stumbled out to the driveway and laid Archie down in the grass.
I checked him over. No burns. I held my fingers to his thick neck, felt a steady pulse. His face looked pretty busted up, though, and he was still out cold. I cursed myself for what I’d put him through.
The back of my right leg stung, my hand was blistering, my shoulder-blade was raw and wounded, and my throat and lungs felt like I’d swallowed flaming swords.
At the Jag, I used my cell phone to dial 911. I gave the operator Archie’s address and said one more word: “Fire.” Then I grabbed the satchel from the trunk, removed ten thousand dollars, and stuffed it in my wallet.
Fifty yards into the woods, I buried the bag behind a tree under some soft dirt, leaves, and pine needles. Then I forced my way back to where Archie lay, still unconscious, as his house was rapidly consumed.
I reached for the large bandage at my throat. The movement surprised her; she took an involuntary step backward.
“Oh,” she said, “you’re awake. I’ll get them.” She hooked the clipboard at the end of the bed. I saw that my right leg was elevated at the knee by pillows.
Daylight streamed in around flowery curtains I could see through a veil of pale nylon that separated me from the patient in the next bed. From his size, it looked like Archie. His face was heavily bandaged, and an IV dripped something into his left hand. Next to him a machine monitored his heart rate with a steady blip, blip, blip.
“Arch,” I called. My throat felt as though someone had reamed it out with a wire brush.
“Mmm,” he muttered.
“Are you all right?”
“Mmm.”
“Thank you.”
“Mmm.”
“Arch, I’ve got to know something. That was you up there in the woods, wasn’t it?”
“Mmm.”
“I knew it.”
Just then two men entered my room, one of them obviously a doctor,-wearing a white coat and stethoscope, the other a gray-haired policeman with a big gut and aviator glasses. A young officer in a tan uniform appeared behind them and remained by the door.
The doctor picked up the clipboard, studied it for a moment. From his unshaven chin I guessed that he had worked the late shift.
“Mr. Barnett,” he said, “I’d say you had one heck of a night.”
“What are they doing here?” I asked.
“I’m sure the sheriff will explain that to you in a moment.”
“What’s my condition?”
“Well, you’ve inhaled some smoke, so your lungs may be sore for a while. You have first- and second-degree burns on your hand and on the back of your right leg, and a slight laceration on the underside of your right forearm. I restitched two recent wounds by your left scapula. You have what appear to be rope burns on each wrist and something extraordinarily puzzling on your throat. Either you’re a precision masochist or someone burned the letter N into your skin with some sort of highly accurate tool.”
Not someone, I thought bitterly. Some
“How did you handle it?” I asked.
“I cleaned it and stitched it. I’m afraid it will leave a substantial scar, although plastic surgery may diminish that.”
I indicated Archie. “What about him?”
“I wasn’t his attending physician, but I’ve conferred with his doctor.-He suffered multiple facial contusions, broken nose, several fractured ribs, concussion. He may have bruised internal organs, although there’s no evidence of that.”
“He’s going to pull through, then?”
“I would say so, yes, in time. But he’s not my patient, you are. How are you feeling?”
“He’s my friend,” I said. “I want the best for him no matter what it costs.” I leaned forward painfully, looking the doctor in the eye. “Doyou understand what I’m saying? Best care, full-tilt, soup to nuts, all the cliches. That man gets supreme attention and care.” I checked the doctor’s name tag. “I want your assurance, Dr. Kluver, okay?”
“Yes, I understand. I promise you I’ll pass that along. You have my word. Now . . . please tell me how you are feeling, other than resolute.”
I didn’t answer. I was thinking about how to get away from the police.
The doctor prodded,“May I ask you, Mr. Barnett, are you a member-of some kind of cult?”
“That’ll be it, Doc,” the gray-haired cop said sternly, moving a step forward. “We’ll take it from here.”
“Yes, certainly, Sheriff.” The physician retreated past the young cop who guarded the door like a boot-camp
