The Donors (19 page)

“Just call me in your head like last time and I'll hear you okay?” Nathan nodded. “If for some reason that doesn't work, just tell your mommy you really need me and have her call me on my phone. She has the numbers, okay?” Nathan nodded again. Jason carried the little boy back to his room and tucked him into his bed for the rest of his Disney movie. He made a point to check again that Sherry had his cell phone number, then high-fived his buddy and left the ward.

The Trauma ICU sat two floors down and Jason took the stairs two at a time. He hurried not just because he needed to know if Nathan was right, but because he now wanted very much to get out of the hospital and check on Jenny.

Something is going to happen soon—something bad.

In contrast to the Pediatric ICU, the Trauma ICU nearly vibrated with activity and noise. No bright colors and happy pictures adorned the walls here—the Trauma ICU was all business. Jason had spent plenty of time here over the last three years and it felt… not exactly comfortable, but familiar.

“Hey, Jason,” a friendly voice called out.

Jason looked over at the counter by the nurse's station where his ER colleague had a chart spread out over a large area. “Oh, hey, Brent. Didn't see you there. How's it goin'?”

“It's ass, dude. This rotation is killing me. I mean, I'm learning a lot, but, Jesus, I don't know how the surgery residents do this shit for five years.”

Jason laughed. “I know how they do it—I just don't know why they do it.”

He turned and started to scan the large patient board trying to find the trauma patient from the ER. There were at least eight DOE names on the board, each with a first name based on the next letter in the alphabet from the one before. He had no way to tell which was which.

“Hey, Brent,” he called over his shoulder without turning around. “What was the DOE name for the gang-banger trauma from earlier—you know, the gunshot wound?”

“Yeah, that was ‘Classical DOE'—get it? He wanted us to call him Jazz so the chief made his DOE name ‘Classical' because the letter C was up next. Get it?”

“Yeah, I get it, dude. Where is he at?”

“I got his chart right here. You need it?”

Jason felt a little sense of relief. Nathan must be wrong. Ol' Jazz was right here in the Trauma ICU. He turned and walked over to Brent and felt his pulse slow and his shoulders drop from the painful, scrunched-up position he hadn't even noticed they were in. “Yeah, can I have a look?” Nothing for him to see now, of course.

Might as well relax. Maybe nothing bad is coming after all.

He realized Brent was talking and something he said struck Jason's unconscious as really important. He felt his pulse quicken again.

“What did you say?” he asked.

“I said I just gotta get the thing organized so I can do his death summary dictation, but it shouldn't be too hard since he was only here a few hours.”

“Death summary? What the hell are you talking about? He seemed stable in the ER, just needed a chest tube. What the hell did he die of?” He realized his voice had gotten a little high-pitched and loud and struggled to look more casual.

“Take it easy, dude,” Brent said and gave him a strange, sideways look. “The guy just stopped breathing. He was doin' fine, kinda bein' a pain in the ass, and then the alarms went off and he was just dead. Code only lasted a few minutes and he was gone.”

“Who ran the code?” Jason asked, his voice more controlled with some effort on his part.

“I don't know, some surgery attending who happened to be in the room when he boxed. What the hell difference does it make? Either way I gotta do the friggin' dictation…”

His friend continued to drone on about the ER resident always getting the scut work or something, but Jason couldn't hear him.

Nathan had been right. Somehow (
you know how)
he had known.

Jazz had been taken.

And something's going to happen--something bad.

Jason turned and darted out of the ICU, his friend still babbling about the work and seemingly oblivious to his departure. He had to get home to Jenny. He had to make sure she was okay and then he would call and check on Nathan.

Get ready, trooper—start figuring this out. He's gonna need what you got locked up inside your scaredy-cat head real soon.

 

*  *  *

 

Jenny tried again to shake the uneasiness that tugged at her. She found herself unable to stay seated on the sofa, not just because she couldn't concentrate on the mindless babble from the TV, but because her body needed to be in motion. She paced back and forth and looked again at the clock. She really, really wanted Jason to be here.

Get a grip, girl. This isn't you. You're acting like a scared little girl.

The other voice saw its opportunity and jumped in before she could stop it.

Just like when you were a scared little girl, remember? How did that turn out? What did the man in your life back then do to help you? Pried you skinny legs apart, didn't he?

“Goddamnit, just shut the hell up!” She squeezed her temples tightly between two fists. “That's all lies. I know it's all lies. We checked—we called them—ALL LIES!”

Doesn't matter what the man prying your legs apart now says. These people are animals—preying on weaklings like you, and we can stop them. We can do it if you help us. Help us stop the slaughter of more little boys, Jenny. We need you to come help us tonight.

