Best Forgotten Part 26
Whew. Just squeaked this in before May.
All the usual disclaimers apply. Do I really have to repeat them? The characters aren't mine, yada, yada, yada . . .
Best Forgotten, Part 26
The moment the service gate started to rise, Lucy ducked inside. Felix barely waited to lower it again before he wheeled around and started back up the ramp. Lucy had to run to keep up with him. Both of them spoke in hushed, urgent voices.
“I saw Ryan,” he reported, before she could even ask.
Lucy’s sigh of relief dissolved when she realized that Felix’s expression was shuttered and his gaze focused forward, avoiding her anxious eyes.
“Yes? You were able to speak to him?” she prompted uneasily.
Felix’s cursory nod revealed nothing. He still didn’t look at her. He just walked faster, his soft, thick soles soundless on the concrete floor. Lucy sped up too, but she moved without looking, her eyes locked on Felix’s rigid profile.
When he spoke, his reply sounded reluctant, labored. “I told him that his family was coming, but Lucy, I don’t know if he understood.”
“Why not? How was he, Felix?” she demanded. “Tell me what is wrong.”
At the insistence in her tone, Felix finally glanced down and met Lucy’s eyes. He shrugged helplessly. “I don’t know,” he confessed. “The poor kid still had fight in him, but he was only half-conscious, so maybe it didn’t mean anything. Maybe it was just muscle spasms or something, you know? He did seem to respond when I mentioned the Cohens. I just couldn’t be sure-Lucy,” Felix stopped short and took a deep breath. “Dr. Keller cleared him for surgery. He had me move Ryan to the operating room.”
“Now?” Lucy gasped. She stumbled, grasping Felix’s arm. “Oh God. If they are prepping him for surgery, we may already be too late--”
“I’m sorry, Lucy. It’s that man, Caleb Nichol-he practically ordered Dr. Keller to do the operation now . . . I got here as fast as I could.”
Felix’s words bounced, dark and portentous, off the low ceilings. Automatically Lucy moved closer. Rubbing his shoulder, she smiled swift reassurance, although her voice drifted past him, low and abstracted.
“No, no, I know you did. Do not apologize,” she murmured. She continued talking, almost to herself as, still holding her hand, Felix began moving again. He turned right, leading her through a maze of gray corridors. “It may still be all right. Dr. Keller is very meticulous. He must have everything perfectly set before he operates, and this procedure relies greatly on computer imaging. If I can disrupt the service even for a moment before he begins--”
Felix nodded support as Lucy’s words trailed off into silent planning. At the same time he scanned the fortress-thick doors along the hallway. His brown furrowed with concentration. “There,” he announced, stopping abruptly. “That’s the facilities maintenance area. The electrical control shop is inside. But I can’t tell you much about the layout there, Lucy. I’ve only been down here one time.”
“It is all right,” Lucy said grimly. “I will find my way.” She inhaled, deep and long, as she stared at the door. Her fine brows drew together and her jaw set with determination. Pulling away from Felix, she grasped the handle. “No, you can’t--” he warned, covering her hand with his own, but Lucy yanked anyway. The door resisted her grip, and she belatedly noticed the touchpad on the wall. Her eyes flicked upwards. “Felix? Do you remember the password?” she asked hoarsely.
“I think so. Let’s see . . .” Touching his index finger to his lips, Felix thought for a moment, then pressed six digits on the touchpad.
Nothing happened.
Felix cursed under his breath and Lucy shuddered, sagging slightly. Despite the clammy basement air, she felt all at once as if she were still outside the clinic, the sun blazing down on her as she frantically tried one phone number after another in order to reach Sandy Cohen. In her mind an accusing loop seemed to play all the endless ringing, the curt dismissals, the abrupt hang-ups. Worst of all, Ryan’s broken voice threaded through her thoughts, insisting, “I’m Ryan. Not Brandon. I’m Ryan Atwood.”
Begging her “Make them stop.”
Lucy heard her own choked reply too.
“I am trying to do that. I promise you.”
The words slipped out again in a thin, ragged whisper. “I am trying, Ryan,” Lucy repeated. “I promise you I am.”
She clutched Felix’s sleeve, her fingers twisting the fabric, and he glanced down at her anxiously. “Wait,” he muttered. “I’ll get it . . . Maybe the combination starts six-two, not two-six . . . ?” His forehead creasing with concentration, he turned his attention back to the door. Carefully, quickly, he tried a new combination.
