“I thought I was supposed to be going home, today,” Gary was saying as he was pushed down the hallway, his eyes closed.  “Isn’t the exit the other way?”

“Your folks won’t be here for another few minutes,” Polly reminded him.  “And you promised Billy a rematch.  You really shouldn’t ‘ve beat the poor boy so bad your first time in the game.”

“He zigged when he shoulda zagged,” Gary quipped.  “So why do I have to keep my eyes shut?  Couldn’t I just spot ‘im a coupla points?”

“Open those ‘puppy dog’ eyes before I say to,” the stocky tech promised, “and Billy won’t be the only one you butt heads with.  Now, just behave yourself.  We’re here.”

Gary obediently kept his eyes closed as Polly pushed him into the cavernous room.  “So, why are you here so early, Polly?” he finally asked.  “I thought you only worked second shift?”

“And miss saying ‘so long’ to my favorite patient?” she snorted.  “Bite your tongue!”  The motherly tech wheeled him into the middle of the room and stopped.  “You can open your eyes now, sweetie.”

Amused at the familiar tone Polly took with all her patients, Gary obeyed.  He was greeted with a thunderous shout of  “SURPRISE!”  Slightly stunned, he looked around the brightly decorated gym at the familiar faces of nurses, therapists, techs and fellow patients.  Even Dr. Carter and half the ER staff were there!  Speechless, he watched as the youthful resident approached, a small package in his hand.

“This is your last day with us,” Carter reminded him, “and we couldn’t let it pass like just any other day.  You came in so . . . so close to death, we couldn’t pull you back.  You did that on your own.  That first night, you threw the rulebook out the window and beat the crap out of the odds.  You’ve been a constant reminder that miracles do happen.  You’ve also worked just as hard as the rest of us to make the best of a . . . a rotten situation.   Most patients who have had an . . . experience like yours refer to themselves as ‘living on borrowed time.’  So we’ve gotten you a little something to keep track of that time, in the hopes that you’ll be able to postpone repayment for a good, long while.”

He handed a speechless Gary the package, and a hush settled as everyone waited to see his reaction.  Gary’s hands shook slightly as he carefully removed the wrapping on the long, thin object.  Inside the wrapping was a jewelers box.  Gary opened it to see a very expensive looking watch with a black leather band.

“Look on the back,” someone said.  Gary looked up at the expectant faces for just a second before complying.  On the back was an inscription.

                                ‘Sept. 17, 1965
                                 May 20, 2000
                                  4:56 AM’

“That’s both your birth dates, Gary,” Carter told him softly.  “The day you were born, and the day and time of your rebirth.  It’s our hope that, whenever the going gets too rough, you’ll look at that and remember that someone is looking after you in a very big way.”

Gary didn’t know what to say.  He stared at the inscription a moment longer before closing his hand around the watch, his chest tightening with emotion.

“It’s . . . it’s great,” he told them in a choked whisper.  “It’s really . . . Th-thank you.  All of you.  You, um, you’ve been really good to me.  Even when I’ve been a royal pain.  And don’t say I haven’t ‘cause we all know better.”  He was rewarded with some scattered laughter.  “You’ve helped me through some . . . difficult times these last few months.  No one could ask for better treatment than I’ve received, and if they do, they don’t deserve it.”  More laughter and a few cries of ‘Here here!’.  Gary fastened the watch around his wrist, realizing as he did that he had absolutely no idea what had happened to his old one.  “I’ll treasure this as a reminder of some wonderful people that I hope to see again.  Under better circumstances, that is.”  He looked over at a large buffet set up on the other side of the room.  “You, um, you wouldn’t have anything to drink over there, would you?  For some reason, I’m feeling a little . . . dry”

The crowd broke up with a few chuckles as everyone headed for the food.  Looking around, Gary wondered if Dr. Zimmerman was going to make an appearance later.  Then someone put a large cup of fruit punch into Gary’s hand, which he nearly spilt as the double doors slammed open, startling him.

“Make way, make way for the Fishman express!”

Gary turned his chair so that he could have a better look at the disturbance.  He was treated to the most ridiculous sight he had seen in a long time.  Chuck had burst through the doors seated in a regular wheel chair, two plungers in his lap, and a pink plastic basin on his head!  He rolled up to where Gary was seated and tossed his bemused friend one of the plungers, almost causing Gary to spill his drink.  Quickly draining the cup, Gary handed it back to Polly, who was trying hard to keep a straight face.

“Chuck, are you crazy?” he asked.  “Never mind.  I already know the answer to that one.  What are you doing?”

“I am here to defend the honor of Camelot and join the quest for the Holy Grail!” his friend intoned with a flourish of his plunger.

“Chuck, you’re Jewish,” Gary reminded him.

“So why should the Gentiles have all the fun?” Chuck shrugged.  He suddenly charged at Gary, the business end of the plunger aimed forward.  “Have at thee, knave!  Lancelot was meshuga!”

With a laugh, Gary deflected Chuck’s charge with a flourish that brought a cheer from the on-lookers.  Using one hand to swivel and turn his chair, Gary deftly parried his friend’s thrusts, jabs and swings with the other.  For a good ten minutes they dueled around the room to the sounds of laughter, cheers and catcalls.   Finally, Chuck conceded defeat.  Mainly because the basin kept slipping forward over his face.

“Oy!” he gasped, pushing the offending object back and wiping the sweat off his forehead.  “The forces of light prevail!  Or is it ‘The Force Is With You?’  I forget.  Anyway, Gar, you’re dad is waiting outside with the van.  You want I should tell him to wait?  Or can we join the party?”

“There’s plenty,” Carter replied to Gary’s questioning look.  “And we only have a little time before we have to get back to work.”

At Gary’s nod, Chuck leaped out of the wheelchair with a clumsy grace that the young barkeep envied.  He disappeared through the door, only to return a few minutes later with Bernie in tow.  The surprise party only lasted another twenty minutes before people started drifting back to their jobs.  Diane, Polly and Carter were the last to leave.  They paused to wish Gary good luck, or words to that effect, with a few sidelong glances at Chuck and Bernie, as if to say “With those two, you’re gonna need it.”

Finally, it was just the three of them.  Gary could hardly believe he was really going home.  He took his time rolling down the hall towards the exit, waving at familiar faces, taking the time for a few more good-byes.

“Chuck said you brought the van,” he mumbled, finally speaking directly to his dad.  “Kinda wish you hadn’t.”  He was remembering how much harder it was to get into the van that one time they had taken him out in it.  It had been so much easier getting in and out of the taxis they had used later.

“Why not?” Bernie asked, genuinely puzzled.  “It has more head room than a taxi.  Besides, I had to pick it up from the garage anyway,” he added with a shrug.

“The garage?” He stopped, turning to face the other two.  “What was wrong with it?  You had a wreck, didn’t you?  Or Mom?  Is that why Mom hasn’t been here?  Is she okay?”

“Just settle down, kiddo,” Bernie laughed.  “It just needed a little work is all.  Some new carpet, a little body work, just little stuff.”  As they approached the doors, he fished out a set of keys and tossed them to his son.  “I’m tired.  How about you driving?”

Gary caught the keys with a sour look on his face.  He shot a look at Chuck, who was studiously ignoring him.  Which made Gary vary suspicious.

“What are you two up to?” he asked.   “You never pass up a chance to drive, Dad.  And you, you’re way too quiet, Chuck.”  He tossed the keys back to his dad.  “Besides, I can’t drive ‘til we find a place that’ll refit it with hand controls.”

“And a lift-gate,” Chuck reminded him.  “You’d been wanting a lift-gate even before the accident.”

As the doors slid open, Bernie tossed the keys back to his son.  “Happy birthday, Gar.”

Puzzled, Gary wheeled himself around to the back of the van.  That was when he noticed that this was not the same van.  The roof was extended for more headroom.  The side door was open to reveal a factory-made lift that was lowered and ready for his use. Gary looked at his dad who gave him an encouraging nod, then he rolled his chair onto the platform.  He grasped the control lever and smiled as it raised him, chair and all, to the level of the floorboard.  Rolling forward, he found the control that brought the platform to a vertical position and slid the door closed.  It was roomy inside.  A lot more headroom than the old van.  The driver’s seat was on a track that let it be slid back and out of the way with little effort, as was the case now.  Gary carefully guided his chair forward, until a rapid series of clicks told him that the chair was locked in place behind the wheel.  He looked everything over, familiarizing himself with the controls.  Feeling the van rock, he glanced over to see his dad and Chuck settling into the passenger seats.

“Th-this is great, Dad,” he stammered.  “I-I don’t . . . “

“Then don’t,” Bernie grinned.  “Just drive.  I wasn’t kidding about being tired.  I sat with the twins last night so Chuckles and Jade could have a little quiet time.  You do remember where you live, don’t you?”

“Of course, I do!”  Gary sat there, staring out the windshield, still having made no move to insert the key into the ignition.

“So?  Why aren’t we moving?” Chuck asked from the back seat.  “You waiting for a light to change or something?”

“Hunh!  Oh!”  Gary’s mind returned to the present with a barely suppressed shudder.  “Just . . . just trying to convince myself, I guess.”

“Convince yourself?” Bernie repeated as Gary finally turned the key.  “Of what?”

“That it’s real,” he murmured softly.  “That I’m finally going home.”

***********************

Driving his new van towards home, Gary was almost overwhelmed by the sights, sounds, and even the smells of the City of Chicago.  It was like ambrosia to him.  He only now realized just how much he’d missed it all.  “Going home…” he mused.  It all felt so unreal to him.  It was his 35th birthday and he was finally going home!  Suddenly an anxious, unnerving thought intruded upon his ruminations.  “Oh, my Lord!” he thought to himself.  “What’s it going to be like… to be at home…now, in this…condition.  Will I be able to cope…to function, at all?”  Apprehension was beginning to well up inside him, but then… There it was before him, McGinty’s!  His bar, his home!  What a welcome sight.

