Book and Blade: Book One of the Hand of Perdition (3 page)

His eyes opened to a burst of light and dull white ceiling tile. He lay in a hospital bed, various wires connected him to a machine by the side of the bed. The machine made an occasional pinging noise. Thin tubes of oxygen wrapped around his head and uncomfortably into his nose. He looked at the IV line against the back of his hand, trying to piece together what had happened.

Then he remembered the man on the train, the gunshot. He tried to lift his left hand, but a stab of pain in his upper arm and the sling around it stopped him. With his IV hand, he carefully felt around his head and discovered gauze bandages just above his left ear. He remembered getting hit in the arm, he must have gotten shot in the head also. Since he was still alive, it must have just grazed him.

The room was empty. No family or friends. He found the remote control on the bed and pressed the nurse call button. Seconds later a nurse walked in. Behind her, in the doorway, Christopher thought he saw a man in a police uniform.

"Sleeping beauty awakes," she said and immediately began checking all the machines attached to him, "How are you feeling?"

"I'm not sure," Christopher mumbled, his lips unused to moving.

"It's okay to feel confused, that’s perfectly normal. The doctor will be in here any second."

"Why is there a cop outside the door?"

He saw her hesitate for a fraction of a second. "I'll let the doctor or police explain that to you. As far as I know you are just a special patient."

Even in his confused state, he could sense that she wasn't telling him everything.

"How long have I been unconscious?"

"Three days."

She put a cuff around his ankle to take his blood pressure. The door opened and an older man, the doctor, came in. Just behind him a man in a slightly rumpled suit came in. He screamed cop.

"Hello, Christopher. I am Dr. Wilson. How are you feeling?" The doctor asked.

"Fine, I think. What happened? How did I end up here?"

"What's the last thing you remember?" the man Christopher thought was a cop asked.

"Excuse me detective," the doctor interrupted, "but I need to ask you to wait until I have finished my exam before you start with the questions."

"Of course Doctor," the detective said and stepped back.

The doctor did his exam, flashing a light in Christopher's eyes and asking him a series of questions obviously designed to gauge his state of mind. He checked the dressing and seem satisfied with everything. He told the nurse to take Christopher off the oxygen and prescribed more medication. Christopher hoped it was pain medication, now that he was awake his shoulder was starting to ache.

"Well Christopher, you are a lucky guy. Both gunshots wounds were fairly superficial and should heal nicely. The head shot was the only thing that was really worrying us, but now that you’re awake, I think recovery should be fairly quick."

He turned to the detective.

"We'll need to keep him for at least a week, probably two to keep an eye on the wounds in his shoulder and head." To Christopher he said, "Everything looks great and the nurse here will make sure you get some painkillers. The detective here would like to ask you a few questions, but it’s totally up to you." He gave the detective a meaningful glance. "The moment you’re too tired let him know and he'll leave."

"I hear you doctor. I’m here to help the kid, not hurt him," the detective said.

The doctor gave him one more meaningful look and then nodded to the nurse. They left with one last smile at Christopher.

"Christopher, I'm Detective Hamlin with the NYPD. I need to ask you a few questions about what happened on the train."

"I have some questions too, like what happened? Why did someone try to kill me? Why is there a cop outside my door?"

"And I will try to answer some of your questions, but first I have some for you. Before the incident on the train, did you have any unusual confrontations with any strangers? Did you think you were being watched or maybe even followed?"

Now the conversation with the thing in the basement jumped forward from the back of his mind. But Christopher didn't think the detective was referring to that. Something told him this wasn't the time to bring it up.

"No, nothing that I noticed."

"Did your father speak to you about anything? Anything unusual? Did he call or try to get a message to you?"

"No, I haven't talked to him for a while. The other day I sent an email with the train number I was taking so he could pick me up. Where is he by the way? Or my mom? I would think that at least one of them would have come around while I was here." He and his father had their problems, but he would like to think that somebody from the family would have stayed with him. It didn't make sense. Unless they were being kept out in the lobby while the detective was here.

