Power Play
Page 35
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“Nelson insisted that when Blessed regained his wits, he hadn’t had any kind of strange effect on anyone. I prodded the doctor and he finally admitted that Blessed had stared at people intensely at times, even stared at him like that, but, naturally, nothing had happened. His unspoken conclusion was that Blessed may be deluded, believed some of this nonsense himself, but that was the end to it.”
“Then what happened?”
“Blessed slept and ate and did nothing at all unexpected. He spoke when spoken to. They got him up walking to get his strength back, gave him physical therapy, and the doctor told me Blessed began to walk up and down the halls. When no one was available to help him, he pulled himself along the railings, at least a dozen times every couple of hours. They were impressed at how determined he was.
“Eventually, they told Blessed his mother, Shepherd, was in the institution, housed a floor down, that she was in poor health—slowly dying, in fact. The doctor said Blessed seemed shell-shocked at first, shaking his head back and forth, not wanting to accept it. The doctor believed Blessed thought she was dead. Blessed demanded to see her even though they told him she couldn’t communicate with him, that they’d been injecting her with major drugs to keep her comfortable, but he insisted.
“The doctor took Blessed himself to see her. He said Blessed had tears running down his face when he saw her, buried his head against her shoulder. He said he was surprised when the old woman started stroking his hair. He hadn’t believed she was awake enough, much less had the strength. He didn’t hear what they said, since they spoke in whispers, although he heard Blessed sobbing out loud and saying over and over, ‘I will, Mama, I will.’ And then she fell unconscious. Dr. Nelson took him back to his room and cuffed him to the bed. Later that night, they told Blessed that Shepherd had died.
“Last Wednesday, two days later, an orderly let Blessed out to exercise without his handcuffs, and Blessed escaped.”
“And they didn’t call us until today?”
“I asked the doctor why, and he said they were sure they’d find him because he was still weak, sometimes disoriented; he could still barely walk. He was out in the cold without any clothes other than his institutional pajamas and robe. At least they thought that until an orderly reported some of his clothes missing from his locker along with his wallet. They figure Blessed dressed in the orderly’s clothes, got hold of someone’s ID, and simply walked out. By the time they decided to notify us, he’d been on the loose for a week. Dr. Nelson—I’d like to clout him—still thinks he’ll show up. ‘Mr. Backman can’t get far; he doesn’t have any money,’ he said. Well, almost no money. The orderly said he’d only had maybe ten dollars in cash in his wallet.”
Savich stared at her, trying to control himself. He had to accept that Blessed was out there, free again. He wasn’t a toothless old hound, not in this lifetime. He was as terrifying a monster as Savich had ever gone up against. Blessed was alone in the world now, and would do whatever his mother had asked of him. Of course Savich knew what Shepherd had asked him to do. Kill them. He’d come to Washington and he’d attacked Sherlock, there was no doubt at all in Savich’s mind, and he knew Blessed would stay on that single track until he was dead or they were.
He said, “He’s tried once. He won’t stop.”
“I know,” Sherlock said.
He began rubbing his hands over her arms again, for himself as much as for her. He felt the small bandage. He knew every agent in the CAU was looking at them, but it didn’t matter. He pulled her close, felt the beat of her heart against his. He whispered against her hair, telling her it would be all right, but he knew the words meant nothing, not to either of them.
Sherlock said, “We were the ones who brought down the family. We arrested his mother, put her in that place, and you shot Blessed yourself. He came after me because I’m the easier target. You can resist him, and he knows that, but I can’t. I don’t understand, though, why he stalked me for two days, why he didn’t simply walk up to me and tell me to do whatever he wanted me to do, like tell me to run until my heart burst. Why would he try something as pedestrian as shooting at me from a moving motorcycle in the middle of Georgetown?”