As Gary drew the van up in front of the building, he noticed two orange Parking Authority cones and a sign that read:  “Reserved Handicapped Space, Parking by permit #91765, only.”  Gary chuckled inwardly, they had used the date of his birth as the permit number.  He asked his two, now very quiet, passengers if they had anything to do with the special permit parking.  Bernie directed his attention to the Handicapped Permit sign dangling from the rear-view mirror.  It bore the matching numbers 91765.  “Thanks, Dad,” he said with a smile, and then proceeded to deftly park the van with a practiced hand.

Gary turned the motor off, but made no move to exit the vehicle.  He stared out the windows at McGinty’s as if he was carefully contemplating his next move.  In all actuality, Gary was deep in thought wondering just what was “home” going to really be like for him now.  The apprehension he felt, at this point, was so thick it could be cut with a knife.  Life at home wouldn’t be the same, in any way, as it had been before the accident, that much he knew for certain.  Once he left the security of that van and wheeled himself inside the building, his life would be forever changed.  The final nail even, as it were.  There would be no turning back, either way.  He was committed by fate to whatever it was that awaited him there.  Marissa always said that ‘everything happens for a reason’ and he had resigned himself to waiting for that reason to make itself apparent.

“Hey, Gar!  Come on, let’s go!”  Chuck’s insistent voice, yelled from behind, woke Gary from his musings.

“Huh?  Oh, yeah…right…um, OK, Chuck,” Gary replied quickly.

Then, working the van’s controls, at his father’s direction, Gary rolled his chair onto the lift, which in turn lowered him to the sidewalk, where his Dad and Chuck waited.  A quick light press on the key fob and the lift disappeared back into the van and the automatic sliding door closed and locked.  Gary smiled to himself at how easy that was.  At least he wouldn’t have to worry about getting out and about in the city, and parking shouldn’t be a problem either.

Propelling his chair to the front door, Gary stopped before going in.  He mentally braced himself as he stared at the door.  He knew that from now on he would be seeing “home” from a vastly different perspective.  From now on, his point of view of the world around him would be converted to that of a paraplegic in a wheelchair.  Would he even be able to do something as simple as tend bar, anymore?  The front and back bars were configured for a standing person.  Definitely not for someone in a sitting position, and especially not for someone sitting as low as wheelchair height …and…the loft!  Oh, God!  What would he have to do to even get up there?  Gary felt a sinking feeling in his chest, like his heart falling into his stomach.  He wasn’t even in the building yet, and he felt totally overwhelmed, trapped, and wishing he could flee.  If only he could just get away…but, the situation in which he now was hopelessly enmeshed would not go away.  It would follow him wherever he went.  There was no going back now.  From this point on, only ‘forward’ was available to him and ‘forward’ into his uncertain future he would go.

Breaking out of his reverie, Gary finally looked over at his father with eyes that said, ‘Okay, let’s get this over with.’  He was about to reach for the door handle, when his dad, who had been standing next to McGinty’s front door, reached over and pressed a small square button that was next to a ‘Handicapped’ sign, both of which Gary had not noticed before.  The door swung open as if to say ‘Welcome home!  Come on in!’  Slightly bewildered, Gary looked first at his dad, then at Chuck.  With a glimmer of a smile, Chuck replied, “Well, go on . . .!”  Pleased, Gary smiled back at him.  Previously, he had worried about how he was going to maneuver his chair through that heavy door, but now he knew that he would have no trouble getting in and out after all.  Bernie and Chuck needed no verbal thanks from Gary.  The look on his face said it all.
 

*******************

Gary felt very self-conscious, vulnerable, as he rolled through the front doors of McGinty’s.  As he feared, the room was deathly quiet and every eye was turned on him.  Trying to brazen it out, he maneuvered his wheelchair to the center of the room, hoping all the while that no one would notice the trembling in his hands.  Over the back wall was a huge banner saying ‘Happy Birthday Gary & Welcome Home!’  Feeling a little overwhelmed, Gary cleared his throat nervously.  He looked around at the expectant faces of his well-wishers, seeing faces he had not seen in years.  There were Chuck and his dad, of course.  His mom and Jade had the twins off to one side.  Marissa, Crumb, and there was Doc Zimmerman!  So that was why he wasn’t at the hospital to ‘see him off’!  Was that . . .?  It was!  Stan Kovaleski, the contractor he had saved from burning to death a couple of years ago.  What was . . . And the Porters?  Hadn’t they moved before he acquired the bar?  Miguel Diaz was there, of course.  Trust him not to pass up a chance to worm a story out of Gary.

Amanda and her parents were there, along with the kids from the foster home he had saved.  Sister Mary and some of the kids from the Center stood near the raised area in the back.  He was literally surrounded by family and friends.  It was . . . humbling.

“I, ah, I suppose you’re expecting a speech?” he joked nervously.  “Well, you’re out of luck.  One a day’s my limit.  Seriously, this is . . . Thank you.  It’s, um, it’s great to be home.”  He looked over at his dad and Chuck.  “I’m dyin’ here, guys!  Help me out!”

That brought a few nervous laughs and a general relaxing of the tension he had felt since entering the room.  The knot of people by the bar broke up into little groups, each of them coming over to congratulate him and welcome him home.  Gary realized that these people, many of whom he saw almost everyday prior to his accident, were just as nervous as he was.  It saddened him a little to know that he made everyone so uneasy.  Still, they had come, not knowing what to expect from him.  That, in itself, spoke volumes about the kind of friends he had.

“So.  How does it feel?”

Startled, Gary looked up to see Dr. Zimmerman smiling down at him, although his eyes expressed concern.  It took him a moment to understand what the genial physician was asking.

“It . . . it feels good,” he replied hesitantly, “and a little scary.  Kinda like leaving home for the first time.  Does . . . does that make any sense?”

“Perfectly natural,” Doc assured him.  “You’re taking control of your own life again.  That’s always a heady experience.”

Gary glanced over to where his parents were fussing over Jade and the twins.  “Oh, I don’t know about that,” he commented with a wry smile.  “So long as those two are around, I have a feeling that being in control won’t be an issue.  Lord knows I love ‘em, but they’re very . . . protective.  It may be a while before they let me fly on my own.”

“Hmm, yes,” Doc agreed.  “That could be a problem.  Just don’t let them bully you.  It may seem a little harsh, at first, but you have to let them know that you’re still capable of making your own decisions.”

“Oh, I don’t mind a little bullying,” Gary smiled.  “It’s part of who they are.  I won’t let it get out of hand, though.”

Zimmerman patted his shoulder reassuringly.  “So long as you know where to draw the line,” he said, “you’ll do fine.  Now, why don’t you show me where you live?”

“Th-the loft, you mean?” Gary asked hesitantly.  He suddenly felt like someone had been practicing macramé with his insides.  “I, ahm, I may need some help getting up there.  I hadn’t found a contractor for the remodeling, yet.  Mom said that Mr. Kovaleski over there might be interested, although I don’t know why.   He does high-rises and office buildings.  Something like this . . . I don’t know.  Should I even ask, do ya think?”

“Can’t hurt to try,” the doctor shrugged.  “C’mon.  If we need to, I’ll get someone to help carry you upstairs.”  He smiled at his patient’s sour expression.  “You have get up there somehow, unless you plan to move into your office.  It won’t be as bad as you think.”

“You’ve never seen how steep those stairs are,” Gary grumbled.  With a sigh, he propelled himself through the office door.  “It’s your back,” he warned.

The first thing Gary noticed was how neat and spacious his office was compared to what he recalled.  All the crates and cartons that usually claimed most of the floor space were stacked neatly against the walls, leaving him plenty of room to get behind his desk, as well as a clear path to the stairwell in the back.  Except . . . this wasn’t his battered old desk!  He paused to take a closer look.  This was a newer desk, built a little lower with a wider knee space.  Most of the desk accessories were on turntables that put everything within easy reach.  Gary gave the doctor a questioning glance.

“Don’t look at me!” Zimmerman said, hands raised in a gesture of denial.  “I just gave them the name of a good furniture store.”

Gary grinned and shook his head as he again turned his chair towards the back of the office.  The smile died as he caught himself staring at the closed door.  He paused, eyes fixed on the area in front of it.  An image flashed through his mind.  His parents and Crumb, working desperately over a still, bloody shape in the narrow beam of his dad’s big flashlight.  Marissa standing helplessly off to one side, sightless eyes closed in fervent prayer.

With a shudder, Gary forced his mind back to the present.  Taking a slow, deep breath, he tried to slow the galloping pace of his heart.

“Flashback?”  Zimmerman asked with concern.

“Sorta,” Gary admitted reluctantly, his voice quiet.  “I-it’s strange.  Kinda like I was there, but not there, if that makes any sense.  Like I was standing back and . . . watching.”

“You may very well have been,” the doctor told him, his face serious.  “At that moment, you may have been dead, technically.  I’m afraid you can look for this to happen again.  Probably when you least expect it.  Some sight, sound, smell even, will trigger a memory that you’ve suppressed.”

“Wonderful,” the younger man sighed, as he moved toward the door.  “Something else to look forward to.”

In spite of the doctor’s warning, Gary was not prepared for his reaction when he first caught sight of the staircase.  The images hit him like a sledgehammer.  His body lying there, leg twisted at an unnatural angle beneath him, blood everywhere.  The smell . . . Dear God, the smell!  The sharp, metallic tang of fresh blood!  His breath caught in his throat as the memory threatened to overwhelm him.  With a choked cry, he spun the chair until he was no longer facing the stairs.

“Of course,” Zimmerman sighed, “some of us need less stimulus than others.  This is where it happened?”

“Yep,” Gary replied in a choked voice, his eyes squeezed shut.  His sweat-slick palms grasped the rims of the wheels in a white-knuckled grip.  A fine sheen of sweat bathed his pale features as the scene replayed itself in his mind.  “That  . . . that’s where they . . . I don’t think I can do this, Doc.  I thought I could, but . . .”

“You can’t lay the ghosts to rest unless you face them,” Doc told him kindly.  “Try again.  The second time is usually easier.”

“God, I hope so,” the young barkeep sighed.  Eyes still closed, Gary tried to steel himself for the effort.  “It’s . . . I can still . . . still smell . . . I can still smell the b-blood.  Hear my own . . . my own h-heartbeat . . . getting weaker . . . and s-slower.  I can . . . can taste . . . taste the blood!  In my . . . my mouth . . . How do you fight s-something that strong?”