"What was the last thing you remember?" Hamlin asked.

"I was on the train. I heard somebody scream and I looked up. This guy was standing there with a gun and he was pointing it at me. I tried to run, but he shot me in the arm and then the head. Then everything went dark. I have no idea who the dude was or why he was shooting at me. Must have been a nut."

"He wasn't a nut, at least not in the way you mean. He was looking for you. His name is Karl Abeln. He is a suspected hitman in the employ of Ambros Falk. He’s a bigwig in organized crime here in the city."

This shocked Christopher, "Why was he after me? I'm just a college kid..." He trailed off. His father.

"It's because of my dad, isn't it? It has to be. They went after me to get to him."

The detective sighed and looked down.

"Yeah, it was because of your father, but not because they were trying to get to him. They already had."

It took a second for it to sink in, but the look in the detective’s eyes made the meaning clear. It suddenly made horrible sense. Why his dad wasn't here by his side.

"He's…my…he's dead? My father is dead?"

The detective nodded. "Your father, Mathew Sawyer, was murdered the same day you were attacked. They were trying to kill you to set an example."

Christopher could barely hear him. The world he had just woken up to moments ago was closing in on him. It was surreal. The idea that his father was dead couldn't really register. It had no meaning for him, the concept was too foreign for his mind to wrap itself around. It took a moment for him to realize Hamlin was still talking.

"...wanted the authorities to know that you don't go after him. If he can get to a DA's family, imagine how easy it would be for him to kill a beat cop or detective’s family. He’s trying to make some of us cops think twice."

"His family? Does that mean my mother also? My sister?" Christopher asked.

Hamlin nodded his head slowly.

"Yes Christopher, they came to your family’s home and got everybody. I am sorry, but your mother and sister are also dead."

There was a rushing sound in his ears that throbbed to his heartbeat. He leaned back and stared up at the ceiling. None of this seemed real. How could it? Everything gone—no, taken. It was hard for him to think, to anchor his thoughts. It seemed like the world was spinning out of control.

"Christopher, I have something else to tell you. I don't want to, but you will hear about it in the news anyway, and I guess it is best to come now. There was evidence that both your mother and sister were sexually assaulted before they were murdered."

It was too much for him. He couldn't listen anymore, his mind snapped. It was as though he couldn't quite grasp what Hamlin was saying. Darkness surged up around him and he felt himself sliding back into unconsciousness. Faintly he heard Hamlin calling out over the suddenly frantic beeping of the machines around him.

"Oh shit. Doc! Doc! We're losing him again. We need..."

The rest was lost to the darkness.

CHAPTER SIX

Just one week later the doctor proclaimed Christopher sufficiently recovered to be released the next day. For Christopher those days had passed slowly as he sunk into a dark malaise. His father’s attorney had come to visit him several days after he had awakened. He told Christopher that he was the only surviving heir and the entire estate would go to him. Probate would be straight forward and simple, but it would still take a couple of months. Until then he could stay in the family home. After, he could sell or keep it as he desired.

His father hadn't always been a DA. For a while he had been a high-priced defense attorney, and even after finding his calling to go after the criminals rather than protect them, he had invested wisely. So the estate was not trivial. In fact, Christopher never had to work again if he chose, nor did he have to continue school for that matter. But he thought of none of that now. He nodded his understanding to the attorney more to get him to leave than to indicate he was paying any attention.

He had been in shock for most of the past week, numb to most things. Still ignoring calls from Courtney. He couldn't talk to her. Mostly because he couldn't bear it if the only reason was to tell him how sorry she was for what happened to his parents. He knew she wouldn't be calling to ask him to come back.

Detective Hamlin had stopped by to let him know that they would station someone outside his home for protection. Nobody knew for sure how long he might be in danger, but eventually they would capture this Ambros Falk. Either that, or he might decide that getting to Christopher was more trouble than it was worth and let it go.

"Yeah he already killed everyone else in the family. I think that sent a message pretty clearly. Is one last kid worth troubling over?" Christopher said to Hamlin the night before he was to be released.