“No, please.” Her voice was little more than a gentle sob, a pleading. She dropped slowly to her knees in the living room. “Please leave me alone.” She raised her head and looked around. “Please, I have to get away from the voice…” Her eyes darted around the apartment and for a moment she looked at the sliding glass door onto the fourth-floor balcony and had a terrible, crazy thought. Crazy, but it would stop the voice, wouldn't it? And then she would be sure she didn't hurt anyone. She looked again at the door like a starving man would look at a T-bone steak. She got up slowly, her eyes fixed on the glass. The crazy, terrible thought started to look less crazy. Jenny walked toward the door and her hand reached out and grabbed the cool metal handle.

The loud chirp of her cell phone caused a gasp to escape from her chest and almost made her pee herself. She looked at her trembling hand on the handle of the door and pulled it back in revulsion. Bile filled the back of her throat as her stomach heaved.

The phone gave a third, insistent chirp and Jenny jogged to the table in her dinette to pick it up. The pale blue screen flashed the name she desperately needed to see.

“Jason,” she read aloud and then fumbled to flip the phone open. “Hello?” Her voice had lost the tremble and she felt glad that she wouldn't make Jason worry. “Jason, is that you?”

“Hey, baby,” the voice said. To her the sound was soothing music. “You doin' okay?”

“Yeah,” she lied. “Great. Are you done? Can I come pick you up?”

“I'm on my way,” he said. His voice sounded strong. He would keep her safe, she knew it.

Until he gets bored with what's between your legs.

She squeezed the voice out of her head with her fingers, pressing deeply into both temples.

“I'll be there shortly. I'm walking, but I'm already on my way. I can be there by the time you even get to your car, so just relax and I'll be at your door in ten minutes.”

She loved his voice, strong and confident, but no arrogance and no bullshit. “Okay,” she said and then couldn't help adding, “Hurry, okay?”

“Are you sure everything is alright?” Jason sounded worried now.

“Yes,” she lied again. “I just miss you.”

“I'll see you in a minute.” His voice disappeared with a click.

Jenny looked at the clock on her bookshelf. Ten minutes—she could make it that long.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Jason picked up his pace, double-timing it across the corner. Something in Jenny's voice made him anxious, and he tried to plug it into the equation with all the other crap—the gang banger getting taken, Nathan saying something bad was coming, his own other-voice—but he couldn't make the math spit out an answer.

Remember me?

The voice in his head sounded so clear and loud that he didn't believe it was in his head at all. He slowed his pace and checked nervously behind him: nothing. The voice from his head and the voice from the alley—

And from before, Jason. Now you really do remember me, don't you?

Jason turned and looked down a short dark alley, just wide enough for the garbage truck to make its run behind the businesses he passed. The lone street light with its painfully harsh whitish-blue glare made a loud buzzing noise, flickered once, and went out. A strange red glow lit the now dark alley from behind. Jason stood almost paralyzed, his feet cemented to the ground, and strained to see into the darkness. A small flash of blue startled him backward for a moment and then he smelled the horrible shit smell and squeezed his eyes tight against the memories and emotion that accompanied it. He saw flashes of his mother's face, of Nathan smiling at him, of a mutilated body that seemed to be in black and white but which he remembered in crimson red from a long, long time ago.

Jason opened his eyes and saw two glowing embers stare back at him from the alley. The dark figure in the long trench coat stood motionless and for a moment Jason tried to convince himself that the image was just a creation of his tortured mind. Then the voice spoke to him, an impossible whisper that seemed loud enough to be right beside him, hissing in his ear, yet the figure remained halfway down the alley, too far away to hear.

We are not the enemy, Jason. We have the same goals, you and I. We want only to protect the innocent, like you so many years ago, like Nathan now. Help us, Jason. Help us stop them from hurting any more children.

The sudden explosion of images in his head obscured his view of the figure in the alley and he nearly dropped to his knees. Jason's hands clutched the sides of his head, but they did nothing to stop the flood of graphic images—his father beating his mother until she couldn't stand, the feel of his young thigh bone snapping under the stomp of the heavy boot, Nathan clutching his mother with his deformed, charred hand, a young girl screaming under the thrusting body of her father—Jason felt a scream from his chest more than heard it and then finally did fall to his knees. When he opened his eyes, the shadowy figure towered above him, the voice filling him.

We are here to stop the torture of the innocent and you can help us. You can help Nathan. Help us just as Jenny has and we can stop them from hurting more children.

The images returned, but flashed by so fast now that he could no longer focus on the individual pictures and instead saw only a horrible stream of suffering—some young faces twisted in screaming anguish and others pale and silent in death. Jason pitched forward at the feet of the overcoat-cloaked figure, caught himself on one outstretched arm and vomited violently at its feet.

