STOLEN (13 page)

He
stashed the Harley behind some dead brush in the woods, directly behind the
hospital, and followed a rarely used path that brought him to a side entrance.
He had passed this area once or twice before and noticed a group of orderlies
and cafeteria workers would hang out back here to smoke. The last time he
happened by, he noticed one of the hospital employees tossing a dirty uniform
through the window of a beat up Chevy Camaro. Glancing around, he scanned the
parking lot, looking for the sports car. He hopped up when he saw it parked in between
two large SUV’S. Looking around to make sure no one was paying him any
attention, he calmly and quietly walked between the two larger vehicles and
peered in the back passenger side window of the sports car. With another stroke
of luck for him, the window was open. There it was. A white lab coat sat
crumbled on top in a pile of other discarded clothing. Looking up again, he glanced
to his left and right, making sure no one was in the area. Convinced no one was
watching him, he reached his hand through the open window and grabbed the white
coat and briskly walked away.

Hope quickly caught up to Tristan after he came out of the
lavatory and when the little boy realized she was walking next to him, he
latched onto her hand and didn’t let go.

She noticed there was a little bit more of a bounce in his
step as he made his way up the corridor, pulling her along. He peeked into each
room they passed and with each unsuccessful attempt at finding the man she now
thought to be the boy’s father, Tristan’s steps became a little bit more
urgent. Just before they turned a corner, passing a nurses’ station, she
realized she was going to pass the Captain’s room. This time it was Hope who
stopped and peeked into the room, holding Tristan back for a moment. He looked
up at her, concern flashed across his face as his eyes landed on the older
gentleman lying on the bed, his head wrapped in white cotton gauze. Hope nodded
a hello to Ryan Jr., the eldest of Marty’s seven brothers, who was sitting
vigil next to his sleeping father watching a muted television set. Looking up, Ryan
gave a short wave, and when he realized Hope wasn’t coming into the room, his
eyes, once again, became riveted to the television screen.

Looking down at the curly-headed boy, she nodded an okay for
him to proceed. They continued to walk down the corridor with Tristan peeking
into each of the rooms until he suddenly stopped abruptly as they turned the
corner. Sitting outside one of the rooms was a uniformed officer who appeared
to be concentrating on something on his lap. Giving Tristan a slight tug and a
smile, letting him know it was alright to proceed, it became apparent to Hope,
the closer they got to the officer, that the man was engrossed in a game of
computer solitaire, busy sliding the images of cards from one part of the
phone’s screen to another.

She felt Tristan tug her, as he stopped again, and Hope
noticed a look of panic shoot across the child’s face.

“It’s okay, honey, I know him.” She gave his hand a quick
squeeze and this time it was Hope that took the lead.

“Hi, Sully,” she addressed the man, taking his attention
away from the game.

The round-faced veteran looked up from his phone screen. His
brows were thick and each one formed a perfectly straight line, but it was the
ninety-degree angles facing downwards which made him resemble a carved pumpkin.

“Hey, Dr. Rubin. I guess you’re here visiting Captain Keal? He’s
down the corridor on the other end, room 416.” The husky, uniformed veteran
lifted his arm to demonstrate which direction she should head.

“Actually, no, we’re here to see the patient in this room.
May we?” Hope’s eyes dropped down, acknowledging Tristan.

The veteran cop looked at the child suspiciously; suddenly
realizing this was the kid everyone at the station house had been talking
about. He was off duty when all the hoopla occurred, so this was the first
chance he got to see the kid. Kid didn’t look like the savage they all said he
was. The boy looked just like a normal kid to him. The way everyone was talking
about the kid, he was expecting him to be half-wolf, half-piranha. This kid, he
thought, looked more like half-cottontail, half-puppy.

Sully glanced in the room and was confident the man was
still unconscious or asleep and posed no danger to Dr. Rubin or the kid. “Yeah,
but I better go in there with you, just as a precaution. He’s not handcuffed or
anything and the doctor said he’s breathing on his own, but he hasn’t really
regained, what’s the word? Con . . . con . . .”

“Consciousness,” Hope offered.