Hamlin looked down, not knowing how to respond. "Well it has made getting the evidence harder. We had some leads, but they dried up quick. It appears to us that he is consolidating his power all of a sudden, taking over more things outside his territory. But we have no proof of anything. Everyone is just holding back info."

"So what you're telling me is that everybody is running scared of him? Even you cops?" Christopher tried to keep the anger out of his voice, but he couldn't. He had changed, he realized. A part of him had changed over this last week. Every time he thought about how he wouldn't hug his mother again or get the occasional smile out of his father or laugh out loud with his sister when they stayed up late at night to watch a stupid movie another piece of him seemed to die a little. Bitter emptiness was all that was left.

Hamlin stiffened but nodded. "Yes Ambros has a lot of power right now, but you might want to change the attitude. We're the best chance you’ve got of getting justice for your family."

Justice? Did he want justice? This need growing deep down inside of Christopher might be called justice, but he suspected it had another name.

"I'll be going now. But Officer Cooper is stationed right outside your door, and we have several other officers throughout the floor. Actually, I think Cooper's a little disappointed you're out tomorrow. He's new and these hospital assignments are pretty cake."

Hamlin left, and Christopher stood up and looked out the window. He had a private room, one of the benefits of having a psychopath trying to kill you. He stood by the window a long time watching the lights of the traffic through the dark and the streaks of rain on the glass.

Over time he became aware of a sound. It was very subtle, almost as though it was subconscious. But once he became aware of it, he realized he had been hearing it for a while. It was a droning that became a buzzing. At first Christopher thought it might be a hospital machine, but most of those had been removed from his room and if it was coming from next door, it had to be one damn big machine. No, it wasn't a machine. He tried to ignore it, but now that he’d heard, it seemed to be more instant, pulling at his attention. After a moment he noticed something strange about the noise. It didn't seem to be a noise at all, it started to sound more like a voice. Like something trying to talk to him.

As he focused on it, words began to take form. Quietly at first, but then at a level he could almost start to make them out. It was like people talking in another room. You knew they were talking and could hear voices, but it was just muffled enough that you couldn't make out the words. Christopher strained to hear the voices. It was like trying to hear the last whisper of a dying man. Something told Christopher that this was important, that his life depended on understanding the words.

He heard a noise by the door. He spun, his nerves suddenly frayed, to see the officer standing in the doorway.

"Everything okay?" Officer Cooper asked.

Don't trust him!

The voice suddenly screamed in Christopher’s head. Christopher stumbled forward, startled at the loud voice. Cooper moved forward to catch him. Christopher threw up his hands.

"No! No, I’m just fine. Just got dizzy for a second."

"You should lie down and rest," Officer Cooper said.

"Yeah, you're probably right," Christopher said, but made no move to the bed.

"Don't worry, I'll be just outside the door," Cooper said and left the room.

Christopher could feel tension in the air, adrenaline was roaring through him. He wanted to run. His legs vibrated, but he had nowhere to go. Part of him thought he should question the voice. He still heard it, or rather, felt it at the back of his head. It was faint, like mumbling.

Why should he not trust a cop? Was this Cooper in on it? Was he working with this Ambros? Hamlin had said he was new. Perhaps he’s just waiting until late tonight when the place clears out. Christopher could feel it, not just the voice in his head. He could feel the wrongness of this cop outside his door. It was like this voice had just pointed out something obvious that for some reason Christopher had been unable to see. But now what was he going to do about it?

He looked out the window. The roof of the adjacent building was about one story below him.
Really
? Was he actually thinking about jumping out of a window? His eyes caught the phone on the table by the bed. He could call the police, but then who could he trust? If there was something going on with the guy outside his door—and he could not shake that cold certainty that there was—then he couldn't trust any cop. Maybe Hamlin? There was no bad vibe from him, but he wasn't here and Christopher wasn't sure how to get ahold of him without calling the police. Besides the only evidence he had was the voice in his head, and he did not think that would go over very well with the police.