“By being stronger.  Now, turn around.”

Gary was so lost in the scene that kept playing itself in his mind, he was totally unaware of the knot of people waiting expectantly on the other side of the office door.  It was all he could do to control the trembling of his hands enough to grasp the wheel rims and pivot the chair.  He did it, however, with a swiftness that belied the fear that gripped his heart like a vise.  Once again, the grisly scene played itself in his mind, but he refused to look away this time.  The tumble down the stairs after being slammed against the wall.  The sudden agony as his leg snapped.  Pain, dizziness, despair as he lay there, waiting to die.  Then, he was no longer there!  He was on that still too fresh grave in the Hickory cemetery.  Collapsing against the wall in his parents’ living room, begging his father to believe that he had not gone insane.

Tears left glistening tracks down Gary’s cheeks as scene after scene flashed through his mind.  Each one leaving its load of sensory ‘ghosts’ to haunt him as it passed.  How much was real?  How much ‘delusion’?  Would he ever know?

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, but was, in fact, only a few seconds, Gary was able to see past the ‘ghost’ of his senseless death.  He squinted, trying to make sense of what he was seeing.  Some type of motor was attached to the post at the foot of the stair rail.  It was also attached to a large metal plate that lay just in front of that very bottom step.  A similar plate was folded up against the wall behind the lower landing.  What looked like a kind of flat conveyor belt ran up the wall, parallel with the rise of the stairs.

“What the hell is that?” he asked.

“That is Mr. Kovaleski’s answer to your problem,” his father said from behind him.  “These old firehouses weren’t exactly meant to be wheelchair friendly.  So, he set his engineers a little challenge.  How d’ya like his answer?”

Gary edged a little closer to the beveled edge of the bottom platform.  It looked . . . interesting.  He let his eyes follow the drive mechanism’s path where it was imbedded in the wall.  He tried to picture himself riding the flimsy looking platform as it rose upwards.  On one hand, it looked like . . . fun.  On the other . . . he just could not quell the queasy feeling in his stomach.

With a cheerful tone that belied the paleness of his face and the trembling in his hands, Gary managed a wan smile and said, “Lets check it out.  How does it work?”

Stan Kovaleski stepped forward and showed him where the controls were hidden in the post at the foot of the stairs.  They were easily accessible from any vantage point.

“This raises the bottom plate level with, and up against the landing,” the contractor explained.  “At the same time, that other plate is lowered so that you roll straight from one to the other.  Once you’re in place, this button raises you all the way up the stairs.  It stops level with the landing.  There are matching controls at the top of the stairs, on the wall.  Whenever it’s not in use, it folds flat against the wall.  Simple.”

Gary listened carefully to the contractor’s instructions, nodding his understanding.  It did look simple, but ingenious.  Under the circumstances, it was a lot more practical than a conventional chair lift, which would have conveyed him, but not his chair, up and down the stairs.  Plus, that lower landing must have presented its own problems.  Swallowing back the fear that threatened to completely paralyze him, Gary rolled forward and activated the controls.  The mechanism performed flawlessly, as promised.  In about as much time as it would have taken for him to climb the stairs on his own, when he could walk, Gary found himself rolling onto the top landing and up to his door.  He waited for the others to join him before entering his loft.  The wait also gave him time to get himself under control.

“That kid has more guts than I would in his situation,” Kovaleski murmured.

“What do you mean?” Bryce Porter asked.  “He’s just going up some stairs.  No big deal.”

“Not for me or you,” Kurt Porter quietly told his son.  “But, you remember how hard it was for me to quit drinking?  And that first time I went to see the therapist?  How scared I was?  Well, Mr. Hobson died on these stairs!”

“Get real, Dad!” the youth snorted. “If he died then he . . .”  Comprehension dawned.  “You mean like on ER?  With the CPR and everything?  Awesome!”  He looked up at Gary with new respect.  “Did he have one of those ‘out-of-body’ things?”

“Yes, he did,” Bernie Hobson spoke up from halfway-up the stairs, “but, he doesn’t like to talk about it.”

“Talk about what, Dad?”

“Nothing important, Gar,” Bernie replied.  He shot Bryce a warning glance, shaking his head.  The boy nodded as he got the message.  ‘Don’t bring it up.’

Gary waited patiently as they all trouped up the stairs.  Without being obvious about it, he took careful note of who had followed him up.  These would be the ‘conspirators’ he would have to thank later for whatever surprise they had on the other side of his door.  There were his parents, of course.  They were probably the ringleaders.  Chuck had to have had a fairly big hand in it, as well as Marissa.  The Doc?  Gary wasn’t sure where he fit.  A consultant, maybe?  As for Stan Kovaleski and the Porters, that was anyone’s guess.  He had to admit, though, the chair lift had worked great.  Now, if he could just get over the chills that ran down his spine every time he looked at those stairs!

As the last of them stepped onto the landing, Gary began noticing the changes in the stairway.  The old sconces that had yet to be rewired when he’d had his accident were gone.  Bright, new fixtures now lined the stairs.  The work light that had been his downfall was also gone, as was the ancient fixture it had temporarily replaced.

“We took the electrical contractor to court,” his mother explained.  “They agreed to finish the remainder of the work free of charge since it was their negligence that caused your accident. Mr. Kovaleski said there were no changes in the codes,” she added bitterly.  “They were trying to gouge you for more money.”

“Still, Mom, I didn’t have to change the bulb that night,” Gary reminded her.

“Still the boy scout,” Kovaleski snorted.  “They could’ve dragged the job out for months, Hobson.  Be glad your folks saw through ‘em.  Now, you gonna open that door or not?”

Casting the gruff contractor a bemused smile, Gary turned the chair until he could grasp the doorknob.  With a quick twist, he swung the door open and propelled his chair through the opening.  The first thing he noticed was the bed.  A metal framework ran above the bed, the ends attached to head and foot.  A ‘trapeze bar’, like the one on his bed at the hospital, hung from the center of the arrangement.

The rest of the apartment looked pretty much as he had left it.  Just cleaner.

“Check out the kitchen,” Bernie suggested a little too casually.

Giving his father a questioning look, Gary obeyed.  One look told him that some major remodeling had gone into his tiny kitchenette.  All the old cabinetry had been replaced.  It still had the same, ‘old time’ flavor, but the upper cabinets had been replaced by narrow shelves that held all the items he used the least.  A claw-like device on an extendible ‘arm’ hung on a hook by the window.  Opening the lower cabinets, he saw that some had been converted to sliding bins, while others were fitted with turntables imbedded into the shelf surfaces.  The solid cooking surface was separate from the oven.  The space beneath was wide, and deep enough to allow for his chair.  All in all, a very practical, user friendly cooking environment.  For a cripple.  Gary quickly clamped a lid on such bitter thoughts.  These people had gone to a lot of trouble for his benefit!  The least he could do was show some gratitude.  He managed a genuine smile as he turned to face his benefactors.

“This is great, guys!” he said with feigned enthusiasm.  “Really great.  Thanks.”

“That’s not all, Gar!” Chuck told him.  “Wait’ll you see the bathroom!”  He could see this was killing Gary.  But they had to play it out.  So much work had gone into this. So much thought and planning.  Gary would rather die than let anyone know that such a public revelation was only rubbing his face in the fact that he may never walk again.  But, he couldn’t hide his pain from the ones who knew him best.

Marissa could also feel her friend’s discomfort, even through his cheerful tone.  She wished that she could make a graceful exit and find someplace to hide.  It was all she could do not to weep for the pain and misery she could feel emanating from her best friend.  Still, she would not abandon him.

Gary quickly maneuvered his way to the bathroom.  Right away, he noticed that the door was much wider than it had been.  Also, that it was now a swinging door that moved freely either way.   The toilet had been replaced by one with a lower profile, and grab-bars had been installed on each side of it.  The shower now had bench type seats projecting from the side walls.  A Jacuzzi had been installed in the extra space created when they had expanded the back wall outwards into an unused storage area.  Again, grab-bars had been attached, to make getting in and out easier.  The sink had been lowered, as had the medicine cabinet.  Again, everything had been designed to make him as self-sufficient as possible.  For a cripple.

“God, I can’t wait to use that tub,” Gary joked.  “No offense, Doc, but I can’t wait to get the smell of antiseptic off of me.”  He turned to face his expectant audience with a grateful smile.  “Really, this is outstanding.  When . . .?”

“Mr. Kovaleski approached us as soon as he heard of your . . .situation,” Bernie told his son.  “Did all this for free,” he added with an all-encompassing gesture.  “Talk about an offer we couldn’t refuse!”

Gary turned a questioning glance on the stocky contractor.  “Thanks, Mr. Kovaleski,” he said.  “Don’t get me wrong.  I’m . . . Why?”

“It was Porter’s idea,” Kovaleski shrugged.  “Seems we both owe you big time.  Me from when you saved me from that explosion, even though we were on opposite sides on that Greek Town issue.  And him . . .”

“If you hadn’t stuck your nose in where it didn’t belong,” Kurt Porter spoke up, pulling his wife and youngest son in closer, “I’d have lost everything that really mattered to me.  I could’ve killed my wife with my bare hands in a drunken rage.  Or lost my sons forever.  When I first laid eyes on you, I thought you were out to destroy my marriage.  Instead, you saved it.  And our lives.”

“Once Kurt was able to get himself in hand,” Nikki Porter added with a smile, “he talked me into giving him one more chance.  It was a good decision.  Thank you for giving us that choice.”

“Um, y-you’re welcome,” Gary stammered self-consciously.  “All of you.  And thanks for . . . for all of this.  I’d been . . . I mean . . .Why don’t we all go to the sofa,” he suggested as he propelled himself back into the main living area.  “Chuck, could you see if there’s any soda in the fridge for the . . .”  He froze as he saw what was set up in the area between the sofa and the back windows.  “Wh-what . . ?”  A set of parallel bars stretched most of the length of the wall.  Mats cushioned the floor directly beneath and to either side.  There was just enough room at either end for Gary to maneuver his chair up to the bars.  For some reason, the sight of them affected Gary more than any of the other changes in his loft. He had to swallow past the sudden dryness in his mouth before he could speak.  “Why those?  Wh-why put those in?” he asked in a choked voice.

