Invasive Procedures (7 page)

“What’s that?” Frank asked.

“That, Dr. Hartman, is a black cape.”

“You mean Zorro is . . . dead?” asked Frank.

Carter sighed. “You know exactly what it means.”

Galen removed the blindfold from Monica’s eyes, and she blinked, momentarily blinded by the light. As her eyes adjusted, she saw that they were standing inside what looked like a hospital corridor. There were patient rooms and a gurney pushed against the wall nearby. Galen stood beside Stone, facing Monica, his hands on his hips, grinning widely, like a little boy just let loose in a candy store.

“I apologize if the ride was at all inconvenient,” he said, “but secrecy on this matter is paramount. I’m sure you understand.”

Monica didn’t understand. Whatever Galen was doing that he thought important enough to give up his heart, it was irrelevant to Monica. All that mattered was Wyatt. Nothing could distract her from that preoccupation. He had been taken. He was frightened. And he needed her.

They had driven her around for an hour and a half, taking far more twists and turns than she knew was necessary, in an effort to disorient her. She was certain they were outside Santa Monica, but she had no way of knowing where or how far away from the city. The incline of some of the roads led her to believe that they had driven up a mountain, or at least a foothill, probably north of Los Angeles, but she couldn’t be certain.

They had left the receptionist sedated on the floor in the clinic, and Galen had assured Monica that one of his associates would remove her car
from the parking lot, so as not to arouse any suspicion. The message he was giving her was clear. No one would be coming for her or Wyatt.

Galen handed the blindfold to Stone, and Monica looked hard at the giant in an effort to memorize his face. When this was over and she found the police, she wanted to give them a perfect description of Galen and Stone.

Of course, Stone wouldn’t be too hard to pick out of a lineup. He was at least a foot and a half taller than Galen and so bulky that if he walked onto any professional football field, he’d have a contract shoved in his face. His cropped silver hair suggested a man of older years, but his wrinkle-free, flawless skin made Monica think otherwise. He was a man without age. And his gray eyes never left her.

She stared him down, unblinking, wondering where this new courage had come from him and deciding to give credit to Wyatt.

“You don’t like Stone, do you?” said Galen, that twinkle in his eye again.

She didn’t. But saying so wouldn’t help her position and certainly not help Wyatt, so she didn’t answer.

What startled her, however, was that she saw no malice in Stone. His size was intimidating, yes, but in his gaze was a softness that made him look almost innocent, childlike even. It made her shudder.

Perhaps sensing that he had unnerved her, Stone bowed his head and said, “It is an honor and pleasure to meet the physician so fortunate and skilled as to treat the prophet.”

Galen chuckled and waved Stone quiet. “Now, now, Stone, the good doctor doesn’t know of such things yet.” Then he winked at Monica.

“Where’s my son?” she said.

Galen smiled. “You
are
a loving mother, Doctor. I have seen how much you dote on young Wyatt. That impresses me. Parents can become so busy these days. He’s lucky to have you.”

“Where is he?” she said.

“Patience, Doctor. Patience. Wyatt is well taken care of and unharmed. I’m not a cruel person. Children are precious and should be handled so. I only took Wyatt in the first place because I knew it absolutely necessary to win your compliance. I despised having to frighten him. That was not my intent. It should make you proud, however, to know that he has been the perfect guest and a most respectful gentleman. He’s such a sweet boy, really. Few children are so well behaved, don’t you think?”

It made Monica sick to hear Galen speak of Wyatt like this, as if Galen were some kind, elderly neighbor who had invited Wyatt over for cookies and milk.

“I want to see him,” she said.

“And so you shall. But first things first.” He removed a syringe from inside his suit coat and began filling it from a small vial of unmarked medicine.

Monica stiffened. “What is that?”

“A vaccine. And believe me. You want to take it.”

“No. I’m certain I most definitely do not.”

Galen smiled, carefully filling the syringe to the right dosage. “Wyatt didn’t make a peep when we gave him his, Dr. Owens. Now come on, you’re a doctor. Don’t tell me you’re afraid of needles.”

Monica felt her face turn red hot with anger. “You gave that to my son?