“Yeah, that. He’s still out of it and we don’t know if the
guy is dangerous or not.” Once again he looked suspiciously at the young boy.

Tristan, anxious to get inside, wasn’t going to wait a
second longer for permission. He slipped right past the cop who was slowly
getting his bulky body out of the chair. Before he could be stopped, the little
boy climbed up onto the bed and lay down beside the man, the curls on his head pressing
down on the man’s naked chest. This time he took care not to disable any of the
wires that were still connected to parts of the man’s still body.

Hope walked over to the bed and placed her hand on the small
of the child’s back. “Tristan, is this man your father? Is he your daddy?”

It
was dark by the time they got back to town; and as much as Marty craved a good
hot meal and a hot shower, he headed straight to the hospital to check on his
dad. He knew Hope never answered her cell while she was driving, so he wasn’t
too concerned when it took several attempts before he finally got through to
her. Although it was a brief conversation, she was able to confirm that she was
indeed with Tristan and they were both at the hospital. Knowing that, Marty had
an additional motive for going straight there.

The Captain was alert and watching television with his
brother Ryan when he walked into the room. His color was still pasty, but he
was sitting up and talking. Apparently, he wasn’t too happy with super slugger
Alex Rodriguez and his lackluster performance in the batting box. Except for
the obvious raspy tone of his voice, he definitely sounded like the old man’s
former self.

“He’s finished. He needs to pack it up and call it a career.
He just doesn’t . . . . Hey, look who’s here.” With a
slight grimace, he pulled himself up so he was sitting a little bit more
upright.

“Hey, Pop, how are you feeling, old man?” Marty leaned over
and gave him a kiss on his forehead just below the gauze bandage that circled
his head.

“Fine, now get me out of this joint. The nurses here are
worse than prison guards. I know convicts that have more compassion than some
of these people who have the gall to call themselves nurses.” He spoke, straining
his vocal cords, so he was loud enough for the nurse who was entering the room
to hear. Ignoring his words, the thick-waisted nurse shoved a thermometer in his
mouth and checked his pulse.

Apparently, the nurse and the Captain had already become
acquainted because, in a distinct Caribbean Island accent, she threatened him
with another sponge bath.

“Of course, not this lovely lady here, Marty, she’s an angel
sent from heaven.” He managed to tell them after the thermometer was removed
and he swallowed the two pills she handed him.

Marty was thrilled to see how animated he was this early
after his surgery. He had halfway expected him to be lying at death’s door. If
anyone would make a comeback, it would be the Captain, he thought. The man
cheated death once before, over fifty years ago, after he was brutally stabbed
by one of the inmates he was guarding. Thanks to the quick thinking of another
inmate, who managed to overcome his attacker and put pressure on the wound, Marty’s
father was alive today.

“I thought I saw my future daughter-in-law pass by a few
minutes ago. Was I hallucinating? Has the morphine drip caused me
hallucinations? Pretty ones, at that?”

“You not get-ting morphine, Cap-tin Keal,” the nurse
informed him, with broken English, as she adjusted his intravenous bag. “You be
allergic, remember?”

“Well, I’m glad someone is on the ball around here!” He gave
her a flirtatious smile as she made a note on his chart.

“You waaastin’ you charm on me, Cap-tin Keal. I have five
children at home, all under t’ age o’ nine. Three of t’em, they still in
diapers. You remember what
that’s
like, don’t you?”

Taking the nurse’s hand, he slowly lowered his bandaged head
and gently laid his lips on her knuckles as his eyes took notice of her name
tag. “Bless you, Nurse Loretta. Yes, yes I do. You are a remarkable woman,
working full-time and caring for such a large brood. How do you manage?”

For some reason, there was a touch of an Irish brogue
sprinkled in the Captain’s speech. It gave Marty and Ryan a sense of relief
that his sense of humor was still alive and well.

“I have a remarkable man at home, Captain Keal. A very remarkable
man, my husband is. Now, you need t’ get some rest. Now, are you hearin’ me,
Cap-tin Keal? You want t’ get you-self out o’ here? You be needin’ to get you-self
some rest.” She smiled, her teeth almost fluorescent white, in stark contrast
against her ebony skin color, and nodded in Marty’s direction as she left the
room.