His mother placed a comforting hand on his shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze.  “Because we know you, Gary,” she told him in a soft voice.  “We know you won’t give up.  You don’t know how.”

It was too much.  Gary tried to hold back the tears.  He didn’t want these people who had tried so hard to please him, to help him . . . He didn’t want them to think he was hurt or ungrateful.  Still, the tears came.  That one gesture of . . .faith . . . was his undoing.

“Thank you,” he whispered.  He reached across his chest to grasp the hand on his shoulder, looking up at her with eyes full of tears . . . and gratitude.  “Thanks, all of you.  I-I can’t . . . You don’t know how much this . . . Thank you.”

There was a moment of embarrassed silence.  Then . . .

“Mom!  I’m starved.  Can we get a hot dog?”

Wiping at the tears streaming down his face, Gary joined in the relieved laughter at Tommy Porter’s outburst.  “Sure you can,” he chuckled.  “And I’m sure there’s some cake down there, too.  Let’s all get back to the party before they think the guest of honor’s fled the coop.”

As Chuck and Marissa led the exodus back downstairs, Lois and Bernie stayed back to give Gary one more surprise.

“I almost threw this away when they gave me your things at the hospital that night,” Lois admitted.  “But, your dad thought you might want it.  As a memento.”

She handed him the object that she had been carrying in her pocket all day.  An Omega analog calendar watch.  Gary instantly recognized it as the one he had been wearing that night.  His hand trembled just a little as he took it.  It still seemed in pretty good shape, but it was not running for some reason.  Looking closer, he paled slightly when noted the date.  It was frozen on May 20, 2000.  The time was 4:42 AM.

“That’s . . . that’s when they called . . . Oh, God! I can’t . . .” Lois buried her face against her husband’s shoulder.

“That’s when they pronounced you dead,” Bernie finished for her, his voice almost too soft to be heard.  “We don’t know why it stopped.  You weren’t wearing it when they tried to . . . to bring you back.  But, no one’s been able to fix it.  Sorry, Gar.  I know it was your favorite.”

“S’okay, Dad. Mom,” Gary assured them, a little dazed.  “They, um, they gave me a new watch at the hospital.  Like to see the inscription?  It’s . . . it’s a little . . . Um, here.”

His parents were both impressed by the obvious quality of the timepiece, but paled even further when they read the ‘birth dates’.

“Fourteen minutes,” Lois breathed.  “You were . . . you were gone for fourteen minutes?  Oh, Gary!”  She released her husband and threw her arms around her grim faced son.  “Oh my God!”

“What’s wrong, honey?” Bernie asked, puzzled by her reaction and Gary’s grim silence.  “So he was gone for fourteen minutes.  People have been brought back after longer than that.  Haven’t they.”

“Sure, Dad,” Gary agreed quietly.  “But, 4:42 is when they gave up trying.  Which means . . . which means I was probably ‘gone’ a lot longer than that.”

“Still . . .”

Lois turned her face just enough to be heard when she spoke.  “Bernie,” she sighed, “under ‘normal’ circumstances, brain death occurs in ten.”

“My God . . .!”  Bernie spoke softly as he, too, knelt to embrace his wife and son.  “Doc Carter said you must have someone watchin’ over you, but . . . I had no idea . . .”

Gary pushed away from their huddle as he tried to swallow past a huge constriction in his throat. “He said that, huh?” he sniffled.  “What, I have some kind of guardian angel keeping me safe?  Well, excuse me if I don’t feel very ‘protected’ right now.  I’m supposed to be out there saving people and I have to have my whole apartment rebuilt so I can go to the bathroom!  I-if I’m so ‘blessed’, then why am I still in this chair?  All my tests keep coming back great, so why can I only feel my legs if somebody sticks a needle in ‘em?  And then just enough to know I still have legs!”

Dejected, Gary looked down at where his hands were rubbing briskly against his jeans.  Something that he should have been able to feel before he saw it.  He stopped, clamping his hands together to stop them from trembling.  Embarrassed by his outburst, he found it hard to meet the open concern in his parents’ faces.  All the tension and anxiety that had been building up all day had finally come spilling out, on the very people he least wanted to hurt in the entire world.

“I’m . . . I’m sorry, Mom.  Dad,” he mumbled.  “I shouldn’t have . . . It’s just so hard, sometimes, to keep up a ‘good front’, so to speak.  And with so many people watching me, waiting to see if . . . It’s a little . . .overwhelming, I guess.  And I’m . . . I’m just so tired.”

“S’okay, Gar,” his dad said with a sad smile.  “Don’t worry about it.  We’re your parents.   That what we’re here for.  To listen when you need to shout and scream and bang your head on the walls.  Part of the job description,” he shrugged.  “Considering the alternative . . . Well, I’ll take a few minutes of ranting over an eternity of silence any day.”

He knelt down so that he was looking up into his son’s down turned face.  Placing one hand on Gary’s knee, he continued.

“Think about it, son.  It’s a miracle that you’re still alive!” he reminded him in, for Bernie, an unnaturally soft tone.  “You’ve been a living miracle for us since the day you were born.  Now, knowing what we know, I feel like we were twice blessed just to have you around this long!  Every day that you’re alive, for us, is proof that someone has His hand out, ready to catch you every time you miss a step.  Sure, you can’t walk.  Today.  The rest of you is okay!  At least your brain wasn’t scrambled.”  He cast Lois a sly wink. “Not much, anyway.”

“Very funny, Dad.”  Gary’s lips twitched into a hesitant smile.

“Atta boy,” Bernie grinned.  “I knew you still had one or two of those locked away somewhere.  Quit thinking about what you can’t do and start thinking about what you can.  And, while you’re at it, quit worrying about what anyone else thinks.  The only one you have to prove anything to is yourself.  Nobody else’s opinion matters in this.  Not even ours.”  He gave Gary’s knee a gentle shake.  “Somebody has to be looking out after you, or we’d be laying flowers on your grave.  But, they can’t protect you from everything.  You just have to get past the pain, son.  Once you do that, you’ll be able to see an end to this nightmare.  We know you, son.  Know that you don’t know how to quit.  And, we’ll be here for you.  No matter what.”

Head still bowed, Gary gave his dad a sideways look.  Then, he reached out a shaky hand to clasp the one that rested on his knee. “Thanks,” he whispered.  “Thanks.  And, you’re right.  I can’t just . . . give up.  I have to tough this out to the end.”

“Of course I’m right!” Bernie snorted.  “Haven’t you heard?  ‘Father Knows Best’?”  At Gary’s blank look, he let out a frustrated sigh.  “Sorry.  Wrong generation.  C’mon, let’s get downstairs before they send a search party.”

*************************

Gary let his parents descend first, mainly because he didn’t want them seeing how badly the stairs unnerved him.  He idly wondered how long it would be before he could face any flight of stairs without cold chills running up and down his spine.  This one, the one where it actually happened . . . He closed his eyes and, for a moment, he could feel himself falling again, feel the impact as he hit the wall . . !

“Gary?  Are you alright, Hon?”

With a start, Gary snapped back to the present.  He had rolled the chair as far back from the landing as he could get without creating a new window.  It took him a moment to realize what had happened.  Another damned flashback!  How long were those likely to last.

“I-I’m fine, Mom,” he called down when he could get the tremor out of his voice.  And his racing heart down to a safer rhythm.  “Just, um, just let me know when you’re clear.”

“Uh huh!”  Somehow, she didn’t sound convinced.  “Well, don’t come down just yet.  Ms Brigatti wants to come up.  Is it okay?”

Brigatti?  When did she . . .?  Where had she . . . ?  Why hadn’t she at least . . .?  His mind in a whirl of confusion, he barely realized his mom had repeated the question.

“Huh?  Um, yeah!  Sure!  I’ll, ahm, I’ll wait.”

Gary nervously wiped his sweaty palms on his pants legs, unable to silence the pounding of his heart.  After such a long absence, why would Toni show up today of all days?  Then again, she probably saw this as the perfect time.  When they couldn’t be alone together long enough to really resolve anything.  Or for anything to happen.

He found himself counting each slow footstep until Brigatti came into view, and their eyes met.  For the life of him, Gary could not understand how just the sight of this tiny, tough-as-nails woman could make him feel as if he were perched on the edge of an abyss, with no way to go but down.  Even before, she had always made him feel so . . . vulnerable.  Now . . .

“Y-you’re, um, you’re lookin’ good, Brigatti,” he stammered nervously, looking away.  “Nice tan.”  He tried to suppress a wince at the lame observation, with little success.  ‘Of course she had a nice tan!’ he thought.  ‘She just got back from the Mediterranean, you idiot!’  “W-would you like to . . . I mean . . . Um, let’s . . . let’s get out of this hallway.”  ‘And away from those stairs,’ he added to himself.

“What’s the matter, Hobson,” Brigatti teased as she slid past him to the door.  “You seem a little . . . antsy.”

“Stairs,” he confessed with a shudder.  “I’m not too . . . comfortable . . . w-with stairs just yet.  Coming up was bad enough.  Going down . . . They, um, they may have to sedate me the first coupla times.”

Brigatti felt a chill run up her spine at his half-joking confession.  Her hand froze on the door for a split second as an image flashed through her mind.  An image of Gary lying motionless and alone on the darkened stairway.  With an effort, she shoved the grisly image from her mind and continued into the loft.  If it was that bad for her, how much worse must it be for him? she wondered.

Her trained eye quickly took in the outward changes that had been made since her last visit.  The bed and the parallel bars being the most obvious.  The half-sized side-by-side fridge seemed to just blend in with the tiny kitchenette.

“So!  Um, like your new décor,” she commented, wincing at how banal that sounded.  “Seems very . . . practical.”

“Oh!  Yes!  Yes, it is!”  Gary sounded relieved at the change in topic.  “Um, very . . . practical.  Can I get you anything?  I haven’t checked out the fridge yet, but, knowing Mom, I’m sure it’s stocked for an army.  Have a seat while I see . . .”