Galen patted the air with his hand. “Relax, relax. It’s perfectly harmless. No side effects whatsoever. I told you, it’s a vaccine. It protects you both from the virus. And since you’ll be handling the virus, this is as good a protection as you’re going to get. Now come on, roll up your sleeve.”

Monica looked at Stone, who watched her without expression.

“I give you my word,” said Galen. “No harm will come to you from it. You’ll thank me later. Believe me.”

Monica’s mind raced. The needle could contain anything. Galen’s word wasn’t worth much.

“It’s just a little shot, Dr. Owens. Nothing to it. Easy as cheesy. Take it and I’ll bring you to Wyatt. You have my word on that as well.”

Monica felt her muscles relax. She would do anything to be with Wyatt, even relent to whatever drug Galen had concocted. She exhaled deeply and rolled up her sleeve.

“That’s the spirit. Now, you’ll only feel a little sting.”

Monica winced as the needle went in. Once the vaccine was expelled, Galen removed the needle and handed it to Stone, then wiped away a tiny drop of blood that formed over the needle prick using a handkerchief from his suit coat pocket. Then he unwrapped a Band-Aid and crudely stuck it over the spot on Monica’s arm. “There we are. That wasn’t so bad, was it?”

Monica readjusted her sleeve. “Now take me to Wyatt.”

Galen pointed to a door not ten feet away. “He’s right in there. But you only have a few minutes to visit, I’m afraid. We have so much work to do.”

Monica stepped to the door cautiously, fearing some trick.

“Go on then,” Galen said, shooing her forward. “He won’t bite.”

She pushed open the door. There was Wyatt, standing in the middle of the room alone. Monica rushed to him and took him into her arms.

“Mom!” he said, the tears coming already.

“I’m here, sweetheart. I’m here.”

She heard the door click behind her, turned to look, and saw that Galen had shut it, giving them their privacy.

She immediately looked around the room for another exit or a window.

There wasn’t one.

Wyatt buried his face into her shoulder and clutched her tightly. He was still wearing his coat, and his school backpack sat beside him on the floor, unopened.

“Did they hurt you?” she asked. “Are you hurt at all?”

He shook his head.

She took his face in her hands and examined it closely. There were no visible signs of mistreatment. No cuts, scrapes, bruises. “You sure you’re not hurt?”

He nodded.

Monica sighed and pulled him to her again. He seemed so small and frail to her all of a sudden. His chest was so thin, his arms so short and weak. She had forgotten what a little boy he still was, how much growing up he had left to do. Why had she lost her cool with him so many times? Why had she allowed herself to ever raise her voice or send him to his room or refuse to allow him to watch TV when he wanted? He was only a child. And now, in a single morning, she had nearly lost him.

Without intending to, she broke into sobs.

Wyatt was startled. He stepped back and looked at her, his own tears stopped. “Mom, I’m okay. Really. I’m not hurt, see?” He wiped his cheeks and forced a smile.

Monica managed to smile back. She was kneeling, which made them equal in height. She pulled his forehead to hers and took a deep calming breath.

The sobs ceased. Her breathing slowed.

Be strong, Monica, she told herself. That’s what Wyatt needs right now. Strength. He’s pretending to be brave because he sees that you’re distraught. He’s trying to help you. You need to do the same. Focus.

She looked into his eyes and felt her muscles relax. “I’m just happy to see you,” she said. “That’s all. I was worried about you.”

“I wasn’t sure you were going to come,” he said.

“Of course I was going to come.”

“You sounded scared on the phone.”

She glanced back at the door. “I was scared.”

“You were?”

“Yes, very much.”

“Me too.”

She brushed the hair out of his eyes. “Well, I’m here now. And nothing is going to happen to you.”

Wyatt smiled again, and this time is was genuine. They embraced.

“They gave me a shot,” he said when they parted. “I told them I wasn’t supposed to have any shots, not by anyone who wasn’t a doctor, but they gave it to me anyway.”

She put her hand on the side of his face. “It’s okay,” she said, not knowing if it was true. “I’m not angry. They gave me one, too. We’re going to be fine.”

He nodded his head, visibly relieved to have her reassure him.

“Do you want to talk about what happened?” she said.

He looked at the floor and spoke quietly. “We were walking to school, Rosa and me, and this van . . . it pulled over and . . .”

His bottom lip quivered.

