Terminal (16 page)

“So why aren’t you dead, then?” Dugan asked. “I was watching. The kid didn’t perform CPR or anything like that. He just placed his hands on your chest.”

“Yes. Yes he did. That was all. He just put his hands on my chest. I was scared for him, worried that he’d get shot, but I was too weak to resist. I didn’t have any breath to speak with. He kept his hands there. My chest felt warm at first, then the pain vanished. By the time Sherm shot that second man with the gun, the one that seemed high on drugs, I was fine. Better than fine, in fact. Despite our circumstances, I haven’t felt this good in years.”

Dugan snorted. “He’s not the new Messiah. You heard Sheila’s story. I’d hardly call that an Immaculate Conception. No offense.”

“None taken,” Sheila murmured.

“I’m not suggesting that,” Roy insisted. “I’m just saying that Benjy has a gift. A healing touch.”

“Maybe you were mistaken,” Kim said. “Maybe it was just stress. I know that I was scared and it felt like I was going to have a heart attack too.”

“No young lady, I’d like to think so, but I wasn’t mistaken. Of this I am absolutely sure. This little boy— Benjy— healed me. I truly believe it. That’s why I offered myself to Sherm if he’d at least let Benjy go free. He’s a remarkable young man.”

Blushing, Sheila smiled. “Thank you. I never told anybody before. I’m not even sure why I’m admitting it now.”

“That’s easy,” Dugan grunted. “It’s a case of Stockholm Syndrome.”

“What’s that?” Kim asked.

“It’s when you bond to your captor— in our case, Tommy. It’s sort of a survival strategy for victims in hostage situations. They call it that because of a hostage situation during a bank robbery in Stockholm, Sweden, in 1973. When it was all over, one of the women became engaged to one of her captors, and another hostage started a defense fund for the robbers.”

“That usually takes a while to happen,” Oscar said. “We’ve only been in here for like an hour or so.”

Through the walls, Sherm was shouting into the telephone.

“We’ve got plenty of C-4 and we’re not afraid to use it. Anybody so much as peeks their head through that door and we’ll blow the whole goddamn building up!”

There was another sound too— a muffled, frantic thumping that punctuated his words. I wondered what it was and decided that I didn’t want to know. It was probably Sherm roughing Keith up.

Roy spoke up. “Regardless of how much time has passed, I think we can all see who’s bad here and who’s good. You’re not one of the bad guys, Tommy. Not at heart. That much is plain, despite what you may have done so far today. And there is still time for you to make amends.”

“You don’t know anything about me, Mr. Kirby.”

“I know that you don’t want to see anybody else get hurt. And I know that you love your wife and son and that you want to see them again. That’s all I need to know, Tommy.”

“You think I’m stupid? You think I don’t know what you’re playing? You’re just sucking up to me, hoping I’ll slip up or go easy on you.”

“No, I’m being genuine.”

“Whatever.”

Dugan stretched his foot out and touched Sharon’s shoe with his own. She smiled, and inched closer to him. For a moment, I wished their hands were free, just so he could slide an arm around her and comfort her.

“This is some heavy shit,” Oscar breathed. “I’m supposed to be at work right now. Jeez, I hope I don’t get fired. That would suck. I’m already behind on my student loan.”

Kim muttered, “I’m already at work. And I guess I’ll miss class tonight too.”

Across the hall, the thumping continued but now Sherm was quiet. It was growing weaker, slower.

We waited.

Finally, the thumping stopped and never started again.

* * *

John was fading quickly. I tried hard to take my mind off of it.

“So,” I said to Sheila, “let’s recap. You got knocked up and had Benjy. You don’t know who his father was. And Benjy can heal people by touching them. Did I get it right?”

“You’re making fun of me.”

“No, I’m not. Really. I’m serious.”

“It’s insane,” Kim interrupted. “I mean, no offense, Sheila, but we’re all under a lot of stress here. Maybe you’re just— I don’t know, maybe this is how you’re dealing with it.”

“That wouldn’t explain how he healed me,” Roy interjected.

“It’s crazy,” Kim insisted.

“It’s not that crazy,” Oscar said. “There are millions of cases of people healing others by the laying on of hands.”

“How do you know that?” Sharon asked.

He shrugged. “I read Fortean Times and Fate magazine. My comic book shop sells them.”