No! You're evil. The Devil maybe.

Jason looked up, his face now set in rage as much as pain. He saw the face of his mother, weak and pale, and her mouth moved silently with words he thought he needed but couldn't hear.

“You killed my mother, you son of a bitch. We'll stop you and your friend. Demon bastard!” He thought the scream came from his voice and not his head. Blue light exploded from the center of the Lizard Man and for a moment Jason was completely blinded. He felt sure he would die from the pain of the light and was engulfed in that horrible smell just as the buzzing sound returned and vibrated from somewhere deep inside him. Then, just as suddenly, it stopped—the smell and light disappeared and he fell over onto his face in the dark.

It took Jason a moment to open his eyes and struggle to his knees. When he did he found himself back on the sidewalk; he stared into the alley, trying to peel back the darkness to find the demon he feared might still be there. Then the streetlight hiccupped with soft static and popped back on, revealing, emptiness.

As he watched, the soft-red backlight faded and disappeared. Jason coughed once and tasted the coppery bitterness of blood and spit a red glob onto the sidewalk. He ran the back of his hand across his mouth and looked at the brick-colored saliva that stained it. Then he set off toward Jenny's apartment with a new sense of urgency.

Nathan was right.

Something's going to happen. Something bad.

Jason's legs ached from his long jog as he walked up the stairs to Jenny's apartment. The images from the alley hung on him like cigarette smoke, but he wanted nothing right now but to be sure that Jenny was okay. Jason leaned his head against her door and rubbed his aching right thigh before he knocked.

Jenny threw open the door and nearly crawled into his arms. “We really ought to get you a key,” she whispered into his ear. Her voice held a strained urgency that bothered him.

“I missed you, too,” he said with a forced chuckle then pulled her back so he could see her face. “You sure you're okay?” he asked.

Jenny blushed and her eyes looked red, but her smile seemed genuine. “I am now,” she answered and pulled him by the hand into the apartment. “How's Nathan?” She walked to the kitchen, not giving up her tight grip on his hand. Jason saw the refrigerator stood open and there was an eclectic assortment of food spread across the counter top. She saw his look and blushed again. “I wanted to fix you dinner,” she said sheepishly, “but I didn't really have much to piece something together.”

Jason felt warm enough at the gesture. “What a great thought,” he said. “I'm kind of a Mac and Cheese sort of guy when I'm at home.” He took her other hand and kissed her. His anxiety softened a bit. “We can just go out a grab a bite,” he suggested.

“Can we order out?” she said quickly. “I, um, well—I guess I would feel better just staying here with you.”

“That's fine,” he said. Food was the furthest thing from his mind. “I need to call and check on Nathan real quick and then we can brainstorm up something that can be delivered.” He felt weird at how not-so-weird he felt. Only minutes ago he had encountered the creature in the alley and had felt the evil pull of their control, the very pull he knew still tore at Jenny.

Somehow, he seemed able to chat comfortably about what they should eat for dinner. Surreal, that was the word for it. Only in dreams did normal people have a battle of wits with demon Lizard Men in a dark alley and then hug their girlfriends and casually discuss dinner plans.

Jenny let go of one of his hands and handed him the phone from the counter. Jason punched in the direct line to Nathan's room. After only two rings, the phone clicked to a connection.

“Hello?” Nathan's small voice said. “Jason?”

“Yeah, buddy it's me. Jenny and I just wanted to check on you. Is everything okay?”

“Yeah.” Jason heard a rustle like he had adjusted in bed. Nathan's voice took on a conspiratorial whisper and he imagined the kid moving away from his mom so as not to be overheard. “Are you okay? Did something happen?”

“I'm fine, buddy,” he answered with a cautious glance at Jenny. “Why? Did you feel something or hear something?” He had already decided not to tell Jenny what had happened in the alley. She seemed to be teetering on the edge as it was.

“Kinda,” Nathan said softly. “I just kinda thought that maybe the Lizard Men tried to hurt you. It just felt that way I guess.”

“I'm fine, Nathan. I promise,” he reassured. No sense in worrying him either. “And Jenny is here and fine too. Are you gonna be okay tonight? You know how to get me if you need me or anything happens, right?”

“Yeah,” Nathan said as if the question was silly. “I can talk to you in my head whenever I want.”

“I'll come see you real early in the morning again and then we'll talk about a plan okay?”

“Okay, Jason,” Nathan said and seemed content. “Bring Miss Jenny, okay?”

Something's going to happen—something bad.

“I will,” Jason promised. “Get some sleep, alright?”

