’t slummin’, sister; they’d all been bought and paid for."

Alex looked between the men. "What, bribes? Blackmail?"

"We don’t really know, for sure," interjected Black.

"Ol’ Melvin had somethin’ on ‘em, that’s the truth." McGurry grunted bitterly. "The Feds agree. Hell, the chief of police and his wife were there whoopin’ it up too, right alongside Lord knows who else. We didn’t learn about the party ‘till after the fact. This thing was kept real secret, and real quiet."

"Gentlemen, I’m sorry. This is very interesting, but I don’t see what I can add to the investigation that I’m sure Dr. Black hasn’t already..."

Black held up his hand, and said. "Please, Alex, let him finish."

McGurry grinned and sucked his teeth.

"Okay. We figure the next few minutes went down like this. Again, we just ain’t sure, ‘cause once the officers entered the building, communication went all to hell. You can barely hear ‘em on the tapes. The theater was dark inside the lobby. The only lights, only noise was coming from inside the theater itself, and a big ballroom off to the side." He paused and picked between his front teeth with a fingernail. "On the tapes, you can hear the officers whispering, getting into position."

"And then..."

"Then you can hear the screams."

"What?"

"Screams." McGurry closed his eyes. "Never heard anything like it." He rubbed the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger. "Then gunshots."

"And..."

"That’s it." He opened his eyes. "There was this weird clicking that drowned out everything but the screaming. Sounded like the officers got off maybe three, four rounds each before the radios went completely dead."

"The officers?"

McGurry shrugged.

Alex shook her head. "So, what did they find? What made them fire?"

McGurry glanced over at Black.

"We dunno. That’s why you’re here."

"I don’t understand."

McGurry leaned over again, close enough for Alex to get a whiff of stale cigar smoke and body odor. He unclipped one photo from the folder and held it in front of her face. He flicked at it with his finger.

"See that?"

"The bomb site?"

"Uh-huh." He grunted. "This is what’s left of that theater; ground zero. The buildings around the theater were completely wiped out in a perfect, expanding circle for more’n a three block radius. We guess it happened right when the party probably got into full swing."

McGurry scratched at his stubble.

"We dunno what those poor bastards found, ‘cause they ain’t around anymore ta tell us." He stood up and paced over to the office window and stared out into the parking lot. "Fuckin’ no one is."

Alex looked over at Black. "What caused the explosion?"

"No idea." McGurry. "Initially we thought there was a bad radiation leak from a bomb, maybe. We thought it might account for the radio interference. But no forensic evidence was found in the rubble to indicate any sort of explosive."

That took her aback. "You thought it was nuclear?" She considered the photo. "But there’s so little…I mean, wouldn’t a nuclear explosion have…have destroyed most of the city?

"Yeah." McGurry shrugged. "You’d think. Doesn’t really matter, anyway."

"Alex," Black perked up. "There was no radiation detected at or around the site."

"So…what caused this?"

The detective shrugged. "Damn good question."

Alex looked closer at the photo.

"What are these? Holes?"

"Tunnels. The area is riddled with them, all of ‘em leading to the docks or back into the hills. In the late eighteen, early nineteen-hundreds, the downtown area was used by maritime smugglers to move stolen goods, kidnapping victims, etc."

"Kidnappings?"

"Yup. White slavery ain’t just an urban myth. Back then, you could pull into town, check into a hotel, fall asleep, an’ the next thing you know, Bam!" He slapped the top of the desk, making the fountain pen bounce. "You wake up ta find yourself on a ship, drugged stupid and bound for Hong Kong."

"I still don’t see..."

Black steepled his fingers and rocked back in his chair. McGurry directed his answer towards the windows.

"So. The cops and the rescue crews arrived at the site within minutes of the blast. Federal agents were pretty quick after. The entire area was wiped almost clean, vaporized like something caught in a nuclear detonation. But how?"

He pondered his own question.

"Except for the damage you can see, we’ve got no evidence of any kind of a bomb, or even an explosion." McGurry swiveled his enormous head back towards Alex. He looked suddenly exhausted. "Basically, everything just went ‘poof’, an’ blew into dust."

"’Poof’?" Alex raised her eyebrows. Black didn’t seem to appreciate the sarcasm.

"Alex, we’re being serious."

"Right."

"Toots, this is what we have: three football fields worth of decimated real estate, dozens of bodies charred beyond recognition, millions of dollars in damage. We got all that. But we got no witnesses, no structural damage to any of the outlying buildings."

