Sleep Tight (20 page)

“Grace, I want you to hang on to that phone because I am hoping your father will be well enough to call you in a little bit. Do you understand that? I am sure that he will want to speak with you.”

“Can I talk to Daddy?”

“I certainly hope so.”

The confusion in his daughter’s voice hit him cold in the gut and he could only imagine the flurry of half-formed questions in her eyes as she said, “Ahh, okay?”

Dr. Reischtal hung up. He stared out of the TV. “Now. You have heard your daughter’s voice. Do not ask me again. I will give you a chance if you answer the questions honestly and without delay. This is my proposition. Does it suit you?”

Tommy nodded. He took a deep breath, then went through the entire thing once again, starting with pulling up to City Hall. He went into detail about the state of the rat, describing the near-starvation, the foam in the mouth, the way it had initially appeared dead, and the look in its eyes when it attacked. He talked about when they went to the bar after City Hall and how Don showed off the torn leather glove. He even talked about how they went down to Blue Island and how he was bitten by the raccoon. He answered every single question. He did not hesitate when they asked him to repeat details.

He was a model of cooperation.

A large man with scraggly hair and an unkempt beard squinted out of the TV. “Is there anything else about the rat, anything about how it moved, maybe the sounds it made, anything at all that you noticed? We’re trying to figure this virus out, and we need—”

Dr. Reischtal broke in, his voice sharp and direct. “I will remind all of you that this operation is working with classified information. I am afraid Mr. Krazinsky is here in a debriefing capacity, not as a consultant. Please refrain from disclosing any sensitive information during this interview session.”

The shaggy man threw up his hands in disgust.

Dr. Reischtal said, “Mr. Krazinsky, you may answer the question.”

Tommy thought for a moment, then shook his head. “Look, me and Don, we never had much experience with live rats. We pretty much only put out poisoned bait, then collected the dead ones. All I can tell you is this one was seriously pissed off. I don’t think I’ve ever seen any animal with that much . . . rage, aggression, whatever you want to call it. It looked like the only thing this rat wanted was to kill us.”

Eventually, they reached a point where Tommy had no way of answering any more questions. He did not know where the homeless woman was who had found the rat. He did not know the age of the rat. He did not know why the Streets and Sans workers’ quotas had been lowered or eliminated completely.

Dr. Reischtal said, “I believe the questions have run their course. Unless there is any other pressing business, this interview is over. Mr. Krazinsky needs his rest.”

“Very well,” Dr. Halsey said. “The interview regarding the rat situation may be over, but I believe there is still the matter of Mr. Krazinsky’s civil rights to be discussed.”

“Of course,” Dr. Reischtal said. “But not at this juncture. Thank you.”

Some of the doctors and scientists started to protest, but their voices were silenced as the televisions blinked over to a blue screen, one by one, until only two images remained. Dr. Reischtal and Tommy.

Dr. Reischtal said, “Very well. Sergeant Reaves?”

From somewhere behind him, Tommy heard Sergeant Reaves say, “Yes, doctor.”

“Give this man the phone.”

Sergeant Reaves placed a cheap cell phone in Tommy’s right hand. He figured it to be some pre-paid, disposable phone. Something with no paperwork. He turned it over and opened it with his thumb. The phone was fully charged and waiting. He wondered if he could dial nine-one-one before Sergeant Reaves took it away.

Dr. Reischtal said, “I feel . . . compelled to inform you that the outgoing call function has been disabled.” He checked his watch. “In less than thirty seconds, you are to get a phone call from you daughter. Sergeant Reaves will observe. So please remember that your daughter’s well-being is at stake here as well as your own.” Dr. Reischtal’s picture disappeared, leaving only a blue screen.

A moment later, the red light on the camera winked out.

The phone rang.

Tommy tried to stop his hand from trembling. He didn’t recognize the number. He hit the C
ALL
button. Since he couldn’t lift it to his ear, he hit S
PEAKER
. He croaked out, “Hello?”

No answer. Some sound. Breathing maybe.

“Hello? Grace?”

A soft laugh. “Jesus, you’re a fucking moron.”

Tommy froze. He knew that voice.

It was Lee.

Tommy whipped his head around to glare at Sergeant Reaves. But the man simply stared straight ahead, face set in stone.

Lee’s voice continued. “Nah, Grace isn’t here right now, asshole. Want to leave a message?” Another laugh. “I don’t know what kind of deal you had with that wack job at the hospital, but let me explain a few things. You work for me. I tell you to shit, and you ask how much. You are mine. You and that fucking idiot Wycza caused me so many goddamn headaches, you have no idea. Jesus Christ. I got half a mind to go beat it out of your daughter. Maybe make myself feel better.”