Holding her breath, Lucy watched his callused finger flash over the touchpad.
One number.
Two.
Three.
Four.
Five.
Six.
This time, a green light flashed over the door.
At the first flicker, Lucy grasped the handle. In a single motion, she turned it, slipped into the cavernous room and spun around, ready to close the door. A swift, fervent “thanks” poised on her lips, but before she could say it, Felix followed her inside. Lucy’s eyes widened and she shook her head.
“Felix, you do not have to come with me,” she objected. “They will be looking for you upstairs. I do not want you to risk losing your job. Already you have done more than I could ask.”
Felix ignored her protests. Moving closer, he urged her into the shadows behind a bank of consoles. His mouth set in a firm, determined line.
“There will be workers in here,” he explained. “Somebody might see you Lucy. You may need me in case they try to stop you-Look, I’ve come this far. I’m not going to leave you alone now. Besides . . .” He paused, his eyes clouding. “I don’t understand exactly what’s going on with Dr. Keller and that Nichol guy, but I know it’s wrong, what they’re doing to that boy.”
Lucy exhaled a long breath of unconscious relief. “Yes, it is,” she said, pitching her voice so that it was almost inaudible under the steady drone of machinery, and a distant, rhythmic clanging. “I am most glad to have you with me, Felix.” She smiled up at him, her face lighting briefly with gratitude before its expression returned to stern resolve. “Only we cannot help Ryan by hiding here,” she added. “We must find the service controls right.”
Felix peered over the consoles, warily inspecting the area. Despite a steady thrum of activity through the low-hanging pipes, the room itself appeared blankly gray and empty. He waited a moment. Then, jerking his thumb, Felix signaled an “all clear” to Lucy.
She stepped out immediately. Her eyes narrowed, dark with purpose, trying to see everything at once.
“It’s that way,” Felix hissed. Without looking around, he cocked his head to indicate the hallway to their left.
Lucy nodded, instinctively pressing herself close to the wall, trying to be invisible. Already moving, she started to speak. Her voice, cautiously low, barely ruffled the air. “If I am able to disrupt the power, we must--”
She broke off, stiffening, as an unseen door opened and brisk footsteps started to approach. “Hector? That you?” someone called. “It’s about time you got back from break.”
“Go,” Felix urged curtly. He pressed one hand to Lucy’s shoulder, gesturing for her to leave without him. For half an instant she hesitated, biting her lip. Then she darted down the hallway.
She didn’t look back.
Felix watched her disappear around a corner before he stepped into the center of the room. His voice boomed off the tiled walls, hearty and unconcerned. “Nope. Not Hector. Sorry,” he replied. “Just came down to tell you we’re a problem with the intercom upstairs. It goes in and out--”
Lucy didn’t hear anything more. Felix’s dimming voice, all the mechanical clatter, even her own swift, soft footballs: they all receded into a vague hum beneath the adamant thought driving her.
“Hurry. Hurry. Hurry.”
She sped along the corridor. In the distance, just before it dead-ended in a concrete, she spotted the sign for the electrical shop. Its flat black letters seemed to pulse in time with her heartbeat, growing larger and darker as Lucy rushed toward them.
I had not thought . . . What if this door is locked too? she wondered in sudden panic.
Without thinking, without even peeking through the window to make sure nobody was inside, Lucy yanked the handle.
It turned, and she practically fell into the room.
Then she froze, waiting for someone to accost her, for the inevitable questions that she couldn’t answer: Who are you? What do you think you’re doing here?
They didn’t come. No one seemed to be inside.
Breathing a silent prayer of thanks, another one hoping that Felix’s lie would keep any workers occupied, Lucy closed the door behind her and looked around the room.
Long consoles lined all four walls, each one studded with monitors, blinking lights, display panels, and controls. It was like a giant dashboard of some futuristic engine.
Lucy stared around in consternation.
In her imagination, the plan had seemed simple. All she had to do was interrupt service to Dr. Keller’s computers-just for a moment, just long enough for him to insist that they verify all the programs and data before proceeding.
Now, confronted with all the unlabeled equipment, Lucy stood frozen.