He took a long breath, letting it all sink in.

"Nothing."

"So…it was some sort of contained detonation?"

McGurry nodded. Alex studied him quietly for a moment.

"Terrorists?"

"Not that we can tell." Black again.

"There’s lot’sa cranks claiming responsibility. All bogus. Nothin’s panned out during the investigation."

"Strange. I would think some extremist group would have..." She pursed her lips. "But, now that I think about it, nothing’s been shown on the news."

"Nope."

"So you’re telling me you have no leads."

McGurry grinned. "Maybe. One."

"Alex," Black seemed uncomfortable. He cleared his throat. "There was a survivor."

"The woman? Or one of the officers? Were they out of range of..."

"No, not them. We found their remains."

"So, who?" She glanced again at the photo. "No one could have survived a detonation like this. They must have wandered in after the blast."

McGurry sat again. "That’s what the Feds want to think."

"But," Alex noted the tone in his voice. "You don’t."

Black shook his head, "No."

"Why."

"Because I’ve spoken to him. Briefly. He says he was there, for the entire thing." He turned to the detective. "McGurry?"

"Look at the very center of the bomb site picture." McGurry leaned over and jabbed his finger to the paper. "That was taken seconds after the dust settled, right before the first emergency crews arrived. There’s a small crater in the center of all the tunnels. Whaddaya see?"

Alex squinted. "I can’t tell. There’s something..."

"Here." He grabbed the folder and unclipped another photo. "I had it enlarged."

Alex inhaled sharply, and stared at the photo.

"This is real?"

"Yep."

The photo showed a tall, athletic man, completely naked and apparently unharmed, with smoke and bits of debris from the explosion still drifting around his muscular body. He was standing protectively over the naked, supine body of a woman; his body tense and his face twisted into a snarl. Alex found herself staring at the man, unable to avert her eyes. She felt her face flush.

"We found them just like that, ten, maybe fifteen minutes after the rescue teams were deployed. The crater they’re in is a good fifty feet below the street level. And," he flicked the edge of the photo for emphasis. "They’re standing dead in the epicenter."

He gave her a sideways look.

"Hung like a horse, ain’t he?"

Alex glared back, then asked, "The woman? Was she alive as well?"

"D.O.A., Black said. "She’d been torn apart internally, and hemorrhaged. She bled to death."

"Because of the explosion?"

"No." He shook his head. "She’d been sexually assaulted. The autopsy confirmed."

"By this man?"

"We don’t know. Because of the extent of the...damage, vaginally, the attacker must have used a large, blunt, spiked object. There was no semen found, no human DNA to prove one way or the other."

"Do you have an I.D.?"

"Yeah." McGurry nodded. "For both. His name is Matt Kennedy. He’s a local business owner, and a known associate of our friend Melvin the Creep. The woman was his former sister-in-law, Laura Cearley." He scratched his beard. "Her husband identified the body."

"And you interviewed him?"

"Yes. He was at work that night. His wife left their children with his mother to baby-sit, and told everybody she was going to the beach with some girlfriends for the weekend."

Alex felt a familiar, bitter emptiness deep in the pit of her stomach. She shook her head and tried to sweep away more bad memories of her marriage. It almost worked.

"They were having an affair."

"It looks that way. We talked to the two friends. Right away they both admitted they helped her cover when she had a couple other dates with her brother-in-law. Said it was getting’ pretty hot and heavy." McGurry gave Alex a wicked little grin. "Kinda sick and kinky, huh? What’s the word…incestuous?"

"My, my, Detective. Surprised? I would have thought that an officer as jaded as you would know by now." She raised her eyebrow. "Lots of people have affairs. Crazy, I know, but still, it happens all the time." She turned to Black. "So…she was his sister-in-law. What about his wife? Have you talked with her?"

"They’re divorced. She’s living back East with her new husband. She had no idea. Apparently, they don’t speak much."

Alex looked back down at the picture, and felt another warm tingle shoot up her spine. "And you’ve spoken with Kennedy?" She shifted uncomfortably in the chair, and had to pry her eyes off the photo.

"Yes." Black answered. "Twice. I interviewed him the first time just after he’d been taken into custody. We had a very strange conversation. Very fragmented."

"And then he clammed up." McGurry practically spit. "Wouldn’t say squat, until a few days ago."

Black nodded. "He was much more conversational, very forthright. He...admitted to causing the destruction."

"And he’s still here? In the hospital?"

"Yes." Black rocked in his leather chair. "He’s here."