“Gary.”

He froze, half turned, at the gentle tone of her voice.  ‘Gentle’ was not a term normally one associated with the fiery detective.  Gary knew that she had a softer side.  She had just never shown it to him.

“I didn’t come up here for a drink,” she told him.  “I can get that downstairs.”  She walked slowly over to the couch and perched nervously on the edge.  “I need to talk to you . . . privately.   And that was something we couldn’t do in the hospital.  Too many people coming and going.”

“So you couldn’t even visit?” he mumbled dejectedly.  “Or call?  Just to let me know you were   . . . you were still alive?”

“I guess not,” she answered truthfully.  “When Winslow told us that you . . . that they had to . . . Could you at least look at me while I’m pouring my heart out here?”

Reluctantly, Gary turned the chair so that he was facing her.  The guarded look on his face almost broke Toni’s heart, knowing that she, and others like her had put it there by walking all over his.  She knew his history.  Practically everyone on the force knew him by now.  Knew that he put his life at risk more often than any cop on the street, for people he didn’t even know.  She also knew that every time he had opened his heart to someone, dared to try to love again, something would go wrong.  And each rejection had left him even more defensive.  And more vulnerable.  Finding it impossible to say what she had to say while looking into those incredibly expressive eyes, she dropped her own gaze.

“Wh-when I saw you lying there, in that bed,” she continued, “with all those wires, and the monitors beeping, and you were so . . . still!  I thought, ‘Oh my God! I almost lost him!’  And that . . . that frightened me!  Suddenly, it hit me that I . . . I actually care what happens to you!  That in some . . . bizarre way . . . you’ve become an important part of my life.  That losing you would . . . before we even have a chance to know where this . . . this thing we have between us could go . . .”  She looked up to see him watching her with that same guarded expression.  “Could you say something?” she pleaded.  “Anything?”

Gary lowered his eyes, noticing for the first time how tightly his hands were gripping his thighs.  Reflexively, he began rubbing his legs as if wiping the sweat from his palms.

“What do you want me to say?” he asked, his voice low with a slight rasp to it.  “That it’s okay?  Sure it is.  I’m just as scared as you are.  Probably worse.  That I feel something for you, too?  Th-that’s a tough one.  ‘Cause I don’t know what I’m supposed to feel anymore.  Seems like every time I go down that road . . . it dead-ends.  But, I think it’s . . . it’s kinda sad that it takes something like this before you can even admit that you have any feelings for me at all.  So, um, where does that leave us?” he asked, finally meeting her gaze with an expectant look of his own.  “Or is it only because of . . . of this chair . . .that you feel . . . it’s safe?”

At that moment, he looked so open, vulnerable, and so . . . hurt, Brigatti couldn’t stand it.  How could he even think that!  Maybe because she had thought it herself.  Feeling hurt, and more than a little guilty, Brigatti leaped to her feet, startling him.  She mumbled something that sounded to him like, ‘This was a big mistake.’  Hurt, he tried to back up to give her room, only to have her catch her ankle on one of his foot pedals.  As she started to fall, he instinctively grabbed her, guiding her into the safe harbor of his lap.  Safe for her, at any rate.

Once more, they found themselves gazing deeply into one another’s eyes.  Their lips so close, each could feel the soft exhalations of the other’s breath.  Then those same lips were pressing against each other hungrily, both seeking to explore the depths of their passion to the fullest.  For the tiniest moment, Brigatti felt as if she were being drawn into a vortex of raw, primal emotion, then . . . Gary was pushing her away.

With an abruptness, that left her reeling, he set her on her feet and turned away.

“I think you’d better go,” he told her in a husky whisper.  “Before we let this go . . . someplace neither of us is ready to go right now.”

Stunned and angry, Brigatti grabbed the chair and spun him around to face her.  “And what makes you think I’d lose control that easy, Hobson?” she snapped, forgetting her own earlier feelings of shame and guilt.  “You think, just because you’ve been dumped before that every woman is out to break your heart?  Well, let me be the first to tell you that you just . . . are . . . not . . . worth . . . the effort.”  And she stormed out, slamming the door with a reverberating bang.

“I know,” Gary sighed.  He leaned forward, keeping his hands cupped over his lap.  He had been so embarrassed when he had felt those first . . . stirrings.  All he could think to do was get to her off of him before she felt it, too.  That would only have led to her sharing his embarrassment.  Better for him to bear his pain alone than to let that happen!   At least now Chuck’s question was answered.  But, had he driven Toni away for good this time?  Rolling his chair over to the window, he watched as she half ran from the building, got into her car, and roared off.  Probably so.

“Gary?  Are you alright?”

‘Oh, God!  Please!’ he moaned to himself.  ‘Not now!’  “I’m fine, Mom,” he called out, hoping she would stop at the door.  No such luck.

She took one look at his face, so full of misery, despair, and a huge, whopping dose of red-faced embarrassment and instantly knew what had happened.  “Oh, dear,” she sighed.  “Sweetie, your timing sucks.”

“Tell me something I don’t know, Mom,” Gary sighed.  “I just . . . I couldn’t . . . Not now!”

Lois quickly crossed the room and took him in her arms.  After a moment’s hesitation, he returned the embrace, burying his face against her waist.

“How’d my life get so screwed up, Mom?” he groaned miserably.  “What did I ever do to deserve everything that’s happened to me?”

“Dear,” Lois sighed, “Hitler didn’t deserve half of what’s happened to you.”  She smiled as her little joke got a snuffled laugh from her son.  She placed a gentle kiss on the top of his head.  “Better now?”

“Some,” Gary admitted.  He released his hold on her, wiping the tears from his eyes.  He rewarded her with a hesitant smile, little more than a slight up turning of the corner of his mouth.  “I guess I should go downstairs, huh?”

“It would be nice if the guest of honor made an appearance,” Lois agreed with a nod of her head.  “Late-comers have been asking if they were a day early.”  She couldn’t help but notice the way his face closed up.   “Is it the stairs?”

Gary shot his mother a startled look.  How could she read him so easy?  Was it one of those ‘Mom’ things?  “You’re spooky, you know that?” he told her with a tiny smile.  “It’s these damned . . . sorry, darned flashbacks.  Seems like the least little thing can trigger one and, ho-ho-ho boy!  Those stairs!”  He shook his head and rolled forward.  “Well, I can’t put it off forever.”  He paused, turning to look back at Lois.  “Would you mind if I went down first?  I may need you to give me a shove.”

“No problem, sweetie,” Lois assured him with an impish grin.  “If I have to, I’ll get you on that contraption kicking and screaming.”

“Just kicking would be nice,” Gary murmured sadly, too low for her to hear.

***********************

The days passed quickly after that.  Gary soon found that Dr. Zimmerman was right about one thing.  The flashbacks became less frequent in time, although no less severe.  He found the easiest way to deal with them was to let them run their course and go on.  There were times, especially in the middle of an ‘errand’, when he just had to push them to the back of his mind to be dealt with later.

Gary soon learned how to get over or around most obstacles, and who to call on for help when he found one he couldn’t overcome on his own.  Paul Armstrong proved a valuable ally, at times, although he often cast questioning glances his way.  And Chuck kept finding excuses to delay his return home.  Excuses that Jade, wisely, never questioned.  She was well aware of the special bond between the two men that went way past friendship, or even brotherhood.  No one else had ever taken the time to get to know her husband the way Gary had.  To get past his drive for wealth and notoriety, to see his true nature.

Besides, it delayed the day she would have to board a long, tedious flight with the twins.  That, she was most definitely not looking forward to.

September soon rolled over into October, and Halloween was fast approaching.  That brought a rise in the number of ‘errands’ he had to run as people started pulling silly, and risky pranks in the name of ‘fun.’  Pranks that were not confined to the young.  He had to perform CPR on a man who had let himself be sealed in a coffin so that he could leap out and scare a bunch of school children.  Problem was, the coffin was real, and airtight.  All the while, he was watching out for the return of a certain pair of ‘sisters’ who had once been convinced he was a warlock.

Diane came over twice a week to help him continue his therapy.  Even when she was not there, he would put in at least a brief session on the bars, no matter how tired he was.  He and the young therapist were heartened on her last visit when he managed to move his right leg just a fraction of an inch.  It wasn’t much, Gary reasoned, but gave him more hope than he had felt since leaving the hospital.

The only black cloud on the whole month was the way a certain fiery Italian avoided him.  He had tried to call several times, to apologize.  Each time, all he had ever gotten was a co-worker, or an answering machine.  He was tempted, several times, but he just could not say what he wanted to say to a soulless machine.

The evening before the big day, Gary came home to find detectives Armstrong and Winslow sitting in his office.  He had long ago stopped asking about Brigatti, and they were kind enough not to mention her.  Still, he wondered.

“Kinda late for a visit, isn’t it,” Gary commented as he rolled up to his desk.  He paused as he took in the way too serious expression on Winslow’s face.  Armstrong always looked grim.  Winslow was usually a little more laid back.  “Or is this business?”

Armstrong, as usual, cut right to the chase.  “You remember Aristotle Savalas?”

A chill ran down Gary’s spine at the mention of the ex-cop.  He, in collusion with his brother-in-law in the Medical Examiner’s office, had run a murder-for-hire racket that a reporter, Frank Scanlon, had gotten too close to.  When Gary had tried to prevent the reporter’s murder, he had arrived just a few minutes too late.  As a result, he had been arrested, eventually ending up on the run from both the police and the real killer.  Savalas.  A late-night confrontation had ended with Armstrong on the way to the hospital with Savalas’ bullet in his leg, Brigatti riding in the same ambulance fighting off the effects of a dose of seconal, and Savalas and company on their way to jail.  Gary was finally cleared of all charges and allowed to go home.

That was when the nightmares had started.  Of himself running through dark streets, or darker alleys.  Of faceless people pointing accusing fingers at him, calling out his name, and the word ‘murderer’ in the same breath.  Others pointed guns at him and shouted for him to ‘freeze!’  Then fired.  Sometimes it was the chest.  Other times, he was able to turn so that he was hit in the back.  Either way, he awoke to the memory of a sharp, burning pain in his chest or back, sweat bathing him from head to toe.