“You touch her, and I will kill you.”

Lee laughed again. “Oh, yeah? You gonna take me on? Ten minutes with me and my boys, you’ll be wishing you was back in that fucking hospital. So think very carefully about that, tough guy.”

Tommy resisted the overwhelming urge to hurl the phone at the televisions. He pictured Grace, sleeping somewhere in this sonofabitch’s condo. “What do you want?”

“Shit. I want you right there. I want you with a hundred needles in your eyes. I want you in pain, day and night. I want you to regret the day you ever went to work for me. I want you to die a slow, painful death. How’s that sound?”

Tommy didn’t answer.

“I want . . . I want you to understand how bad you fucked up. I want you to know that when I’m done with this fine piece of ass, your ex-wife, I want you to know that I’m putting her on the street. See how badly she wants to make rent for her and that bitch daughter of yours. I want you to know that soon, very soon, I’m gonna sell this daughter of yours to a couple of very bad customers. People that truly enjoy young flesh, if you catch my meaning. I want you to say good-bye to everything you loved in your pathetic life.”

Lee paused, enjoying himself. “I want you to know that you do not fuck with me. I want you to be an example. I want people in this town to whisper your name and know that if you fuck with me, I will destroy you. I will destroy your family. I will destroy your soul. You got that?”

“Yeah.”

“Good.” Lee hung up.

 

Ed parked in the middle of the countless Streets and Sans vehicles. “All right, let’s give this a shot. Put on your friendly face.” Sam did his best to pull his features into a soft smile. Ed sighed and shook his head. “Do me a favor. Don’t fucking smile. You’re gonna scare the hell out of people.”

They got out and walked through the August heat that reverberated off the blacktop with a vengeance. By the time they stepped into the air-conditioning of the bar, they were soaked in sweat. They knew they would be under scrutiny the second they stepped inside, knew they would be made as cops instantly. There was nothing for it, nothing they could do. Just order a beer and make a general announcement explaining their position.

The bar was packed, but not one patron turned to look at them. Everyone was glued to the televisions. All seven were on news channels. Anchors stumbled as they read their lines. “—authorities can neither confirm nor deny any of these random killings are related.” Sam wandered over and watched WGN above the bar.

WGN cut to a reporter down in a subway station. His expression was grave. “At this point, Jim, we just don’t know.”

“Well, we know that no official statements have been released at this time, but have you heard anything? What can you tell us about the authorities?” Jim, the anchorman, was getting impatient. “I mean, what are they doing to—wait a minute, Chester. I’m being told—what? Wait.” Jim broke from his lines and looked away from the teleprompter directly under the camera. “I’m sorry, but this is too—too—this is the news, for god’s sake. They can’t tell us what to—”

The director cut back to Chester, who was busy adjusting his tie.

Ed was drawn to two different news reports across the room, his attention torn between CNN and Fox News. CNN had a correspondent outside of the White House saying that the president was aware of the elevated number of deaths in Chicago, and was monitoring the situation, but that was all for now.

Fox News speculated about possible rioting and looting in Chicago. They cut to a fat white guy, an American flag pinned to his lapel. “Mark my words, you will have people wanting to take advantage of the chaos caused by a particular nasty version of the common flu bug. But that’s all. It’s just your common cold. Bird flu. Swine flu. Big deal. Look folks, there is no cause for alarm. We humans are a resilient bunch.” Everybody at Fox enjoyed a good chuckle.

WGN cut to the reporter down in the subway holding his mike and talking to the cameraman and sound guy for a moment. “Any interference this way? I like the lights over here. Put me in profile. Okay. I can do another take. No sweat. And in three-two-one.” His pitch dropped while his cadence quickened. “I’m Chester Hackensack, deep in the Washington subway station. During any weekday rush hour, thousands of commuters use this particular station every five minutes at peak capacity. Tonight, it is practically empty. It is literally a ghost town.” The camera panned over to show two or three people standing in the brightest light in the middle of the station. “The soldiers up top won’t authorize any audio or video, so we’re shooting down here. No one is here, and yet, no one is talking.” As if he realized that made no sense at all, he took a breath, giving time for someone to jump in. No one did. Chester nodded. “At this time, these few commuters are waiting for a presumably vacant train. Back to you in the studio, Jim.”

Chester waited another beat. “Wish I could tell you more. Back to you, Jim.”