McGurry muttered under his breath. "Sorta."

"What does that mean?"

"Alex, for all intents and purposes, he’s comatose." Black swiveled in his chair. "He’s become completely immobile and unresponsive."

"An’ there’s somethin’ else."

McGurry leaned close.

"We canvassed his business. The guy owned several stores. We interviewed all of his neighbors and employees. We searched his house and found a whole bunch ‘o weird sex shit hidden away in his basement. This creep-o was livin’ with three women. Their names are in the file. According to some snoopy neighbor, one of ‘em, an older lady named Nancy, was pregnant."

McGurry paused.

"They’re all dead too."

Alex frowned. "Were they at this..."

"Nope. Their remains were found at Kennedy’s home. The coroner pins the time of death literally at the same time as the theater explosion." He puckered his lips, as if he’d bitten into something sour. "There wasn’t much left of ‘em."

"Murdered? Another explosion? Was this some sort of...mass suicide?"

Black shook his head. He cleared his throat and pushed his glasses back up his nose. "The autopsy indicates they were...eaten."

"Eaten." Alex echoed, incredulous. "What are you talking about?"

"Their bones were picked clean." McGurry grinned viciously, without any humor. "Gnawed on."

"By...what?"

"No clue." McGurry went back to scratching his neck. "But maybe you’ll be able to find out for us."

"How? I’m sorry." Alex shook her head. "But I how I can be of any help here if we cannot communicate with..."

"Alex," Black interrupted. "Listen. Just before he lapsed, Kennedy asked for you by name."

He paused to let the comment sink in, then stood and showed her the door.

"If you would follow me?"

***

Alex carried the case file and followed Black out of the office, McGurry bringing up the rear. Black led them to the high-security wing of the hospital, badging the three of them through several guard stations on the way to an observation room. Black nodded absently to the guards as they passed.

"Here we are."

Black swiped his cardkey through an electronic lock and ushered them into a plain, cramped room furnished with a small table and several chairs. A tall, nondescript man with short brown hair and dressed in a plain black suit stood silently at the door and watched them through dark sunglasses as they entered. Something about his gaze made Alex blush. His veritable twin stood motionless and just off to the side; ram-rod straight, his large hands clasped tightly behind his back, staring through a one-way mirror into a patient’s room. He didn’t bother to turn around when they entered.

"Doctor Black."

The deep voice barely carried to Alex’s ears. McGurry flopped down into one of the cheap plastic chairs.

"Agent Harris" Black nodded. "Johnson." The familiar gurgle of phlegm rattled in his throat. "This is Dr. Alex DePaul."

"Finally."

"Nice to meet you too." Alex held out her hand. "Always so cordial?"

Harris ground his teeth and ignored the handshake.

"This is not a time for levity, Ms. DuPaul. I assume Doctor Black and Detective McGurry briefed you?"

Alex took back her hand. "Yes."

"Good."

Agent Harris slowly turned away from the window towards Alex, and disdainfully sized her up. Unlike his partner, Harris’s sunglasses were folded neatly away in his jacket pocket. Still, his eyes looked black under the fluorescent light; Alex couldn’t read them.

"Doctor, you are here for one reason."

He held up his index finder, one hand still hidden behind his back. Even standing halfway across the room, Harris seemed to loom over Alex, dwarfing her. He used his low voice like a battering ram, forcing his point’s home with emphasis.

"Despite what the local police may believe," Harris wrinkled his nose, as if he smelled something that disagreed with him. McGurry grunted angrily from his seat, but quieted to a low grumble after a piercing glare from Harris. "The primary focus of this investigation is in regards to a terrorist bombing, for which we have virtually no leads, except possibly, one." He indicated the window behind him. "So. The sole purpose of your visit here is the very remote possibility that you may be able to procure even a kernel of information which may help us from the man in that room."

"Agent Harris, there’s no need to be hostile to…" Black tried to interrupt, but Harris cut him off with a look, then turned his black eyes back to Alex.

"You are the only person he has indicated that he will speak with; why, I have no idea. But while you are here, you are under my authority, and I absolutely do not have the patience for jokes, because we may soon lose this avenue as well."

He lifted a heavy arm and pointed at the one-way window. Everyone in the room turned to look.

Black touched her arm. "He’s dying Alex."

Alex took in the scene behind the mirrored window and quickly processed the information her eyes relayed to her. She nodded mutely.

Sequestered behind a clear plastic curtain to keep his environment sterile, the bed-ridden man in the other room barely resembled the man from the photo.