Savich said slowly, “I’m thinking he had to follow you, learn your habits, and come after you the old-fashioned way because his powers haven’t come back. But wait, remember the two old people who saw him up close and personal but they said they hadn’t seen anything? I didn’t worry about it then, merely thought poor vision at the time, but now I’m thinking Blessed told them to forget him. And they did.”
“Then what happened?”
“Blessed slept and ate and did nothing at all unexpected. He spoke when spoken to. They got him up walking to get his strength back, gave him physical therapy, and the doctor told me Blessed began to walk up and down the halls. When no one was available to help him, he pulled himself along the railings, at least a dozen times every couple of hours. They were impressed at how determined he was.
“Eventually, they told Blessed his mother, Shepherd, was in the institution, housed a floor down, that she was in poor health—slowly dying, in fact. The doctor said Blessed seemed shell-shocked at first, shaking his head back and forth, not wanting to accept it. The doctor believed Blessed thought she was dead. Blessed demanded to see her even though they told him she couldn’t communicate with him, that they’d been injecting her with major drugs to keep her comfortable, but he insisted.
“The doctor took Blessed himself to see her. He said Blessed had tears running down his face when he saw her, buried his head against her shoulder. He said he was surprised when the old woman started stroking his hair. He hadn’t believed she was awake enough, much less had the strength. He didn’t hear what they said, since they spoke in whispers, although he heard Blessed sobbing out loud and saying over and over, ‘I will, Mama, I will.’ And then she fell unconscious. Dr. Nelson took him back to his room and cuffed him to the bed. Later that night, they told Blessed that Shepherd had died.
“Last Wednesday, two days later, an orderly let Blessed out to exercise without his handcuffs, and Blessed escaped.”
“And they didn’t call us until today?”
“I asked the doctor why, and he said they were sure they’d find him because he was still weak, sometimes disoriented; he could still barely walk. He was out in the cold without any clothes other than his institutional pajamas and robe. At least they thought that until an orderly reported some of his clothes missing from his locker along with his wallet. They figure Blessed dressed in the orderly’s clothes, got hold of someone’s ID, and simply walked out. By the time they decided to notify us, he’d been on the loose for a week. Dr. Nelson—I’d like to clout him—still thinks he’ll show up. ‘Mr. Backman can’t get far; he doesn’t have any money,’ he said. Well, almost no money. The orderly said he’d only had maybe ten dollars in cash in his wallet.”
Savich stared at her, trying to control himself. He had to accept that Blessed was out there, free again. He wasn’t a toothless old hound, not in this lifetime. He was as terrifying a monster as Savich had ever gone up against. Blessed was alone in the world now, and would do whatever his mother had asked of him. Of course Savich knew what Shepherd had asked him to do. Kill them. He’d come to Washington and he’d attacked Sherlock, there was no doubt at all in Savich’s mind, and he knew Blessed would stay on that single track until he was dead or they were.
He said, “He’s tried once. He won’t stop.”
“I know,” Sherlock said.
He began rubbing his hands over her arms again, for himself as much as for her. He felt the small bandage. He knew every agent in the CAU was looking at them, but it didn’t matter. He pulled her close, felt the beat of her heart against his. He whispered against her hair, telling her it would be all right, but he knew the words meant nothing, not to either of them.
Sherlock said, “We were the ones who brought down the family. We arrested his mother, put her in that place, and you shot Blessed yourself. He came after me because I’m the easier target. You can resist him, and he knows that, but I can’t. I don’t understand, though, why he stalked me for two days, why he didn’t simply walk up to me and tell me to do whatever he wanted me to do, like tell me to run until my heart burst. Why would he try something as pedestrian as shooting at me from a moving motorcycle in the middle of Georgetown?”
Savich said slowly, “I’m thinking he had to follow you, learn your habits, and come after you the old-fashioned way because his powers haven’t come back. But wait, remember the two old people who saw him up close and personal but they said they hadn’t seen anything? I didn’t worry about it then, merely thought poor vision at the time, but now I’m thinking Blessed told them to forget him. And they did.”