CNN and FOX News had cut from the experts and were now showing the same shaking, blurry footage. The shot was from overhead, definitely from a helicopter, of police chasing a frightened, scurrying figure into a playground. From the angle, it was impossible to tell if it was somewhere in the city itself or out in the suburbs. The figure, a woman, raised her arms, and kids started falling around her. There was no audio, but Ed didn’t need it. He knew only too well that he was watching a woman with a gun. Parents scooped up children and fled. The woman crawled under the slide, out of view of the helicopter. Chicago cops moved in. They surrounded her, all firing.

The CNN anchor said in halting tones, “This video was taken approximately thirty minutes ago in Chicago’s Near North neighborhood. Few details are known at this time. We can tell you that the attacker has been shot to death by the police. It is believed that at least four children are dead, with several more in critical condition in area hospitals. The names of the deceased have not been released, nor are authorities speculating about a motive.”

Fox News kept showing the footage, over and over, zooming in when the woman started shooting, while experts debated what exactly had driven the shooter to the playground. They kept repeating the word “terrorist,” sometimes with a question mark, sometimes not.

A record of fifteen homicides and counting. A husband bludgeoned his wife to death with her own clothes iron. A woman stabbed her youngest child to death with a seven-inch stainless steel knife designed to chop vegetables. A man drove his car into a line of people waiting for the bus at the corner of Michigan and Adams.

Sam caught Ed’s eye, tilted his head at the door.

They got in their car and drove east, toward the lake, toward the Loop.

 

 

Tommy clutched the phone so hard he heard the plastic crack. He forced himself to unlock his fist. The cell phone fell from his rigid fingers to the thin, industrial carpet. Deep in his mind, he knew he should have tried to keep hold of it, tried to smuggle it back to his room. Maybe he could figure out a way to make it work, to call outside the hospital, or at least text something to alert the outside world.

A single television in the center of the wall went from a blue screen to an overhead shot of a patient strapped to a bed. It was a man, a large man, and as he writhed against the restraints, his tremendous gut rolled back and forth. Tommy recognized Don almost immediately.

Don was in agony. There was no sound, but Tommy could see the open, screaming mouth. Fingers scrabbled at the mattress. The toes curled. Don’s back arched in one unending spasm. Tommy kept waiting for him to stop, to fall back slack against the bed, to collapse with fatigue, but Don never showed any sign of release. It was as if he was connected to a live wire that was sending a relentless, unbroken high-voltage stream through his battered body, and the torturer had fallen asleep at the switch.

It was exhausting just watching him.

A second TV switched over to another overhead shot of a patient. Tommy didn’t know this one. The man was ragged and thin and dirty. Maybe some homeless guy. It didn’t matter. The unsettling body language mirrored Don’s thrashing. This man’s mouth opened and closed, broken teeth crunching together. A glimpse of gauze inside the mouth meant that the irregular teeth had snapped shut on the man’s tongue.

A third television blinked; another patient, this one also in the grip of agony. A fourth TV, a fifth. Soon the whole wall was alive with pain. The soundless cries filled the quiet room and Tommy recoiled in silent horror.

Dr. Reischtal whispered in his ear, “Do you see?”

Tommy flinched. He hadn’t heard Dr. Reischtal enter the conference room.

“Everyone else around here calls it a dreadful disease. A horrible tragedy. A supervirus. How absurd. They don’t see this for what it really is. They don’t see it as corruption of the spirit. But you, you see the truth. You can see that these hosts, they are not victims. They are not simply infected. They have been consumed by the darkness. They are all lost souls. You can see this. You know this to be true.”

Tommy didn’t say anything. With his luck, he’d try and say something that the lunatic would agree with, but would end up being the absolute worst thing to say. Tommy would end up cementing his compliance with the virus, driving Dr. Reischtal deeper into madness. Tommy knew that his very life teetered on the edge of this doctor’s insanity, hanging precariously on a thread in the cobwebs of Dr. Reischtal’s poisonous mind. So he kept his mouth shut.

“Why doesn’t this”—Dr. Reischtal nodded at the wall of TVs—“live within you?”

Tommy didn’t bother to say anything. He figured it was another rhetorical question.

Dr. Reischtal leaned in close, tiny glasses focusing his eyes like black lasers. “Obviously, there is still much we do not know. Therefore, you will be placed in close proximity to your partner, and we will observe the results.” Dr. Reischtal drew himself to his full height and gazed down at Tommy. “We will find out, once and for all, what you are hiding.”