Instead of the virile, imposing figure in the picture of the bomb site, the man behind the mirror was gaunt and emaciated, his body painfully twisted and contorted; his face frozen in a howling grimace. Angry sores burst open on his blackened, rotting flesh and oozed greenish pus. Wispy, silver grey hair was plastered wetly to his pale face. An oxygen machine puffed air into his lungs, tubes and needles were taped into the veins in his arms, pumping him full of life-sustaining fluids. He was propped up in the hospital bed, staring vacantly back at them through bloodshot eyes.

An armed guard was stationed next to the entry. Alex imagined he had the same blank stare as the patient.

A tremor caused the man’s body to jerk uncontrollably, and for a moment, Alex seemed to lock eyes with him through the glass. The room spun around her, everything a blur except for his suddenly piercing eyes. She reached out to steady herself, groping for the back of a chair, the table; something solid. She blinked, and her surroundings settled back into their proper place. The patient’s eyes were wide and staring again, and feeling passed.

No one on her side of the wall seemed to have noticed, except McGurry, who was leaning back in his chair and stroking his whiskers, watching her intently. Perhaps he’s more perceptive than I thought.

She nodded to Harris. "Understood."

"Good." Harris scraped a plastic chair across the floor and settled down, then turned his glare towards Black. "Please show her to the patient, doctor. We don’t have time to waste."

***

Black paused outside the door to the room, and rested his hand on her shoulder.

"Alex, a word before we enter?"

"Of course."

"Obviously, this man’s dying. Like everything else about this, we don’t know why. He’s been through a battery of tests: blood work, CAT scans; everything. Results are completely normal. There’s no evidence of cancer, radiation poisoning, brain tumors, AIDS or anything else. He should be in perfect health. But he doesn’t eat, doesn’t sleep. He’s been in exactly that position since he last spoke to me, more than three days. He’s simply unresponsive, and his body is failing. He’s wasting away, and quickly."

He gurgled phlegm.

"We need information. Formost, about the disaster. What happened? Why? And secondly, McGurry is adamant about finding the person who murdered the women in this man’s home." He patted her shoulder, like she was a child. "You see?"

"And you think he’ll respond to me? Just because he knew my name?"

"He’ll no longer acknowledge me, or anyone else who tries to speak with him. Truthfully, I don’t expect much." Black looked sheepish. "But we don’t have much left to try."

Alex sighed. "Fine."

Black turned to the door. Quietly, over his shoulder, he muttered, "Be prepared. This has been as strange a case of multiple personalities as I’ve ever come across."

"What?" Alex raised her eyebrows. "You didn’t say anything about multiple..."

Black ignored her and swiped them inside. The humidity hit her first, like a wall of moist heat. Then the smell: sweet and sickly all at the same time, reminding Alex of a slaughterhouse she’d visited in grade school.

Rotting meat.

Alex gagged and almost vomited. Sour bile filled her mouth and she swallowed hard, forcing herself to maintain her composure. She sensed the guard was grinning at her; but when she looked his gaze was still blank and focused elsewhere.

Black took a seat by the door and waved her forward, towards the plastic curtain and the bed where Kennedy lay, propped up by pillows.

Alex noted the heavy restraints clamped tightly around his arms and legs. They seemed completely unnecessary at this point. She didn’t think the man could even raise his arm at this stage, but obviously the restraints and the guard were there for a good reason.

She considered the information she’d been made privy to, and the motives behind a federal investigation. She wondered again just what exactly they expected her to be able to accomplish here.

Multiple personalities. A man possibly involved in two unexplained, heinous crimes. A single suspect, dying alone in a prison psych-ward.

Alex knew she wasn’t getting the full story here. But why? They had to know more than this. Alex wondered what else she hadn’t been told. Why bring her here; to question a terrorist suspect? Or was this man something more?

She slipped into a white plastic chair set at the side of the bed and placed her briefcase on her lap.

"Mr. Kennedy? I’m Doctor DuPaul." Alex smiled tentatively. Always get to know the patient, first. Speech was therapeutic. Even if Kennedy was comatose, his faculties were still present. "My friends call me Alex."

His glassy eyes stayed trained on the mirrored window. Alex glanced over to see what he was seeing. Her reflection stared back.

The smell was overwhelming, distracting her. Alex folded her hands on top of her briefcase and waited, listening to the sound of the oxygen whooshing from the tank next to the bed, working up a list of questions in her mind, avenues to explore.