She had no clue what she could touch, no idea what to do next.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
“Ryan? Kiddo?”
“Ryan!”
“Hey, Ry.”
“Atwood.”
“You. Boy.”
“Hey, kid.”
"Chino!"
“Ryan?”
“Ryan.”
“Baby . . . Ry>”
Indistinct voices swirled around each other. They wafted, gossamer-thin, like threads of vapor in the air. Gray and shapeless, they grew dimmer and dimmer until they melted into a long soundless sigh.
All the ghosts living behind Ryan’s closed eyes gradually retreated. Frank Atwood and A.J. stomped past, their knuckles bruised, their steel-toed boots scuffed and heavy. They led a procession of Dawn’s drug-addled boyfriends, and finally Dawn herself, who tottered, tearful and unsteady on her worn high heels. Trey followed, flicking ash from his cigarette with blasé swagger, and then Theresa, who glanced back over her shoulder, her face full of longing and dusky regret.
Last, and all alone, Caleb appeared. He strode forward briskly, a slim silver attaché tucked under his arm, a cell phone clamped to his ear. Pausing just for a moment, he looked back. A contemptuous sneer twisted his lips and he shook his head. Then, pivoting on his heel, he turned and pushed past the people in front of him.
They all made their way through shifting sands, growing smaller and smaller as they neared a fog-shrouded shoreline.
One by one they disappeared into the slit of the horizon.
Still, for long moments, three pastel figures remained. They lingered, dim and silent, in the last sunlit corner of Ryan’s memory: Sandy, his brows wagging, his laughing eyes crinkled at the edges: Seth, grinning and gesturing widely; Kirsten twisting her rings, a tremulous smile warming her pale face.
Lifting their hands, they waved a greeting or a farewell.
Then, slowly, they vanished too.
Dusk fell, deep and fathomless, inside Ryan’s mind.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Dr. Keller stood in the operating room, his palms pressed together under his chin, his back to his patient, and his eyes half-closed. As the strains of Mahler Kindertotenleider swelled through the space, he took several long breaths, inhaling deeply, letting the air fill his lungs, releasing it slowly, completely before breathing again.
His surgical team stood by watching. At last the lead nurse moved to a spot beside Ryan’s head. She positioned herself there, one hand hovering over the instrument tray.
“Are you ready to begin, Doctor?” she asked.
Without looking around, Dr. Keller waved away her question. “In a moment,” he said. Lifting his chin, he nodded briskly toward the computer screen, indicating that he wanted it lowered. His assistant complied, and Dr. Keller moved closer, his lips pursed, studying the images there. After that he turned to check the video cameras and the levels on all the blinking monitors.
At last he leveled his measured gaze on his patient.
For just a moment, looking at Ryan’s face, the vulnerable curve of his mouth, the bruised shadows around his eyes, Dr. Keller’s expression flickered. Then it cleared again and he squared his shoulders.
“That’s it,” he announced briskly. He held out his hand, palm open, for his first instrument. “Let’s do it. Let’s make medical history here people.”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
“Come on, come on, come on,” Seth muttered under his breath. He leaned forward, pressing an imaginary accelerator, his eyes locked on the white stucco structure just ahead. “There! Right there, Dad! That’s it!”
Even before his son spoke, Sandy spun the steering wheel, bouncing over the curb as he cut into the parking lot of the Santa Clara Clinic. Ignoring a “Reservado” sign, he swerved into the space closest to the entrance. The tires whined, protesting the abrupt turn, and the car rocked violently, jerking its occupants back and forth as he slammed on the brakes.
Almost before the car settled, Seth pushed his door open and bolted outside. His feet twisted traitorously as they hit the pavement and he landed on one knee, but the tumble barely slowed his instant, frantic sprint. “Guys, come on! Hurry up” he yelled, flinging the words over his shoulder as he ran.
It was an unnecessary order. Sandy, Kirsten, and Charlie were just one step behind him, his mother’s heels stabbing the pavement with fierce urgency as she ran. Together they raced up the stairs and into the lobby of the clinic, silent and deserted since visiting hours were over.
“Ry--Brandon,” Sandy called before the door even closed behind them. “Brandon McConnell.” He stumbled briefly over the name, recovered, and continued. His voice rang out sharp and assertive, the way it sounded in court when he faced hostile witnesses. “Where is he? We’re his family. We want to see him right now!”