“Hobson?  Gary?  Are you okay, man?”

With a startled gasp, Gary snapped his attention back to the present, belatedly realizing that Winslow had repeated his concerned question.

“Sorry,” he murmured softly.  “Flashback.  Y-yeah, I remember Savalas.  Not likely to forget him anytime soon, am I?  Why?  What’s he done, now?”

“He escaped this morning,” Armstrong told him bluntly.  “His lawyer was appealing, based on some new evidence.  Manufactured, I’m sure,” he added dryly.  “Anyway, when they were transporting Savalas to the courthouse, some drunk rammed the squad car.  No one was seriously hurt, but the prisoner slipped away in the confusion.  It wasn’t ‘til much later, once everything was sorted out, that one of the officers realized his key was missing.  So, by now, Savalas has slipped his cuffs, and could be anywhere.  Even Canada.”

“But, you don’t think so,” Gary ventured to guess.  “You think . . . you think he’ll come here.  After me.  Why?  What could he gain?”

“Revenge,” Winslow told him.  “Brigatti wouldn’t ‘ve known where to dig if you hadn’t pointed her in the right direction.  And Savalas had everyone else fooled, too.”  He avoided looking at the man beside him.

But, Armstrong was not going to let himself off the hook so easily.  “Especially me,” he said bitterly.  “You were the one who brought him down, Hobson.  You’re the one he’s been telling his cellmate that he intends to ‘settle things’ with.”

“Lucky me,” Gary sighed.  “So.  What are we talking here?  Protective custody?  I’m not letting you put me in a cell.   And I’m betting safe-houses that are wheelchair accessible are a rarity.  Where does that leave us?”

“With an armed guard at your door 24/7 until he’s caught,” Armstrong told him in no uncertain terms.  “Or we have a confirmed sighting in either Canada or Mexico.  I’d prefer Hell, but I don’t have any reliable informants there.”

“You’ll be pretty much under house arrest,” Winslow apologized.  “You go nowhere, see no one outside of your family and closest friends until we can be sure you’re safe.  We’d prefer that you remain confined to your loft for the duration.”

“That’s not acceptable,” Gary replied with a shake of his head.  “There’s too much I have to do.  Some of it I can do from here, some I can’t.  And, it’s not stuff I can let slide for another day.  There has to be something else”

“I’m sorry, Gary,” Armstrong sighed.  And Gary believed he was.  He almost never used his first name.  “But, this is the best we can come up with.  As unpredictable as your activities are during the day, he knows that this is the one place you always come back to.  But, he also knows the location of every safe-house that would suit your needs.  As you pointed out, there aren’t that many.  And we don’t have enough manpower to keep following you all over the city.”

“Then don’t,” Gary told them bitterly.  “As someone told me not so long ago, I’m not worth it.”  He wrapped his arms around his aching head and lowered it to his desk.  “I’m sorry.  I know you guys are doing all you can.  It’s just . . . so much has happened this year.  And I don’t know where it’s gonna end.  Or how.”  He looked up to meet the big detective’s troubled gaze.  “My parents, Chuck and Jade.  They’re as much at risk as I am.  I may have to stay here, but they can’t.  There’s not enough room.”

“Brigatti already has them tucked away, safe and sound,” Winslow assured him.  He pretended not to notice the pained look that crossed Hobson’s face at the merest mention of the little Italian’s name.  “We couldn’t find Miss Clark, though.”

“She went to visit her mother this week,” he told them.  “Thank God, for small favors.  I’ll need to close the . . .oh, man!”

“What?” both detectives chorused.  Just when things were going so well!

“I’m hosting a costume party for a charity benefit tomorrow night,” he told them.  “It’s small, but about half the guests will be from out of state.  There’s no way I can cancel in time.  And it’s likely to go on ‘til way past midnight.”

“Do you have a guest list?” Winslow asked.

“That‘s right!  We can check ID’s at the door!”  His expression fell again.  “But, everyone will be in costume.  How can we be sure?”

“We’ll just have to make sure,” Armstrong told him. “Could you, maybe, persuade them to move it elsewhere?”

“Do you have any idea how many costume balls, benefits and just plain parties will be going on tomorrow night?” Gary asked with a shake of his head.  “They considered us as scraping the bottom of the barrel.  No, they won’t be able to move it.  If it’ll help, though, I’ll just make a token appearance and head to my loft early in the evening.  The staff can handle things and try to close up at a reasonable hour.”

“That sounds like our best bet,” Armstrong agreed.  “With any luck, the bastard’s halfway to Moose Jaw, by now.”

“Amen to that,” Gary sighed.

*********************

It was late when Gary finally was able to call it a night.  After the two detectives had delivered their disturbing news and left two officers to baby-sit him, Gary had been force to drag them along for a couple of ‘errands’.  They had looked at him strangely when he had insisted on speaking to some stranger on the street about nothing until a speeding car had passed.  It was also a little hard to convince them to call the fire department to a supposedly empty tenement, until they saw the smoke.  By which time, Gary had already alerted the people using the bottom floor, who, in turn were enlisted to clear the rest of the building.

They had then returned to McGinty’s, where Gary spent the rest of the evening finalizing the guest list for the next day’s event.  Another twenty people had been added.  Which meant more food and drinks.  Some had special diet requests, either for health or religious reasons.  And of course there were those who had to have a particular brand of either whiskey or beer that had to be special ordered ASAP.  He wondered if those cases of Glenlivet were still downstairs.  His client had hinted at a contribution for a little side auction.  A couple of those should bring a good price.  He had Graham check, and was relieved to learn that no one had disturbed them since his accident.  Gary had two carried up for the auction and two more set aside for gifts.  Mr. Kovaleski, he had learned, had a special appreciation for good malt whiskey.

By the time he was finally able to call it a day and ride the lift to his apartment, Gary was too tired to worry about flashbacks.  Exhausted, he took a quick shower and levered himself into bed.  There had been no time to even think about the implications of Armstrong and Winslow’s warning that afternoon.  Now, with nothing more to occupy his mind, it was all he could think of.  Would the rogue ex-cop really feel he was worth the risk?  Or had he already crossed the border into Canada?  Gary recalled the list of victims Scanlon had compiled, the gruesome ways some of them had died.  The man was just twisted enough to put revenge as a priority over escape.

Gary’s body finally succumbed to the need for rest.  His mind, however, had other plans.

Once more, Gary found himself huddled in the mouth of some dark alleyway, his breath making tiny clouds as he tried to still the pounding of his heart. It was so cold!  He was clad only in the thin shirt and slacks of the standard jailhouse uniform, and a stolen cap and jacket.  It was not enough.  If he didn’t find shelter soon, he would die.  But, where could he go?

Brigatti pulled her gun and told him to freeze!  Cold, hungry and desperately tired, Gary just looked at her with sad, dispirited eyes.  ‘Or what?’ he’d asked.  This time he was answered with the roar of a pistol shot!  Pain tore through his chest!  Looking down, he saw his heart’s blood spilling out in an ever widening stain as . . .

Gary awoke, struggling upright as the pain in his lungs settled into a dull ache.  Gasping for breath, he looked around frantically.  He wasn’t in Brigatti’s brownstone, or in that freezing alley.  He was at home, in his own bed.  Safe.  With a ragged sigh, he lay back, letting the warmth of his covers drain the chill from his body.  That one was a first.  He had dreamed that Brigatti had shot at him many times.  But, never that she had actually killed him!  Their last argument must have left a really bad taste in his subconscious!

Unable to go back to sleep, or completely stop the tremors from his tired muscles, Gary levered himself back into his chair and headed for the bathroom.  What he needed was a hot soak.  Something to ease the cold knot of fear in his stomach.  Not to mention the icy chill that had settled into his bones.

The moment the tub was full, and steam had created a pleasantly muggy fog in the bathroom, Gary slid into the warm, burbling water and settled back with a sigh of contentment.  Arms spread along the rim of the tub, he lay his head back and closed his eyes, letting the heat soak into every fiber of his body.

What was that?  Gary pulled himself up until he was sitting ramrod straight in the tub.  He was sure he had heard something.  Like the creak of a floorboard.  Listening intently, he waited for the sound to be repeated.  When it wasn’t, Gary decided it must have been his imagination and settled back nervously until his head rested on the rim of the tub.  God!  His nerves must be totally shot!  ‘First that dream, now this,’ he thought to himself.  Would he ever have a decent night’s rest again?

Gary’s eyes shot open.  There it was again!  He started to raise his head to look around once more, only to freeze as he caught a twisted reflection in the chrome of the grab-bar.  The bathroom door was slowly swinging open behind him.  Alarmed, Gary tried to pull himself upright, only to find a calloused hand clamped over his mouth, shoving him back and down, into the warm, bubbling water!   Desperately, he pushed at the arm, trying to break free!  Air!  He needed  . . .!

Gary sat straight up in bed, his lungs drawing air in a huge, wheezing gulp!  Dazed and shaken, it was a moment or two before he realized where he was.  Panting, as if he had just run a marathon, he sat there, propped on his arms, as he tried to still the racing of his heart.  Damn!  Even his nightmares were having nightmares!

******************

The next day found Gary a little out of sorts.  His sleep had been disturbed several more times by progressively worse nightmares.  The fact that he had to drag around two bodyguards to a near drowning, a hold-up, two car wrecks and a warehouse fire did nothing to improve his mood.  While they had proven useful, the strange looks they kept giving him got on his nerves.

By that evening he was so tense, it was all he could do to concentrate on the final preparations for the benefit.  So far, there had been nothing in the paper about Savalas.  But, that didn’t mean anything.  He had seen the paper change between one ‘errand’ and the next many, many times.

Finally, it was time.  His clients showed up in elegant, if garish, costumes to start the festivities.  Gary had finally conceded to wearing a costume, of sorts.  He had come dressed as Franklin D. Roosevelt.

