create his own reality?
And he thought about the parallels to Cristos. Was it coincidence that he, too, had risen from the afterlife? Both had been declared dead: Jack by the newspaper, Cristos by the coroner. The world, in both cases, was convinced of their passing only to have them walk the earth again. Had his current state of mind been brought about by Cristos’s prophetic statement of death not being the end, the implications being that he couldn’t die? Could Jack’s mind have truly snapped, creating this elaborate scenario all in order to do what he had failed to do: save the woman he loved?
Jack looked at his bandaged arm. It wasn’t injured as the nurse had said; the mehndi tattoo was real, his visit to Professor Adoy was real… the warning of death to come tomorrow at dawn was…
If he could somehow tear away the bandage, see the tattoo once more, it would be the anchor that could pull him back to reality, that could give his mind the footing it so desperately needed now. It could wipe away any and all doubt. For if the elaborate tattoo was there, it meant that someone had been with him after the accident and had saved him, that it wasn’t all a figment of his imagination. It meant that he was being lied to, a cog in some conspiracy in much the same way as the system was manipulated to keep Cristos alive.
He pulled at his restraints, his arms straining with the effort, but it was to no avail. There had to be a way. He looked to the door, pondering escape. There were so many barriers in his way-FBI, police, building security- insurmountable obstacles, but so had been stealing the case from the basement of the Tombs.
But the biggest barrier was the fragility of his mind.
If it was a choice between an insane existence where Mia was alive or a reality where she had perished, he would simply choose the madness. And that sudden thought terrified him. Had he already made that decision subconsciously?
Hope was lost. It was lost for him, for his two girls, for Mia. And it was bone-crushing. To be faced with death by cancer was one thing. To have your body fail, as tragic as it was, was part of life. But to have your mind slip away, to have your wife ripped from existence, to leave your children alone in the world, was far more devastating, for there was nothing to cling to, nothing to give a glimmer of optimism, nothing but a forever night where the sun would never rise again.
He looked again at his arm and the thick white bandage. He just needed to see. What had once brought him confusion and panic could give him the one thing he would need. For if it was there, then, truths could be washed away, minds could be brought back to sanity, and Mia, despite everything he had been told, could be brought back to life.
All Jack needed was a little hope.
F RANK AND J OY rode up the elevator to the fifth floor of the Tombs. Joy had spent the last several hours poring over the old case files on Cristos while cross-referencing them with the information on Cotis from Professor Adoy and the note of appreciation Jack had received with the blue necklace from the Cotis government. Hoping for some kind of link or clue, she found none.
As they emerged from the cab, they were greeted by the security desk officer, who sat behind thick bulletproof glass similar to the setup in the evidence room. Nolan Ludeke was at the end of a double shift, a shift that brought tragic surprises that he could never have anticipated.
Frank had known him for too many years to count, since back when Nolan was on the street. He had always spoken of retiring, moving to Florida with his wife, to be closer to his kids, but as that fateful day approached, Nolan realized that work was his life, and if work stopped, how far behind would the end of his life be? So he regrouped. His years of service and his reputation gave him the inside track on a job with little to no stress that would alleviate the forever fears of his wife getting that 3:00 a.m. call of death in the line of duty.
“Frank,” Nolan said in a warm greeting, buzzing him and Joy through.
“Hey,” Frank said as he walked through the heavy metal door, which closed with a thud behind him. “We’re here to see Jack.”
Nolan looked at the two. “I don’t know. He’s down the hall, the feds have two posted outside his door, and they’ve labeled him a suicide watch.”
“This still is under our jurisdiction, correct?”
“Come on, Frank, semantics.”
“What can you tell me?”
“They brought him in an hour ago. He was in rough shape, out cold. Tucked him in a psych room. A nurse patched him up. A couple of doctors came in, evaluated him, and declared him nuts. A hot-shot FBI guy has been all over this thing. I heard whispers of all kinds of mayhem downstairs on sub five, but no one will confirm a thing. The rumor is it’s not hard to connect Keeler to it, though that seems so wrong. I heard the guy was killed last night in a car accident along with his wife, but then he shows up here. Whole thing seems crazier than that mess years back with the mayor’s son.”
“We need to see him,” Joy said.
Nolan looked between the two. “I’ve got no problem with you seeing him. He’s a good man, as far as I’m concerned. Of course, getting past Tweedledum and Tweedledee may prove difficult.”
“Who else from the feds is up here?”
“Tierney, deputy director of the New York office. He commandeered an office down the hall, haven’t seen him in a while. I’m sure he’ll come blustering through shortly.”
“Let me ask, what kind of security you got on these rooms?”
Nolan’s eyes filled with concern. “Please tell me you’re not thinking of-”
“Nolan, relax. Just tell me.” Frank had a way about him; he was trusted and used that faith to bend people to his way of thinking. “I just need to know. You know I wouldn’t do anything stupid, particularly with Joy here.”
“The nut rooms are for nuts-nothing in there where you can hurt yourself, no long wires, cords, phones, pretty much free of everything except a bed and a bolted-down table. The doors are keylocked from the outside. No lock access on the inside, though there is a door handle. The room Keeler is in, five-oh-four, fits the bill perfectly.
“Has he had any visitors, family, an attorney?”
“No.” Nolan shook his head. “I don’t think anyone really knows he’s here. He is just anonymous patient nine- five-three-oh with no one permitted access.
“Well, I’m his friend, and I’m going to see him. Where’s this nurse?”
Nolan picked up his phone, spoke quickly, and hung up. “She’ll be right out. You’re going to cause a problem, aren’t you?”
“Nolan, I will not be breaking any laws, I promise you. But imagine if your best friend was stuck in a mental ward. Would you want to get to the bottom of it or just let him slip away into the system?”
“May I help you?”
Frank turned to see the blond nurse behind him
“I’m Susan Meeks.”
“Sue, these two are here to see Mr. Keeler.”
“He’s not to have any visitors-”
“So the only people who can have contact with him are the FBI and their doctors? Do you work for the FBI or the city of New York?”
“The city.”
“Who gave you the order not to let him see anyone?”
“Mr. Tierney.”
“Do you work for Mr. Tierney?”
“No.”
“Good, because Jack Keeler, as you know, is the DA for the city of New York. He was thought to have been killed this morning along with his wife, who is either missing or dead. He is being denied counsel, contact with his family, and all of his rights. I am his closest friend, and this here”-he pointed to Joy-“is his secretary. We are here to see him, and we will see him now unless you want to have a much larger problem that will be resolved by a judge.”
Meeks looked at Nolan.
“Frank, she’s good people. Lose the bluster.” Nolan turned to Susan. “He’s just upset. He’s doing the right thing. You can let him see Mr. Keeler.”