Benjy sang softly, oblivious. I recognized the tune as one T. J. had also sung around the house, something from a Japanese cartoon. I missed my son. At that moment, I would have traded all the money in the bank for another chance to hug him.

“So what else can he do?” I asked Sheila.

“What do you mean?”

“I don’t know— can he like turn water into wine and levitate and all that stuff? Part the lake maybe?”

Kim joined in. “And turn one fast-food Kid’s Meal into thirty?”

“No. He just heals people; that’s all. He can tell when somebody’s sick and he makes them better.”

An idea occurred to me.

“Can he— you know, raise the dead?”

“No! Of course not.”

“How did you first find out about his abilities?” Roy inquired.

She paused, collecting her thoughts.

“He was about three months old. We were living in a one-room efficiency apartment down on the square right overtop the old pawnshop. I didn’t have anybody else to help me with him— my parents kicked me out when I told them I was pregnant. They said I was a slut and that I’d ruined their precious lives. Anyway, Benjy woke up around midnight and wanted his bottle. I had like one eye open, you know? I wasn’t just tired— I was exhausted. I put a glass bowl of water in the microwave to heat it up, so I could warm the bottle in it. Benjy was crying and I wasn’t paying attention and the water got too hot and when I went to pull it out, the bowl burned my fingers. Not badly, but it really hurt. I finally got the bottle heated and as I was feeding him, Benjy wrapped his tiny little fingers around my own and the pain went away— just like that.” She snapped her fingers.

“I didn’t really think anything more about it at the time. Figured it was just one of those things, you know? But then, when Benjy was three, I saved what little money I could and got him a dog from the animal shelter for his birthday. We named her Sandy, and she was the cutest little beagle that you’ve ever seen. She was really good with him. Gentle. Benjy pulled on her ears and her tail and Sandy just sat there and let him. You love that dog, don’t you, baby?”

He nodded, aware now that he was the subject of conversation.

“A year later, I got a few months behind on the rent. The landlord was a real asshole— wouldn’t work with me at all. One morning, in the middle of winter, two sheriff’s deputies showed up with an eviction notice. They threw us out in the street while it was snowing. I remember it was so cold and I didn’t have any idea where we would go. I was afraid to go back to my parents.”

She paused, her voice choked with emotion.

“The deputies gave us time to pack a bag and that was it. While they had the door open, Sandy got out. I guess she was scared by all the commotion, because she ran out into the middle of the street, something she’d never done before, and got hit by a car. It was horrible— the screech of the car’s brakes— and then there was this horrible thump and she was yelping and flopping around on the pavement. I remember thinking that. ‘She looks like a fish on land.’ The driver of the car didn’t even stop. He— the bastard just kept going. Before I could stop him, Benjy ran toward the curb. I chased after him, afraid the same thing was going to happen to him.”

She took a deep breath, clearly upset.

“When we reached Sandy, I saw right away that there was nothing we could do. Even if we’d had the money for a vet, she was dying and the vet wouldn’t have been able to save her. There was blood coming out of her nose and mouth, and her belly— her insides . . . they were sticking . . .”

She shuddered, unable to complete the story.

“I made her feel better,” Benjy picked up where his mother had left off. “I touched Sandy and her insides went back into her tummy and the blood stopped coming out. In a few minutes, she was all better again. I love my Sandy.”

He craned his head up to Sheila.

“Mommy, when will we get to see Sandy? Soon? She’s all alone at our apartment, and I bet she’s hungry. I bet she has to go potty. I do too.”

“Pretty soon, baby. Pretty soon . . .”

“Don’t count on it.”

Sherm stepped back into the vault. I noticed that Keith wasn’t with him and I thought again about the thumping sounds.

“Nobody’s going anywhere unless they want to leave in a fucking body bag. At least not until the cops give us a way out of here. Then maybe a few of you can go with us. If the kid’s got to piss, then make him cross his legs.”

He winked at Kim and she scowled back at him. He stared at each of them in turn.

“So what’d I miss?” he asked me.

“Nothing much. Just chilling out, keeping this pressure on this bullet hole in John’s stomach, trying to keep him from bleeding to death.”

He ignored my sarcastic tone.

“What about you?” I asked. “What’d you tell the cops?”

“Made sure they understand who the fuck is in charge around here.”

“And who is in charge?” I asked.

“We are, dog. What’s up with that tone in your voice?”