“Don’t even try to lie to us,” Seth added. He leaned halfway across the counter, jabbing a finger at the clerk for emphasis “We know he’s here somewhere.”
The woman at the reception desk backed away, alarmed. “Las horas de visita son más,” she told them, shaking her head and making a small shooing gesture with her hands. “Volver mañana por la mañana.”
“She said visiting hours are over, that we should come back tomorrow,” Charlie translated swiftly.
“No!” Kirsten’s fingers clenched, talon-tight, around the forged guardianship papers that she held. She thrust them forward, waving them in the clerk’s face. “Tell her this is an emergency! We demand to see him right now! Tell her--”
“Tell her we’ll search every room ourselves if we have to,” Seth injected.
Sandy’s jaw tightened grimly. “Tell her we’ll call the authorities if necessary.”
He and Charlie both knew that was an idle threat-the police would never support them against the clinic and Caleb-but she nodded anyway. In rapid-fire Spanish that Seth could only half follow, she told the clerk something about “legal guardians” and “operation” and “no permission.” The only part he fully understood was “no dejar hasta que lo vea.”
“. . . not leaving until we see him.”
Seth gripped the counter, listening intently as the clerk answered, but his own fear roared in his ears, drowning out the woman’s reply, and he had to turn to Charlie for her translation.
She shook her head, looking at Sandy and lifting her hands helplessly. “She insists that he’s not here, Sandy.”
His eyes narrowed, dark and dangerous. Snatching the papers from Kirsten, he placed them on the counter, smoothed them and held them flat. “Look,” he ordered. “Brandon McConnell. Don’t tell me he’s not in this clinic. I know he is. Look at the papers, damn it! We’re his guardians.”
The clerk stepped back, reaching for a phone, and Charlie gasped suddenly.
“Wait!” she exclaimed. “Sandy wait-I was wrong! She didn’t say Ryan isn’t in the clinic. She said he isn’t in this building.” Spinning back to the reception desk, Charlie leaned across the counter. In a barrage of Spanish she demanded, “Does the clinic have another building? Is that where Brandon is? In another part of the hospital?”
The clerk, frazzled and nervous, shook her head evasively. “I have no information about that patient,” she declared. “You would have to speak to Dr. Keller. But you can’t talk to him now. He’s in surgery.”
Despite her swift, accented Spanish, Seth, Kirsten and Sandy all caught the word surgery. Kirsten blanched. “No,” she moaned. “It’s started already? We’re too late?” At the same time Sandy commanded, “Call Dr. Keller! I don’t care what he’s doing. Let me speak to him now, or I swear to God I’ll have you all--”
Seth didn’t hear the rest. Unable to stay still, he wheeled away from the desk and started to pace around the lobby. He peered down the hallways, trying to decode all the signs, ready to bolt in any direction that might possibly lead them to Ryan. His head swiveled restively as he scanned the area.
All at once, he jerked to a stop in front of the window.
Squinting against the glare, Seth stared through the sun-streaked glass. Two men had just emerged from a nondescript building across the parking lot. They looked deep in conversation. Their heads bent together, obscuring their faces, and their bodies were partially blocked by a parked ambulance but there was something about them, about the square set of their shoulders, their firm, forceful strides . . . Seth felt his stomach clench as he watched.
Then the taller man stepped clear of the ambulance. He paused and waved for his companion to wait while he pulled sunglasses from the pocket of his crisp pale blue blazer and put them on.
Looking up, he smiled as if he owned the sky.
Even from a distance, Seth recognized that smile.
“Grandpa?” he whispered hoarsely. He licked his lips. Breathless, his heart pounding, he spun around. “Grandpa!” he shouted over his shoulder as he raced for the exit. “Mom! Dad! Grandpa is here! I saw him! He’s outside!”
“What? Seth--?”
“He’s here, Dad! With Grady in the parking lot! Come on!”
“Oh my God!” Kirsten gasped. “Dad is here--?”
She sprinted after her son, Sandy half a step behind her. They caught Seth just as he reached the door.
Just then, the lights flashed twice, and went out.
Things happened very fast after that.
TBC
And let me revise that last sentence--"Things happened very fast after that--unlike the way they've happened so far in this plodding, endless story." But yes, we really, truly, are close to the end: 2 more chapters, max. Swear on Mom.