“Sure,” said Nathan with that same what-a-silly-thing-to-say voice. “See ya tomorrow.” The phone clicked off and he was gone.

The creatures were sure to be busy with Jazz, and Jason could think of no way to help him. The fear in him told him he shouldn't want to. The two people that mattered were safe. Tonight, that would have to be enough. He needed some sleep and now that Jenny had planted the seed, he realized he needed some food as well. Tomorrow would be the day, he suspected, one way or another. Jason looked at Jenny, the other half of what he thought of now as his dysfunctional family, who stared back expectantly.

“You like Chinese food?” he asked.

 

*  *  *

 

James had tried a big mix of drugs over his short life, but had always preferred liquor. He loved the mellow buzz of weed, but even that left him wanting a drink. The hard shit never made him feel anything but scared and his one trip with mushrooms had been like living in a cartoon, not fun at all.

This felt nothing like any of that. He figured it must be some kind of shit he hadn't tried and whatever the doctor gave him definitely felt like no trip he wanted to take again. It didn't suck, except for the weird feeling in his chest that he got used to pretty quick, but it didn't feel good either. It felt like floating or something—like floating inside a dream.

He could feel pretty much everything, only more. The sheets on his skin and the sensation of the bed against his back became more real somehow. James could feel and taste plastic in his mouth, but whatever they gave him made it not bug him too bad. And he heard voices, lots of them. He knew they spoke in English but the words were mostly big doctor words and he felt so fucked up from the drugs he couldn't follow what they said.

And who gives a shit anyway?

The only bad part was the dream. He dreamed that he had died in the ICU and that the doctors talked about him being dead right in front of him. In his dream he tried to sit up and tell them he was still alive and nearly shit when he couldn't move. Alarms were going off all around him and the doctors and nurses scurried around.

In the dream he felt a terrible stab in his chest and choked when they lifted him nearly off the bed by his jaw and jammed a plastic tube in his throat. Then someone, a doctor he figured, said to stop, that he was gone, and that was when he really freaked out. In the dream his body really was dead, because he couldn't move anything, not even his eyes which looked up into a bright light that he couldn't focus on.

Someone leaned over him, the face huge, and they had pulled up his eyelids and shined another light in his eye. Then the voices mumbled more about him being gone and how it maybe was a “bee-eee” from a clot or something. They had even pulled a sheet over his face which actually felt good because it blocked out the blinding goddamn light.

He remembered rough hands that picked him up and moved him to another bed and his head got real swimmy then and he thought he couldn't breathe. The sheet had slipped off his face and he looked up at someone, a brother, but big and fat and in scrubs like the doctors, who looked back with a scrunched-up face then pulled the sheet back over him. Then he passed out.

Fuckin' dream. But them drugs is sure okay.

“He's had too much narcotic,” a raspy voice that sounded familiar said. It sounded pretty pissed off and he guessed the voice was the doctor in charge. Something in the voice made his brain tell him to be scared, but he couldn't figure out why so he decided not to give a shit.

“We had too. Without it he would have had a big sympathetic response and we could never have pulled it off. We needed lots of hypotension so there would be no pulse that could be felt. We can't fake that by disconnecting leads.”

“When will he be light?” the voice asked.

“Soon,” another nervous voice said. “I can give him some Narcan to speed it up if you want—even run it as a drip until the Fentanyl is gone—but it'll clear on its own in about fifteen to thirty minutes.”

“I'll be back in ten,” the scary voice that he couldn't quite get scared of said. “Have him ready by then, however you have to.”

James felt motion just above him and then cool, waxy fingers grabbed his eyelids and yanked them up. The image that hovered above him stayed slightly out of focus but his mind recognized it from somewhere and alarms went off in some part of his brain that wanted to give a shit. The eyes beneath the hat glowed orange from the shadows.

“I'll be back, James,” the familiar voice said. “And then we will talk, you and I, about what the future holds for you.” Red lips split apart enough to let a blood-red tongue push out. It stroked across the impossibly long teeth and then sucked back into the slit of a mouth in the ash white face.

Deep inside James hollered and a layer of haze lifted. Then the cold, bony fingers let go of his eyelids so they slid wetly back in place. He sank into the rust-colored darkness and heard the voice in his head rise to a scream. He decided he probably better start to give a shit.

 

*  *  *

 

Jenny felt the voice of the man in the long coat and top hat, but she didn't really hear it. It felt like she imagined mind reading would be like; no sound or even words, just thoughts and feelings pounded into your head against your will. She didn't let it bother her because she knew she was dreaming. The dream broke itself into a million senseless fragments, each piece meaningless alone, but the kaleidoscope of pieces formed a kind of abstract art that meant a lot. But she knew it would be a worthless jumble when she woke up.