“Just seems like you’re the one that’s suddenly making all the decisions. That’s all I’m saying.”

“Yo, I’m just trying to get us out of here, Tommy. Feel free to jump in anytime.”

“Don’t sweat it.” I sighed. “What else did you tell the cops?”

“They’re supposed to call back in half an hour for our list of demands. All they know right now is that there’s six of us, armed to the teeth, and that we’ve got a dozen or so hostages.”

“Your math’s a little fuzzy, isn’t it, son?” Roy asked.

“Shut the fuck up, you old fart. Who asked you? What they don’t know won’t hurt them.”

“Where’s the manager?” I prodded.

“Keith? He’s in the other room. Don’t worry— he ain’t going nowhere. I got him taped up good and tight.”

He stalked around the vault like a caged animal.

“I’m hungry. Kim, you ladies got an employee refrigerator or something like that?”

“No. We go out during our lunch breaks. All we have is a watercooler.”

“Shit. It figures.” He pulled out his smokes, shook one out of the pack, and snapped his lighter open. The click echoed in the silence. He inhaled, tapping his foot nervously. Then he snapped the lighter shut. Then open again. Then shut. He repeated it over and over, seeming mesmerized. All the time, his restless twitching increased.

“I tell you, it’s the work of the Devil,” Martha spoke up. “Satan is among us. Just as the pastor at my church said he would be. The Imp is alive and well and his acolytes walk our very streets. They hold us in bondage. These are the end times.”

“Be quiet,” Sharon admonished her. “We don’t need that kind of talk right now. It’s not doing anybody any good, so just be quiet.”

“I will not be quiet! These men, that boy— they are evil. Their unholy influence is spreading amongst you. Already you are tainted. It will all end in blood. Only blood can wash it clean, just as it did in the Old Testament. The blood of the innocent is required. The blood of the lamb.”

“I think I liked you better when you were just saying ‘Oh my,’ ” I groaned.

“What the hell’s she calling the kid evil for, Tommy?” Sherm asked. “You and me I can see. We’re the bad guys, the bank robbers. But why the kid? What’s up with that?”

“I don’t know. She’s fucking snapped, man.”

I held my breath, waiting to see if the others would give away Benjy’s secret, but they didn’t. I could tell that Sheila was relieved too.

“Mister?” Benjy looked up at Sherm. “Mister, you’re sick. You know that, right? It’s in your head, like bees. The darkness. The monster people are inside it and they’re eating at you.”

“The Devil,” Martha squawked. “The Devil is in his head. All of them. They’re name is Legion for they are many, and they gnash and bite with their sharp little teeth and claws . . .”

Dugan, Sharon, Sheila, Kim, and I all told her to shut up at the same time. Sherm began to fidget again.

“How’s Carpet Dick? And why is fat boy half-naked? And why does the kid think I have a beehive in my head?”

“John’s— not good. He’s alive, that’s about it. Oscar’s shirt is what’s keeping him from bleeding to death, and I’m about to need another one.”

“Well then, Kim can donate hers.”

“Fuck you,” she spat.

“You keep offering, baby, and I’m gonna take you up on that. Besides, what are you worried about? You got a bra on, right? Or maybe, on second thought, you better donate that too.”

“It will take your friend a while to die,” Dugan said. “A gut shot is painful as hell, which is why he’s passed out, but unless he goes into circulatory shock or if there’s a lot of internal bleeding, then there’s still time to get him to a hospital. His own shit will eventually poison him to death, but it takes a while. If circulatory shock sets in, or if he loses much more blood, he’s probably going to slip into a coma. You need to get him some help before that happens. At least let some paramedics come in here and work on him. If he goes into a coma, chances are that he won’t come back out.”

I shifted my grip on the bloody shirt. My hands were beginning to cramp up.

“Did you ask the cops to get an ambulance for him?”

“Nope. You think they’ll really do it?”

“Jesus Christ, dude— it’s worth a shot. He’s fucking dying, Sherm. Tell them we’ve got a wounded hostage or something. Then they can take John to the hospital, and maybe they won’t even find out he was with us.”

“Oh get real, Tommy. What the fuck have you been smoking? They’ll tag him as one of the robbers as soon as he wakes up. You really think that idiot could hold up under questioning? They’d sniff him out in a second; and then he’ll drop dime on us.”