All the usual disclaimers apply. Do I really have to repeat them? The characters aren't mine, yada, yada, yada . . .
Best Forgotten, Part 26
The moment the service gate started to rise, Lucy ducked inside. Felix barely waited to lower it again before he wheeled around and started back up the ramp. Lucy had to run to keep up with him. Both of them spoke in hushed, urgent voices.
“I saw Ryan,” he reported, before she could even ask.
Lucy’s sigh of relief dissolved when she realized that Felix’s expression was shuttered and his gaze focused forward, avoiding her anxious eyes.
“Yes? You were able to speak to him?” she prompted uneasily.
Felix’s cursory nod revealed nothing. He still didn’t look at her. He just walked faster, his soft, thick soles soundless on the concrete floor. Lucy sped up too, but she moved without looking, her eyes locked on Felix’s rigid profile.
When he spoke, his reply sounded reluctant, labored. “I told him that his family was coming, but Lucy, I don’t know if he understood.”
“Why not? How was he, Felix?” she demanded. “Tell me what is wrong.”
At the insistence in her tone, Felix finally glanced down and met Lucy’s eyes. He shrugged helplessly. “I don’t know,” he confessed. “The poor kid still had fight in him, but he was only half-conscious, so maybe it didn’t mean anything. Maybe it was just muscle spasms or something, you know? He did seem to respond when I mentioned the Cohens. I just couldn’t be sure-Lucy,” Felix stopped short and took a deep breath. “Dr. Keller cleared him for surgery. He had me move Ryan to the operating room.”
“Now?” Lucy gasped. She stumbled, grasping Felix’s arm. “Oh God. If they are prepping him for surgery, we may already be too late--”
“I’m sorry, Lucy. It’s that man, Caleb Nichol-he practically ordered Dr. Keller to do the operation now . . . I got here as fast as I could.”
Felix’s words bounced, dark and portentous, off the low ceilings. Automatically Lucy moved closer. Rubbing his shoulder, she smiled swift reassurance, although her voice drifted past him, low and abstracted.
“No, no, I know you did. Do not apologize,” she murmured. She continued talking, almost to herself as, still holding her hand, Felix began moving again. He turned right, leading her through a maze of gray corridors. “It may still be all right. Dr. Keller is very meticulous. He must have everything perfectly set before he operates, and this procedure relies greatly on computer imaging. If I can disrupt the service even for a moment before he begins--”
Felix nodded support as Lucy’s words trailed off into silent planning. At the same time he scanned the fortress-thick doors along the hallway. His brown furrowed with concentration. “There,” he announced, stopping abruptly. “That’s the facilities maintenance area. The electrical control shop is inside. But I can’t tell you much about the layout there, Lucy. I’ve only been down here one time.”
“It is all right,” Lucy said grimly. “I will find my way.” She inhaled, deep and long, as she stared at the door. Her fine brows drew together and her jaw set with determination. Pulling away from Felix, she grasped the handle. “No, you can’t--” he warned, covering her hand with his own, but Lucy yanked anyway. The door resisted her grip, and she belatedly noticed the touchpad on the wall. Her eyes flicked upwards. “Felix? Do you remember the password?” she asked hoarsely.
“I think so. Let’s see . . .” Touching his index finger to his lips, Felix thought for a moment, then pressed six digits on the touchpad.
Nothing happened.
Felix cursed under his breath and Lucy shuddered, sagging slightly. Despite the clammy basement air, she felt all at once as if she were still outside the clinic, the sun blazing down on her as she frantically tried one phone number after another in order to reach Sandy Cohen. In her mind an accusing loop seemed to play all the endless ringing, the curt dismissals, the abrupt hang-ups. Worst of all, Ryan’s broken voice threaded through her thoughts, insisting, “I’m Ryan. Not Brandon. I’m Ryan Atwood.”
Begging her “Make them stop.”
Lucy heard her own choked reply too.
“I am trying to do that. I promise you.”
The words slipped out again in a thin, ragged whisper. “I am trying, Ryan,” Lucy repeated. “I promise you I am.”
She clutched Felix’s sleeve, her fingers twisting the fabric, and he glanced down at her anxiously. “Wait,” he muttered. “I’ll get it . . . Maybe the combination starts six-two, not two-six . . . ?” His forehead creasing with concentration, he turned his attention back to the door. Carefully, quickly, he tried a new combination.
