A large leather strap wrapped his chest, not enough to constrict his breath but enough to constrict his escape. Smaller, equally constraining bands wrapped his wrists.
The mental ward of the Tombs occupied the entire fifth floor of the west wing, isolated and unknown to most. Used for the insane, the mentally disturbed, sometimes the perfect place to tuck a VIP, isolating him from scrutiny while matters were sorted out, it was also the facility for evaluations by court-appointed psychiatrists. It was a place far worse than any cell, as not only were you locked up and tethered to your bed, but your release depended on both the judicial system and the far more subjective medical community, where the inexact science of psychiatry could condemn you for life.
As Jack lay there, he fought off panic. He had gotten so close to finding Mia, yet now, having been captured, he couldn’t be farther away. There were no clocks; his watch was gone, leaving him with no concept of time.
The thought drew his eyes to his left forearm, where he was surprised to see it encased in a thick white bandage, entirely obscuring his tattoo.
“Mr. Keeler.” A blond nurse, big-boned and smiling, greeted Jack. She sat quietly in the corner, where she was practically invisible. She rose from her chair and walked over, her warm smile never leaving her face. “I’m so glad to see you awake. I’m Susan Meeks.”
Jack nodded as she leaned over to shine a light in his eyes, checking his pupils. “How long have I been out?”
“Not long, an hour maybe. It’s just past eleven o’clock.” Meeks took Jack’s pulse, fluffed his pillow, and tucked his blankets in without any regard to his restraints. “We took the liberty of bandaging the injury to your left arm-”
“Injury?” Jack asked with confusion as he looked at the heavy bandage on his arm.
“-and redressed your shoulder wound.”
Before Jack had a chance to respond, the door opened and man in a dark suit entered. He stood ramrod- straight, what little hair he had on his head military bristle length. He avoided eye contact with Jack as he read through a single manila folder in his hand. Dark circles rimmed his eyes, although there was no exhaustion apparent in his body language. He glanced at Nurse Meeks, who immediately left. He closed the door behind her, silently walked to the bed, and finally snapped shut the folder.
“Mr. Keeler?” The man’s voice was deep and without sympathy. “What did you take from the evidence room?”
Jack was amazed at the question, at the right-to-the-point approach. “I’m sorry, I didn’t get your name.”
“Gene Tierney, deputy director, New York field office of the FBI,” Tierney answered in a staccato cadence.
“I have permitted access and confidential files down there pursuant to ongoing investigations, which are privileged.”
“I don’t believe the eight dead people down there care about your privileged information.”
“They were shot by others.”
“Who?”
Jack glared at the man, at his brisk and brusque interrogation style. Jack did not like being on the other end of an interrogation, particularly when he believed in what he did.
“What was in the box that you stole?” Tierney pressed.
“Stole? I didn’t steal anything.”
“Witnesses would care to differ.”
“I’m trying to save my wife.”
Tierney’s rapid-fire questions abruptly stopped as he pondered Jack’s statement. It was a moment before he slowly asked, “What do you mean, save her?”
“A man by the name of Nowaji Cristos kidnapped her. He is going to kill her.”
Tierney stared at Jack, his face a mass of confusion at Jack’s statement.
To Jack’s surprise, the door opened, and standing there was his doctor, Ryan McCourt, a thick medical file under his arm. With him was an elderly female in a white gown with a stethoscope.
Ryan glared at the agent. “Excuse me, no one is authorized to speak with this man until he’s been examined.”
Tierney stared back, but the battle of wills never manifested. The agent walked out the open door, letting it close behind him.
“Jack,” Ryan said softly as he turned, having trouble meeting his friend’s eyes, suddenly lost for words.
“Hi, Jack,” the woman said as she brushed a few gray strands of hair from her care-worn face. “My name is Dr. Emily Sebert.”
She took a seat on the bed, then paused, allowing Jack to get comfortable with her presence before laying a gentle hand on his feet. “How are you feeling?”
“Fine.” Jack slowly nodded, although his emotions were anything but.
“I thought you were dead,” Ryan said. “I saw what was left of your car.”
Jack nodded.
“A lot of crazy accusations are being thrown around.”
“Honestly,” Jack said, “I couldn’t give a shit.”
Ryan nodded, understanding Jack’s attitude. He waited a moment, allowing a comfort to grow. “Look, you’re under my care for the moment, doctor-patient confidentiality. You want to fill me in on what happened?”
Jack looked at the woman sitting at his feet on the bed.
“Emily’s to be trusted,” Ryan said. “We work together on occasion, and she won’t say a thing.”
“I promise.” Emily held up her three fingers in a scout’s honor sign.
Jack looked between the two of them, not sure if he was being set up. He had known Ryan since grade school, since they played Little League baseball. They were close, having carried each other home after drunken parties, playing wing man for each other. They had even dated the same girl in high school, each giving her up in deference to the other.
And so Jack told him. He told Ryan everything he could remember about the night before, about waking up at home that morning. He told him about the mysterious box that Mia gave him, which he took from the evidence room before it fell into Cristos’s hands. But throughout, Jack was careful to leave out certain aspects, things that he had seen, such as Adoy’s translation of the tattoo, his conversation with his father, and his suspicions of the FBI, things he thought to be irrelevant or not germane to Ryan’s understanding of what was going on.
“I’m terrified for Mia,” Jack said. “I’ve got to find her before it’s too late.”
“Well,” Ryan said, “you’ve got help now. No need to do it on your own.”
“Can you get me out of here?” Jack said, trying not to sound desperate.
“I’m not sure yet, but you know I’m sure as hell going to try.”
“Thanks,” Jack said with sincerity.
“Well,” Ryan said, perking up, “we need to check you out.”
“What, you think I may be disease-free?” Jack tried to joke, but it fell hard.
“Let’s just make sure you’re OK for the moment.”
As if on cue, Emily leaned toward Jack. “Do you feel any pain?”
“Where?”
“Anywhere,” she said with a soft, coaxing smile.
Jack looked up at Ryan. He had never mentioned that he was shot, nor was he about to. The nurse had bandaged him up and that was just fine for the moment. He didn’t want anyone poking around in his chest costing him precious time.
“She’s reviewed your file. She knows the illness you’re dealing with.”
“I’m not tied up in this bed because I have cancer.”
“No,” Emily said, quickly changing the subject. “Have you been experiencing headaches over the last week?”
“No,” Jack said with a shake of his head.
“Nausea…”
“Look, I feel fine-”
