Chapter 30

One thing you don’t learn by watching TV is how things smell. All you can do is take someone’s word for their descriptions. The first thing I noticed was the antiseptic, almost bleach-like, smell of the hospital. There was also a slight floral scent too. It was overpowered by the cleaning chemicals, but definitely present. The slight burn in my nostrils brought a subtle smile to my face. I was alive. I cracked open my eyes and looked at the ceiling.

A pretty face appeared over me. She smiled at me and said, “Welcome back, Mr. Sutton.” She glanced at someone else in the room. “I’ll go let the doctor know you’re awake.” She must have been wearing light perfume.

I nodded and only then realized just how banged up I felt, but I welcomed the pain. It reinforced the very idea that I had survived. Then I took account of my injuries.

Oddly, the only pain was in my shoulder, yet a sling held my left arm. Both of my hands and feet were wrapped up, but I couldn’t feel anything through my fingers or toes. None of them hurt, so why the bandages? Finally, a bandage adorned my head. I didn’t remember hitting my head, or any pain there while Garret was attempting to kill me, but that’s not to say I wouldn’t have banged my head on the ground, hoping to knock myself out to escape the pain. I was about to close my eyes and focus on my injuries when the door opened and several people came in.

The same nurse led the procession. She stopped to hold open the door for two doctors. Lieutenant Stanfield followed them. Only after watching them troop in did I realize there was another occupant of my room: Mr. Foster sat quietly in a chair in the corner.

The nurse elevated my bed, so I could sit up and face everyone. Then, the first doctor asked if I was in any pain. Other than the minor ache in my shoulder, I felt fine. Of course, there was also the odd numbness in my hands and feet. He shared a glance with the other doctor, and then asked what had caused the injuries to my extremities. No one had ever seen anything like it before and he was curious. I simply shook my head and told him that I didn’t know, because I really didn’t.

The other doctor held my chart and wanted to talk about my recovery. My shoulder was doing very well, so long as I kept my arm in the sling for a couple of weeks. The bandage on my head was needed when I arrived, but I had shown signs of healing that scaled on the miraculous. To me, it sounded like he was asking how I did it. I glanced at the Lieutenant and chuckled. The doctor asked what he was missing. I told him that there were things about me he might not ever understand or believe. As an intelligent man with a doctorate in medicine and years of practice, he felt I had just challenged him. I smiled, used my telekinesis to slip his pen out of his pocket, and made it float in front of him. He snatched it out of the air, looking flustered and a bit afraid, and left the room. The other doctor, looking more impressed than anything, followed him out.

The Lieutenant stepped up to my bed with a somber expression. Even his aura looked like he had bad news. “We need to stop meeting like this,” he said.

I shrugged and said, “It wasn’t my fault this time.”

He nodded. “I’ve read some of the prelim reports. You put up a fight.”

“Bastard was trying to kill me,” I said. “He almost succeeded.”

“The FBI have questions,” he said.

I looked away. Next to the window was a small bouquet of a purple flower in a slim vase. A small card was attached, but I couldn’t read it. I could get to it later. I took in the details of the flowers because I couldn’t look him in the eyes knowing all those agents AND his new partner died trying to protect me. “I’m not surprised.”

He stood there for a moment and then half-turned toward the door. “I’ll let you get some rest. My questions can wait.”

I sighed, shook my head, and looked at him with a slight smile. “My lawyer would prefer that,” I said and continued, dropping my smile, “but you need to know. You need it on record, and I don’t know how long I’ve been here. Ask your questions. Talk to me.”

He half-smiled at my tenacity, and said, “Well, so you know, you’ve been here for almost two days.” He let that sink in and then all humor drained from his face. “Did you kill him?”

“No,” I said without hesitation, even with the sudden change of subject. “Whatever he did to me,” I said, waving my one free arm, “caused more pain than I have ever felt, and that includes some killer headaches. I couldn’t focus on using my own abilities to fight back. And while killing him might have been the only way to stop him, I wasn’t up to the challenge.” And that statement caused a flood of emotions. I had been scared that night, but realizing that he was really-and-truly trying to kill me, to steal my powers, caused an intense fear from which I might never recover. More than anything was the idea that I wasn’t able to stop him, even with my arsenal of powers.

Stanfield moved up beside the bed. I wanted to cry, to simply bawl like a baby, but I couldn’t do it in front of him. I had to school my emotions, to grow up. I wasn’t a child anymore. People like Garret Hendrickson and Jacqulyn LaSalle were still out there. The Green Dragon for one, not to mention his people. I didn’t know if the others had secured my safety in that regard, but it helped me to calm down: the idea of learning to really fight others, using my powers. I wouldn’t be that defenseless ever again.

“Did you see who did it?” Stanfield asked.

I shook my head again. “No. Whatever he was doing, blinded me to my surroundings.” Then I thought about it again. “I did hear something. I remember the pain, I heard a sudden, short gust of wind and a very subtle whistle, and then the pain stopped.”

“A subtle whistle?” he asked.

I shrugged. “I might have been a passing car. I don’t know.” I shook my head. “All I know is all the pain he caused suddenly stopped, and then something landed on my chest. I grabbed it, but I was too out of it to know what I held or why he didn’t finish killing me.”

Stanfield nodded. “He didn’t finish, because you were clutching his head.”

I let that sink in and then - in a fit of stupidity - asked, “Was his body still there?”

He nodded. “It was lying next to you when officers arrived. In fact, it took them a while just to get near you. You had some sort of block or wall up, keeping everyone away.”

I frowned. “I remember hearing the sirens. I would have welcomed the police.”

“Maybe not all of them,” he said. “I’ve heard some of the things other officers have said about you. I put a stop to it when I do. But there are others I have no authority over, such as Detective Jennings.”

I glared at him.

“I suspected something,” he said. “Especially when your lawyer showed up at the motel and ripped me a new one for arresting you.” Then he looked around as if checking to make sure no one was listening. He had to know Mr. Foster was sitting in the corner, quietly listening to us. He leaned over and said, “Jennings is being investigated for recent actions.”

I arched an eyebrow. “Recent actions?”

“Seems there was an issue with your release from holding,” he said. “There was no record of you ever being there.”