Holding her breath, Lucy watched his callused finger flash over the touchpad.
One number.
Two.
Three.
Four.
Five.
Six.
This time, a green light flashed over the door.
At the first flicker, Lucy grasped the handle. In a single motion, she turned it, slipped into the cavernous room and spun around, ready to close the door. A swift, fervent “thanks” poised on her lips, but before she could say it, Felix followed her inside. Lucy’s eyes widened and she shook her head.
“Felix, you do not have to come with me,” she objected. “They will be looking for you upstairs. I do not want you to risk losing your job. Already you have done more than I could ask.”
Felix ignored her protests. Moving closer, he urged her into the shadows behind a bank of consoles. His mouth set in a firm, determined line.
“There will be workers in here,” he explained. “Somebody might see you Lucy. You may need me in case they try to stop you-Look, I’ve come this far. I’m not going to leave you alone now. Besides . . .” He paused, his eyes clouding. “I don’t understand exactly what’s going on with Dr. Keller and that Nichol guy, but I know it’s wrong, what they’re doing to that boy.”
Lucy exhaled a long breath of unconscious relief. “Yes, it is,” she said, pitching her voice so that it was almost inaudible under the steady drone of machinery, and a distant, rhythmic clanging. “I am most glad to have you with me, Felix.” She smiled up at him, her face lighting briefly with gratitude before its expression returned to stern resolve. “Only we cannot help Ryan by hiding here,” she added. “We must find the service controls right.”
Felix peered over the consoles, warily inspecting the area. Despite a steady thrum of activity through the low-hanging pipes, the room itself appeared blankly gray and empty. He waited a moment. Then, jerking his thumb, Felix signaled an “all clear” to Lucy.
She stepped out immediately. Her eyes narrowed, dark with purpose, trying to see everything at once.
“It’s that way,” Felix hissed. Without looking around, he cocked his head to indicate the hallway to their left.
Lucy nodded, instinctively pressing herself close to the wall, trying to be invisible. Already moving, she started to speak. Her voice, cautiously low, barely ruffled the air. “If I am able to disrupt the power, we must--”
She broke off, stiffening, as an unseen door opened and brisk footsteps started to approach. “Hector? That you?” someone called. “It’s about time you got back from break.”
“Go,” Felix urged curtly. He pressed one hand to Lucy’s shoulder, gesturing for her to leave without him. For half an instant she hesitated, biting her lip. Then she darted down the hallway.
She didn’t look back.
Felix watched her disappear around a corner before he stepped into the center of the room. His voice boomed off the tiled walls, hearty and unconcerned. “Nope. Not Hector. Sorry,” he replied. “Just came down to tell you we’re a problem with the intercom upstairs. It goes in and out--”
Lucy didn’t hear anything more. Felix’s dimming voice, all the mechanical clatter, even her own swift, soft footballs: they all receded into a vague hum beneath the adamant thought driving her.
“Hurry. Hurry. Hurry.”
She sped along the corridor. In the distance, just before it dead-ended in a concrete, she spotted the sign for the electrical shop. Its flat black letters seemed to pulse in time with her heartbeat, growing larger and darker as Lucy rushed toward them.
I had not thought . . . What if this door is locked too? she wondered in sudden panic.
Without thinking, without even peeking through the window to make sure nobody was inside, Lucy yanked the handle.
It turned, and she practically fell into the room.
Then she froze, waiting for someone to accost her, for the inevitable questions that she couldn’t answer: Who are you? What do you think you’re doing here?
They didn’t come. No one seemed to be inside.
Breathing a silent prayer of thanks, another one hoping that Felix’s lie would keep any workers occupied, Lucy closed the door behind her and looked around the room.
Long consoles lined all four walls, each one studded with monitors, blinking lights, display panels, and controls. It was like a giant dashboard of some futuristic engine.
Lucy stared around in consternation.
In her imagination, the plan had seemed simple. All she had to do was interrupt service to Dr. Keller’s computers-just for a moment, just long enough for him to insist that they verify all the programs and data before proceeding.
Now, confronted with all the unlabeled equipment, Lucy stood frozen.
She had no clue what she could touch, no idea what to do next.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
“Ryan? Kiddo?”