Gary’s ‘token appearance’ lasted from eight o’clock, when the first guest arrived, until almost one in the morning.  The client had further expanded the guest list without consulting Gary, which left him having to placate the client, his guests, and the officers checking ID’s.  He also had to call in extra help.  By the time all the new guests had arrived, speeches had been made, and Gary could safely make his exit, it was well after midnight.  Too exhausted to care about flashbacks, he rode the lift upstairs and headed straight for the bathroom.

He briefly debated between shower or Jacuzzi.  The shower would be quicker, but the thought of letting the eddies of water massage the aches from his body was just too appealing.  It took only a few minutes to let the tub fill, and to strip out of his clothes.  Carefully laying a large bath wrap, a birthday gift from Chuck, over the seat of the wheelchair, he lifted one leg at a time over the rim and slid into the bubbling water.  With a sigh of contentment, Gary leaned his head against the tile, closed his eyes, and relaxed for the first time since Armstrong and Winslow had showed up in his office the day before.  Just this once, someone else was going to have to stop the bad guy.

Suddenly, Gary felt a cold chill run up his spine, even in the heated water.  Something was wrong.  He sat up a little straighter in the tub, looking around.  Nothing.  Was it his imagination playing tricks on him?  Some new kind of torment from an already overwrought subconscious?  Or was someone else in the loft with him?  He listened carefully for some strange noise to be repeated, but the only sounds he heard were from the Jacuzzi and the party downstairs.  Finally, deciding it must be his imagination after all, Gary settled back into the warm bubbles.

His eyes half-closed as he tried to let the water do its work, he almost missed it.  A twisted, funhouse reflection in the chrome of the grab-bar.  For just a moment, Gary thought he was re-living his ‘dream-within-a-dream’ from the night before.   Still, he could not tear his eyes away from the warped reflection of the bathroom door easing open.  Of the alien-like features of a familiar face.  He needed to move, to get away.  He knew that!  But, how . . .?

The calloused hand clamped over his mouth, just like in the dream!   Gary found himself being pushed beneath the roiling surface, fighting to hold on to the precious air that he had sucked into his lungs at the last possible second!  Pushing and beating against the hands that held him under did no good!  His assailant was too strong!  Red lights danced before his eyes, his lungs burning as he felt consciousness slipping from him.

A rough hand grabbed a handful of his thick, dark hair and hauled him upwards.  Gasping and choking, it was all Gary could do just to get air into his starving lungs.  The grip on his hair tightened and yanked upwards, hurling him face down onto the cold, hard tiles.

Dazed, naked, fighting for breath, Gary knew that he was totally at the mercy of his attacker.  All he could do was try to get some strength back and find out who he was dealing with, although, he had a sneaking suspicion this wasn’t just an overzealous trick-or-treat.  Somehow, Savalas had slipped past the guards downstairs.  His guess was confirmed when he felt some kind of covering land on top of him and a familiar voice growled, “Cover yourself, Hobson.  You’re a disgrace.”

Gary reached a shaky hand to pull the big towel around him.  Before he could grasp the covering, something hard struck him with breath-taking force just below his right ribs!  Another caught him in the pit of his stomach, threatening to expel the little bit he had managed to eat that night all over his bathroom floor.  Several more blows caught him in the chest, the thigh, his right arm, and a glancing impact with his head.  Defenseless, all he could do was wrap his arms around his head and pray.

“Get up, you son of a b---!” the ex-cop snarled.  “I want you to see it coming!”

Hesitantly, Gary reached out, unable to stop the trembling in his hand.  Feeling humiliated, helpless, and exposed, he still managed to drag himself to the door.  Releasing the doorstop, which had dropped when Savalas had burst in, he pulled his chair into position and locked it down.  That was as far as his battered body would allow him to go, at first.  He had to rest a moment before he was able to haul himself into the seat.  A process made even more difficult by the fact that his right arm was almost numb from the shoulder down.  At least it still obeyed his commands.  Finally he was settled into the seat.

Gingerly fastening the wrap around his waist, Gary draped the large bath towel over his useless legs.  Finally feeling some measure of decency restored, he looked up to meet his attacker’s astonished gaze.  Gary met that gaze as steadily as his bloody countenance could manage.  The right side of his face already felt swollen, painful.

Stunned, Savalas lowered the gun he had intended to use on his helpless victim.  He stepped forward, amused when Gary rolled back until he hit the wall.

“Well, well, well!” he gloated.  “I thought it was just a prop!  Part of your costume.  Very clever, Hobson!  What happened?”

“Does it matter?” Gary mumbled around his swollen jaw.  “You’re . . . you’re gonna kill me anyway.”

“That’s a given,” Savalas chuckled.  “I was going to have a little fun with you before I killed you.  But this changes everything!  Now, I can have lots of fun!  Oh, this is priceless!  The biggest thorn in my side, the man who ruined my whole operation, who beat the crap out of me    . . . is completely at my mercy!  This is so rich!”  He waved the gun in the general direction of the door.  “Let’s take this conversation to more comfortable settings.  Outside.”

Awkwardly, Gary maneuvered the chair out of the bathroom, stopping, at Savalas direction, near the foot of his bed.  He sat there, mind racing for a solution as his tormentor slipped up behind him.  Cold steel clamped tightly around his left wrist, so tight it bit deeply into the tender flesh.  Gary winced, hissing as his arm was yanked brutally back and fastened to the frame of the wheelchair.

“It may be hours before anyone thinks to check on you,” the ex-cop chuckled evilly.  “Lots of time for us to get reacquainted.  After all, we hardly knew each other before Scanlon died.”

“Before you murdered him, you mean” Gary grated out between clenched teeth.  “What is it you want, Savalas?  Revenge?  Kind of a hollow victory, isn’t it?  Taking out a cripple?  Seems a little . . . beneath you, somehow.  Or are you trying for new, unh!”  Gary’s head rocked back as Savalas delivered a brutal backhanded blow across his mouth.  “New lows,” he finished, wiping a tiny trickle of blood from his split lip.  He glared up at his captor defiantly.

The felon just shook his head with a low chuckle.  Bending down, he grabbed his prisoner by the chin in a brutal grip.  “I’m sorry we didn’t get to know each other better before I framed you,” he said.  “You’re a very funny guy!  Too bad.”  He straightened up, releasing his bruising grip on Gary’s face with a snap of his wrist.  Dismissing him as helpless, Savalas turned his back on his wheelchair-bound captive.  “I like what you’ve done with the place,” he commented, looking around.  “Shame you won’t be needing it anymore.”

Gary looked around frantically for something he could use as a weapon.  His hockey stick and baseball bat were leaning against the pillar by the door.  Nothing else seemed even remotely suitable . . . except . . . Something round and white stuck out from under the corner of the bed.  The top of his bowling pin?  How had that gotten there?   Carefully, ignoring the strain it put on his left arm and making as little noise as possible, he reached down and grasped his makeshift club by the neck.

“Fire that gun,” he said as he dangled the club out of sight, “and every real cop in the place’ll be up here before you can blink twice.”

The fugitive turned, giving him a questioning look.  “What did you say?”

“I said you’ll never get away with . . .”

“No, no, no,” Savalas cut in.  “You said ‘every real cop’.  Like I wasn’t a real cop?  I was on the force when you were still in knee pants!”

“That may be true,” Gary taunted him.  “But, that doesn’t mean you were a cop.  You were just another goon with a gun!  The only difference between you and the people you put away was that badge.  Now, you’re just another cheap hood.  A garden variety mech . . .”

Savalas jumped in and swung another vicious backhand at Gary’s face.  Which was just what his prisoner was hoping for.  The moment the ex-cop was in close enough, Gary swung the bowling pin with all his might, smashing it against Savalas head.  Eyes rolled up, the former detective fell over on top of Gary, tipping his chair over and sending them both to the floor.

Gary found himself pinned to the floor, his left arm trapped under the wheelchair, his legs under the ex-cop’s body.  Cautiously, he reached down, checking the pulse point under Savalas jaw.  Finding one, he sagged back with relief.  He’d been half afraid he had killed the son of a  . . .  Reaching down, he began going through Savalas pockets.  Armstrong had said he’d taken the keys from one of his guards.  Hopefully, he would still have one.

Gary quickly searched all the pockets he could reach.  No luck.  With considerable effort, he rolled the inert form off his legs, and tried again.  Where could he have hidden it?  Gary’s hand was growing numb from a lack of circulation.  He had to get that cuff off, or risk losing his hand!  There!  He quickly dug the tiny key out of Savalas front pants pocket, freezing momentarily when the ex-cop gave out a low groan.  Now!  He had to get free now!  In his haste, he fumbled several times getting the key into the lock.  Finally, he had it open!  Wincing, he cradled his throbbing hand close to his chest as every nerve in it screamed.  God!  It felt like he’d set fire to it!

Looking around, he tried to plan his next move.  He had to get help somehow, before Savalas woke up.  Gary looked at his swollen and painfully inflamed left hand.  The flesh around his wrist was torn and bleeding where the metal cuff had cut in deeper as a result of his fall.  Getting back in the chair would be painful and difficult, but necessary.

It took a couple of tries, but Gary finally managed to set his chair upright.  Getting into it was another matter.  His injured wrist refused to hold his weight.  Could it be broken?  It hurt so bad, it was hard to tell.

It was no use, Gary decided after several vain attempts.  He just could not get the balance and leverage he needed with only one hand.  Leaning against the chair seat, frustrated and exhausted, he lay his head on his good arm while he caught his breath.  Damn!  He could’ve crawled to the phone by now!  And, why hadn’t someone been up to check on him by this time?  They had practically been in his back pocket all day!  What did they do?  Join the party?

Belatedly, Gary realized he had not heard so much as a moan from his tormentor for quite awhile.  He raised his head to look back . . . just in time to catch the pistol barrel against his right temple!  Gary’s head hit the floor with a ‘thud’!  Dazed, ears ringing from the double impact, he was only distantly aware of a tugging on his left arm, and the sound of metal clinking.  Pain enveloped his arm as the cuff was once again clamped tightly around his wrist, the cruel metal digging into his already torn flesh.