Monica pulled him close again. “Shh. It’s okay. We don’t have to talk about it now if you don’t want to. It’s okay.” Galen had recounted to Monica on the drive how his associates—which Monica interpreted to mean “large men like Stone”—had taken Wyatt that morning while Wyatt and Rosa were walking to school. But to hear Galen describe it, it had been a pleasant experience for everyone, and Wyatt had practically been a willing participant. Monica knew better.

She rubbed Wyatt’s back and held him for a minute in silence. When they parted, he was calm again.

Monica looked around the room. It was clearly intended to resemble a
child’s bedroom. The walls were painted a pale blue. The twin bed in the corner had blankets and sheets printed with colorful dinosaurs. “Wyatt loved dinosaurs. The rug on the floor was in the shape of the United States, with each of the state boundaries and capitals clearly marked. In the corner sat a widescreen, high-definition television, the kind that Monica had seen in electronic stores with ridiculous price tags. Three long cords twisted from the back of it and connected to a video-game console, which sat on the floor beside a precariously tall stack of unopened video games.

“Did you play a game?” she asked, motioning toward the television.

“They have Potato Commandos,” Wyatt said with a sniffle. He reached over and retrieved the case.

“You’ve been wanting this one,” Monica said, flipping the box over and looking at the screen shots on the back. It was a silly game. Armed potatoes waddled around dirt fields shooting each other and exploding into mounds of mashed buttery carnage. It was far less violent than some of the other games Wyatt had asked for, and Monica had intended to get it for him for his birthday.

“Did you try it out?” she asked. The plastic wrapping had been removed and lay on the ground beside him.

“Where’s Rosa?” he asked. Monica saw that he was twisting his right forefinger. It was a nervous habit he had.

“I don’t know, sweetheart. I don’t think they hurt her.” She took his hands in hers.

“They gave her a shot,” he said.

“Yes, they told me.”

“Is she dead? Did the shot . . . kill her?” His voice was soft again, almost a whisper.

“No no no, Wyatt. The shot made her sleep. She’s not dead. She’s fine. She’s probably awake by now.” Monica didn’t know if it was true, of course, but Galen had said as much, and right now it did Wyatt good to hear it.

“Is she going to come get us? I want to go home.”

Monica put her hands on his arms. “I know you do, sweetheart, but—”

There was a knock on the door, and Galen poked his head in. “It’s time, Doctor. We should get going.”

Monica didn’t look at him. Let him wait.

Galen disappeared into the corridor, and the door closed.

“Who’s that?” Wyatt said.

“Nobody.” She felt her voice getting high again. It did that when her throat tightened and she felt the urge to cry. She exhaled again and kept her cool. “I need to go right now but—”

“No.” He clung to her, suddenly panicked.

She took his face in her hands again and spoke gently. “Wyatt, I need you to be brave. I need you to be strong. Can you do that for me? I have to go now, but I’m not leaving the building, all right? I’ll be back very soon. Nothing is going to happen to you. I promise you.”

“But I don’t want to be by myself.”

Monica’s heart ached. “I’ll be back to check on you soon. You can count on it.”

“When can we leave, then? When can we go?”

“Soon. We’re going to go soon. Here, let’s give this Potato Commandos a whirl, what do you say?” She pushed the eject button and dropped the game disc into the slot. The machine took a moment to recognize the disc, and then the music began. A potato wearing an Uncle Sam costume pointed at the screen and called for recruits.

“I don’t want to stay here. I want to go with you,” Wyatt said.

“You can’t, sweetheart. Besides, look at this great room. It’s got dinosaurs, games, lots of cool stuff. We can’t go without you trying some of it out, right?”

He didn’t look persuaded.

“I’m coming back,” she said. “I promise.”

“Pinky swear?” he asked, holding up his little finger.

She hooked it into hers. “Pinky swear.”

Outside in the corridor Galen greeted Monica happily. “Well, what do you think? Quite the little boy’s room, isn’t it? I designed it myself. At first, I had a big rocking horse brought in, but some of the men thought Wyatt might be a little old for that. I see now that they were right. He’s very tall for his age. Fascinating games, though, don’t you think? Potatoes shooting potatoes. It’s wonderfully immature, I know, but I can’t help but laugh at it.” He gave a giddy chuckle.