“Ryan!”
“Hey, Ry.”
“Atwood.”
“You. Boy.”
“Hey, kid.”
"Chino!"
“Ryan?”
“Ryan.”
“Baby . . . Ry>”
Indistinct voices swirled around each other. They wafted, gossamer-thin, like threads of vapor in the air. Gray and shapeless, they grew dimmer and dimmer until they melted into a long soundless sigh.
All the ghosts living behind Ryan’s closed eyes gradually retreated. Frank Atwood and A.J. stomped past, their knuckles bruised, their steel-toed boots scuffed and heavy. They led a procession of Dawn’s drug-addled boyfriends, and finally Dawn herself, who tottered, tearful and unsteady on her worn high heels. Trey followed, flicking ash from his cigarette with blasé swagger, and then Theresa, who glanced back over her shoulder, her face full of longing and dusky regret.
Last, and all alone, Caleb appeared. He strode forward briskly, a slim silver attaché tucked under his arm, a cell phone clamped to his ear. Pausing just for a moment, he looked back. A contemptuous sneer twisted his lips and he shook his head. Then, pivoting on his heel, he turned and pushed past the people in front of him.
They all made their way through shifting sands, growing smaller and smaller as they neared a fog-shrouded shoreline.
One by one they disappeared into the slit of the horizon.
Still, for long moments, three pastel figures remained. They lingered, dim and silent, in the last sunlit corner of Ryan’s memory: Sandy, his brows wagging, his laughing eyes crinkled at the edges: Seth, grinning and gesturing widely; Kirsten twisting her rings, a tremulous smile warming her pale face.
Lifting their hands, they waved a greeting or a farewell.
Then, slowly, they vanished too.
Dusk fell, deep and fathomless, inside Ryan’s mind.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Dr. Keller stood in the operating room, his palms pressed together under his chin, his back to his patient, and his eyes half-closed. As the strains of Mahler Kindertotenleider swelled through the space, he took several long breaths, inhaling deeply, letting the air fill his lungs, releasing it slowly, completely before breathing again.
His surgical team stood by watching. At last the lead nurse moved to a spot beside Ryan’s head. She positioned herself there, one hand hovering over the instrument tray.
“Are you ready to begin, Doctor?” she asked.
Without looking around, Dr. Keller waved away her question. “In a moment,” he said. Lifting his chin, he nodded briskly toward the computer screen, indicating that he wanted it lowered. His assistant complied, and Dr. Keller moved closer, his lips pursed, studying the images there. After that he turned to check the video cameras and the levels on all the blinking monitors.
At last he leveled his measured gaze on his patient.
For just a moment, looking at Ryan’s face, the vulnerable curve of his mouth, the bruised shadows around his eyes, Dr. Keller’s expression flickered. Then it cleared again and he squared his shoulders.
“That’s it,” he announced briskly. He held out his hand, palm open, for his first instrument. “Let’s do it. Let’s make medical history here people.”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
“Come on, come on, come on,” Seth muttered under his breath. He leaned forward, pressing an imaginary accelerator, his eyes locked on the white stucco structure just ahead. “There! Right there, Dad! That’s it!”
Even before his son spoke, Sandy spun the steering wheel, bouncing over the curb as he cut into the parking lot of the Santa Clara Clinic. Ignoring a “Reservado” sign, he swerved into the space closest to the entrance. The tires whined, protesting the abrupt turn, and the car rocked violently, jerking its occupants back and forth as he slammed on the brakes.
Almost before the car settled, Seth pushed his door open and bolted outside. His feet twisted traitorously as they hit the pavement and he landed on one knee, but the tumble barely slowed his instant, frantic sprint. “Guys, come on! Hurry up” he yelled, flinging the words over his shoulder as he ran.
It was an unnecessary order. Sandy, Kirsten, and Charlie were just one step behind him, his mother’s heels stabbing the pavement with fierce urgency as she ran. Together they raced up the stairs and into the lobby of the clinic, silent and deserted since visiting hours were over.
“Ry--Brandon,” Sandy called before the door even closed behind them. “Brandon McConnell.” He stumbled briefly over the name, recovered, and continued. His voice rang out sharp and assertive, the way it sounded in court when he faced hostile witnesses. “Where is he? We’re his family. We want to see him right now!”