“You should’ve hit harder, Hobson,” Savalas taunted him, waving the gun under his nose.  “And you should’ve taken this,” he added, jabbing Gary painfully in the chest with the barrel.  “Now, I’ll just have to teach you some manners.”  He straightened up, slamming the gun-handle down on Gary’s injured wrist as he did so.

Gary choked back a cry of agony as his already torn flesh was further abused. He tried to roll over and drag himself close enough to the chair to ease the strain, only to have a shod foot catch him in the stomach.  This time, he lost the rebellion.

Savalas stepped back, grimacing with distaste.  “Christ, Hobson,” he sneered.  “You’re a disgrace!  Now, I’ll have to clean you up before we can continue.”

“Why?” Gary rasped weakly.  “P-plenty more . . .where that came from.”

“The smell, Hobson,” the ex-cop replied, wrinkling his nose.  “It’s disgusting.  What have you been eating?”

Savalas went to the bathroom and soon returned with a plastic wastebasket full of water, which he tossed all over his prisoner.  He then grabbed the large bath towel Gary had been using and dried most of it off the floor, leaving the younger man soaked and shivering on the bare wood.

“Much better,” he observed with a nod.  “Never could stand the smell of vomit.  Now, what to do with you?”  He reached out and gave the cuffs a shake, eliciting a pained grunt from his victim.  “I suppose I could start breaking bones,” he mused.  “But that’s too much work.  I found this lovely set of knives in the kitchen.”  He waved one under Gary’s right eye, drawing the point gently down his cheek.  “Umph!  Too much blood.  Oh, wait.  What if I heat them up, first?”  He grabbed Gary’s battered jaw and forced his head around to meet his fervid gaze.  “How does that sound, kid?  Red-hot knives that cauterize as they cut?  Lots of pain, loads of it!  But, so little blood loss!  I could keep you going for hours!”

Gary returned Savalas amused gaze with a defiant glare of his own.  “You can go to Hell, you crazy son of a  . . .”

Savalas slammed him across the mouth with the back of his hand. In his fury, he dropped the knife, as he grabbed a handful of Gary’s hair and yanked his head back painfully.  “You better keep a civil tongue in your mouth when you speak to me!” he snarled.  “I can make the next few hours of your life a living hell!”

To Savalas astonishment, Gary lay his head back and laughed!  A small chuckle, at first, which quickly built to a full guffaw.  Helplessly, he wiped at the tears that streamed down his face, all the while shifting so that the knife ended up within easy reach.

“God, that’s . . . Where do you get you’re material, Savalas?  Old B-movies?” he chuckled.  “That line is so . . . so . . .”

“Stale?  Hmm, what the hell,” Savalas shrugged.  “All the good lines were taken a long time ago.”  He put the gun under Gary’s chin, a little unnerved by the wry smile on his victim’s face.  “I guess I’ll just have to shoot you.”

Gary’s smile vanished as he snapped, “Shoot this!”  His right hand slashed downwards with the knife Savalas had dropped, stabbing it deeply into his gun-hand.  With a cry of pain louder than any he had forced out of Gary, Savalas dropped the pistol.  Gary lunged for the fallen weapon, trying to knock it under the bed. Savalas beat him to it by a hair’s breadth. Two hands clamped around the gun, one in anger, the other in desperation.  Gary tried to keep Savalas from lifting the weapon, his superior upper body strength seeming to give him a clear advantage.  But, he had been weakened by the beating he had received and a blow from Savalas injured hand was enough to rock him onto his back.  Grimly, he hung onto the gun as the former detective slammed blow after blow to his ribs.  In a desperate move, Gary yanked with his cuffed wrist, toppling the wheelchair onto his opponent.  The armrest caught Savalas just behind the ear, causing him to crumple on top of Gary.  Still he hung onto his grip.

White-hot pain seared Gary’s right shoulder in time with a muffled report!  He’d been shot!  Grimly, he tightened his grip, hanging on with determined, but fading strength.  He would not let go!

Sensing victory, Savalas smiled.  “You’ll have to . . . pay double . . . for this,” he grated out between clinched teeth.  “That pretty . . .partner of yours?  I’ll have to, unh! pay her a visit.  Have some . . .real fun!”  He slammed a knee into Gary’s stomach, eliciting a grunt from his opponent.

“Y-you’ve gotta, ah! get outta . . . here . . . first!” Gary replied, his jaw clenched with determination.  It had to end here!

A brutal blow with Savalas’ injured fist left a smear of blood on Gary’s left cheek.  Head rocking back with the impact from the blow, Gary almost lost his grip on the weapon.

“Oh, not to . . .worry!” the killer relied.  “I’ll save her . . .for last!  Right after . . .my old . . .partner . . .unh! and the lovely Ms . . . Brigatti!”  He wedged his right arm under Gary’s chin and started bearing down on his windpipe. “But, first, we start with Mommy and Daddy!” he hissed.

Gary’s vision began to blur as his air supply was cut off.  Grimly he tightened his hold on the gun, felt his hand slip . . . felt Savalas jerk as the gun lurched once more.  Face to face, he could not miss seeing the fugitive’s eyes as, first they widened in shock, then glazed over, could feel Savalas’ muscles go slack.  Horrified, he saw a trickle of blood crawl from the corner of his opponent’s mouth.  Felt wetness spread across his bare skin from the wound in Savalas chest.

“Th-that . . . wasn’t . . .”  Whatever else Savalas was going to say was lost as he slumped over onto his intended victim.  Sightless eyes stared unblinkingly into Gary’s face as his own widened in shock.

“No!” he whispered.  “No!  Don’t do this!” he cried, his voice rising.  “Don’t you die on me, you son of a . . . !  Help!  We need help in here!”  He tried pushing his assailant’s inert form away, but found he was unable to use his right arm.  And his left was still cuffed to the fallen chair!  Trapped, he looked toward the phone sitting on its table on the other side of his bed.  Less than twenty feet away, and as unreachable as the far side of Pluto.  Panting with exertion, he tried again to dislodge Savalas motionless body, yanking viciously on the cuff in his frustration.  The only reward for his efforts was a strangled moan from the unconscious man.  “Don’t you die on me,” he pleaded.  “Please, God!  Don’t let ‘im die.  I didn’t mean . . . Please!”

He could hear Savalas labored breathing, feel the rhythm of his heart beating in counterpoint to his own.  Felt it speed up as it had less and less blood to force through collapsing arteries.  Felt it stutter . . . and, ultimately, stop.  A long, rattling sigh escaped Savalas lips as his last breath fled his body, along with his malevolent life force.

“No-oo-oo!” Gary moaned, a long drawn out sound low in his throat. “Please!  God, no!” he pleaded.  To no avail.  “Help me,” he whispered.  “Please.  God.  Somebody.  Help me?”

****************

“You can’t keep us here against our will!” Lois Hobson insisted.  She was standing toe-to-toe, and nose-to-nose with Antonia Brigatti.  “My son is in trouble and I am going to him!  Now, I can either go past you or through you.  Take your pick.”

Toni Brigatti stood in front of the door, hands firmly planted on her hips.  She was beginning to see where Hobson got his fire.  His mother had awakened from a sound sleep more than an hour ago, demanding to return home. In no time, her husband and the Fishmans were joining in.

“Your son is fine, Mrs. Hobson,” Toni said, trying to control the situation.  “He’s got four armed guards looking after him.  I’m sure they’ve got your baby safely tucked in bed by now.”

Further infuriated by the tiny cop’s snide tone, Lois grabbed the front of her blouse with both hands, pulling her even closer.

“If my ‘baby’ dies because of your interference,” she hissed, “you will never know a moment’s peace for the rest of your life!  I will make it my sacred mission in life to make you wish it was a ‘living hell’!  Now, move!”

Bernie Hobson stepped to his wife’s side.  “She was right before,” he reminded the detective in a deceptively mild tone.  “Now, please move.”

“If you let Gary die because of some stupid argument,” Chuck chimed in, “you’ll deserve to be miserable the rest of your life!”

“You don’t understand,” Brigatti sighed.  “Savalas is still out there, and he’s dangerous.  He’ll go after any or all of you to get to Gary!”  She pried Lois’s hands from her blouse.  “I’ll give him a call, let you talk with him, okay?”  Stepping back, she pulled out her cellphone.  Dialing quickly, she waited impatiently for a response.  The whole damned family was crazy, she decided.  It was almost three in the morning, for Christ’s sake!  He was probably sleeping too soundly to hear the phone.  After nearly a dozen rings, however, even Brigatti had to admit something had to be wrong.  “M-maybe the party ran over,” she mumbled hopefully.  She hit the disconnect and dialed again.  “Davis?  Brigatti.  Let me talk to Hobson.  When?  Well, go check on him and call me back.  I know what time it is, but his folks are threatening to make a break for it.  Now, go get ‘im!”

She disconnected again, explaining that Gary had gone up to bed a little before one.  “He’s probably snoring too loud to hear the phone,” she added, almost convincing herself.  Toni wasn’t about to admit that she was feeling just as anxious as they were.  Why was it taking so long to call back?

The chirruping of the cell phone startled everyone.  Brigatti snapped it open before the second ring.  “Brigatti here. Talk to me,” she snapped.  She listened intently for a few seconds, her face growing pale. “How bad?” she asked.  Another long silence.  She closed her eyes, waving a hand for silence as everyone began to ask what was wrong.  “Where . . .?  Right, we’ll be there in twenty.  And somebody better have an explanation.”  She closed the little flip phone with such a snap! it echoed around the room.  “First of all,” Brigatti said as she turned to face the anxious group, “Gary is alive.  Savalas slipped past security somehow, and worked him over pretty good.  Good news, Savalas is dead.  Bad news, it looks like Gary’s the one that killed him.  Also, he was apparently trapped under the . . . the body for a couple of hours.  He is alive!” she repeated. “He’s hurt, but nothing life threatening according to the EMTs.  He’s on his way to Cook County as we speak.  If you’ll all come with me, I’ll give you a lift to the hospital.  Then I’m gonna find out how this happened,” she added under her breath.
 
*****************

Go on to Installment 4                        Return to Installment 2
Installment 5
Installment 6
Installment 7
Installment 8
Installment 9

Email the authors: Polgana54@cs.com
 

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