His father laid his head back on the pillow. It was obvious
he was still in pain, but there was no way he was going to admit it to medical
personnel, or family members, or anyone.

“No really, Marty, I thought I saw Hope pass by. Was I
dreaming? She didn’t come in the room, just walked right by.” He stated, hinting
at his disappointment that Hope would pass by and not come in and visit.

“Does she have a patient here? Can you hand me that glass,
please?” He didn’t move his head, just his eyes, as he tried to direct Marty to
the glass on the bedside tray.

Marty sat down beside him and handed him the glass, even helping
him maneuver the straw so he could take a sip. He watched as his father closed his
eyes while slowly sucking the liquid from the hollow tube. He took deliberate
care as he swallowed, letting Marty know that his instincts were right, his
throat was sore.

“Yes, Pop, Hope is here. She’s with the little boy they
found in the woods. There seems to be a good chance the man in the room down
the hall, the one who was shot, may be his father.” Marty realized then that
his father probably was unaware of the recent current events, so he started to
explain from the beginning. The Captain immediately cut him off.

“I saw that much of it on the news. Poor kid. I thought they
didn’t know who he is. They said on the news the kid was another kidnap victim.
You telling me he wasn’t kidnapped after all? Was he hurt?” True concern seeped
through as Marty looked in his cloudy blue eyes.

“Actually, he appears to be in very good physical condition.
The doctors haven’t found any signs of physical abuse, but we don’t have a clue
of what he has been through, or if he is a victim of some sort of abuse. Actually,
Jean and I just came back from Queens. We went to see the little girl,
Michaelah Sandberg, hoping to get some more answers. She’s a remarkable little
girl. I just hope that she’s able to put this all behind her. I tell you, Pop,
this is a sick world.”

Marty took the glass from him and refilled it with ice water
and then placed the now full vessel back on the bedside tray.

“You don’t have to convince me of that, son. I have seen the
worst of it. Are they going to place the kid at Armistace?” he asked, referring
to the hospital for children who were diagnosed with severe emotional problems,
some of them who were often very violent and mentally disturbed, and the place
where Hope worked.

“No, he was placed in a foster home, not far from here, but
he took off. Somehow he made his escape; and somehow or another he ended up as
a passenger in Hope’s car. She found him hiding in the backseat, and for some
reason, she brought him here. She is probably supposed to meet the social
worker here. I think they’re trying to place him in a more secure home.”

Marty glanced down at his wristwatch. “I told her I would
call her as soon as I got here. She’s somewhere here in the hospital.” He got
off the bed and pulled his cellphone out of his pocket.

“She’s on this floor, Marty, I saw her just a few minutes
ago.” Ryan interjected, confirming that it wasn’t an illusion his father had seen
earlier.

“Okay, well let me go see if I can track her down. I’ll come
back in and see you before I leave.” Marty turned to his eldest brother. “Ryan,
can I bring you anything?”

“No, I’m fine. Lori is coming back and bringing me dinner.
Go. Go find your lady. I’ll just stay here, keep Pop company, and watch the
Yankees get pulverized,” he added in disgust.

“I’ll catch you later, Pop.” Marty leaned over and kissed the
area on his forehead that was free of the white bandage, getting a small taste
of gauze on his lips. His father looked so vulnerable and tired. Marty felt
that gnawing ache in his gut again. The one he felt while he was waiting for
him to come out of surgery. Marty was his father’s son, so he did exactly what
he would have done. He didn’t want him to see the fear and apprehension on his
face; so he just smiled and walked out of the room.

Marty was so preoccupied with thoughts of his dad and how he
looked, he wasn’t watching where he was going. So he wasn’t too surprised when he
had to apologize for bumping into the orderly pushing the cart down the empty
corridor. If he wasn’t so exhausted and on this emotional rollercoaster, and if
he was paying a bit more attention to his surroundings, he may have realized
that it wasn’t just an ordinary orderly he said he was sorry to. If he had only
looked up and paid attention to the man’s face, he might have realized the man
was the missing Blakey brother, Shane.