“Don’t even try to lie to us,” Seth added. He leaned halfway across the counter, jabbing a finger at the clerk for emphasis “We know he’s here somewhere.”
The woman at the reception desk backed away, alarmed. “Las horas de visita son más,” she told them, shaking her head and making a small shooing gesture with her hands. “Volver mañana por la mañana.”
“She said visiting hours are over, that we should come back tomorrow,” Charlie translated swiftly.
“No!” Kirsten’s fingers clenched, talon-tight, around the forged guardianship papers that she held. She thrust them forward, waving them in the clerk’s face. “Tell her this is an emergency! We demand to see him right now! Tell her--”
“Tell her we’ll search every room ourselves if we have to,” Seth injected.
Sandy’s jaw tightened grimly. “Tell her we’ll call the authorities if necessary.”
He and Charlie both knew that was an idle threat-the police would never support them against the clinic and Caleb-but she nodded anyway. In rapid-fire Spanish that Seth could only half follow, she told the clerk something about “legal guardians” and “operation” and “no permission.” The only part he fully understood was “no dejar hasta que lo vea.”
“. . . not leaving until we see him.”
Seth gripped the counter, listening intently as the clerk answered, but his own fear roared in his ears, drowning out the woman’s reply, and he had to turn to Charlie for her translation.
She shook her head, looking at Sandy and lifting her hands helplessly. “She insists that he’s not here, Sandy.”
His eyes narrowed, dark and dangerous. Snatching the papers from Kirsten, he placed them on the counter, smoothed them and held them flat. “Look,” he ordered. “Brandon McConnell. Don’t tell me he’s not in this clinic. I know he is. Look at the papers, damn it! We’re his guardians.”
The clerk stepped back, reaching for a phone, and Charlie gasped suddenly.
“Wait!” she exclaimed. “Sandy wait-I was wrong! She didn’t say Ryan isn’t in the clinic. She said he isn’t in this building.” Spinning back to the reception desk, Charlie leaned across the counter. In a barrage of Spanish she demanded, “Does the clinic have another building? Is that where Brandon is? In another part of the hospital?”
The clerk, frazzled and nervous, shook her head evasively. “I have no information about that patient,” she declared. “You would have to speak to Dr. Keller. But you can’t talk to him now. He’s in surgery.”
Despite her swift, accented Spanish, Seth, Kirsten and Sandy all caught the word surgery. Kirsten blanched. “No,” she moaned. “It’s started already? We’re too late?” At the same time Sandy commanded, “Call Dr. Keller! I don’t care what he’s doing. Let me speak to him now, or I swear to God I’ll have you all--”
Seth didn’t hear the rest. Unable to stay still, he wheeled away from the desk and started to pace around the lobby. He peered down the hallways, trying to decode all the signs, ready to bolt in any direction that might possibly lead them to Ryan. His head swiveled restively as he scanned the area.
All at once, he jerked to a stop in front of the window.
Squinting against the glare, Seth stared through the sun-streaked glass. Two men had just emerged from a nondescript building across the parking lot. They looked deep in conversation. Their heads bent together, obscuring their faces, and their bodies were partially blocked by a parked ambulance but there was something about them, about the square set of their shoulders, their firm, forceful strides . . . Seth felt his stomach clench as he watched.
Then the taller man stepped clear of the ambulance. He paused and waved for his companion to wait while he pulled sunglasses from the pocket of his crisp pale blue blazer and put them on.
Looking up, he smiled as if he owned the sky.
Even from a distance, Seth recognized that smile.
“Grandpa?” he whispered hoarsely. He licked his lips. Breathless, his heart pounding, he spun around. “Grandpa!” he shouted over his shoulder as he raced for the exit. “Mom! Dad! Grandpa is here! I saw him! He’s outside!”
“What? Seth--?”
“He’s here, Dad! With Grady in the parking lot! Come on!”
“Oh my God!” Kirsten gasped. “Dad is here--?”
She sprinted after her son, Sandy half a step behind her. They caught Seth just as he reached the door.
Just then, the lights flashed twice, and went out.
Things happened very fast after that.
TBC
And let me revise that last sentence--"Things happened very fast after that--unlike the way they've happened so far in this plodding, endless story." But yes, we really, truly, are close to the end: 2 more chapters, max. Swear on Mom.