Francis considered this for a moment, then shook his head. The detective's suggestion seemed as crazy and impossible as anything else that had happened that night, and he didn't believe it. He ran his tongue over his lip and felt some swelling to go with the salty taste of the blood. 'I told you,' he said weakly. 'I told you what I know.'
The first detective grimaced, as if this response wasn't acceptable, not in the slightest, and made a small hand gesture toward his angry partner. The second detective stepped forward, lowering his face so that he was looking directly into Francis's eyes. Francis shrank back, awaiting another blow, unable to move to defend himself. His vulnerability was total. He squeezed his eyes shut.
But before the blow arrived, he heard the door scrape open.
The interruption seemed to put everything in the room into an odd, slow motion. Francis could see a uniformed officer in the doorway, and both detectives leaning toward him, in muffled conversation. After a moment, it seemed to gain in animation, though the tones stayed low and impossible for Francis to make out. After a moment or two, the first detective shook his head and sighed, making a small sound of disgust, then turned back toward Francis. 'Hey, Franny-boy, tell me this: The guy you said woke you up, the guy you told us about at the start of our little conversation, before you said you headed out into the corridor, that the same guy that attacked the nurse earlier tonight, during dinner? Went after her in front of just about every damn person in this building?'
Francis nodded.
The detective seemed to roll his eyes, and toss his head back in resignation. 'Shit,' he said. 'We're wasting our time here.' He turned toward Doctor Gulptilil, still lurking in the shadows, and angrily asked, 'Why the hell didn't you tell us about that earlier? Is everybody in here flat-out nuts?'
Gulp-a-pill didn't answer.
'Anything else that's fucking of critical importance that you left out, Doc?'
Gulp-a-pill shook his head negatively.
'Sure,' said the detective sarcastically. He gestured at Francis. 'Bring him along.'
Francis was pushed out into the corridor by a uniformed officer. He glanced to his right and saw that another set of policemen had emerged from an adjacent office with Peter the Fireman, who sported a vibrant red and raw contusion near his right eye, but a defiant, angry look that seemed to hold all the policemen in a similar state of contempt. Francis wished he could appear as confident. The first detective suddenly grasped Francis by the arm and spun him slightly, positioning him so that he could see Lanky, handcuffed, flanked by two other policemen. Behind him, far down the hallway, a half-dozen hospital security guards had cornered all the first-floor Amherst Building male patients into a tight knot, away from the spot where some crime scene technicians were photographing and measuring the storage closet. Two paramedics emerged from the pack of policemen with a black body bag placed on top of a white-sheeted gurney, much like the type that Francis had ridden when he'd arrived at the Western State Hospital.
There was a collective groan from the gathering of inmates when they saw the body bag. A few men started crying, and others turned away, as if by averting their gaze they could avoid understanding what happened. Others went rigid at the sight, and a few simply continued doing whatever they were doing, which was mostly weaving and waving, dancing about or staring at the walls.
Francis could hear some muttering sounds as they spoke to one another. The women's wing had been quieted, but when the body came out, although they were locked away, they must have sensed something, because the deep pounding on the door resumed momentarily, like a drumroll at a military funeral. Francis looked back at Lanky, whose eyes seemed frozen on the apparition of the nurse's body as it creaked past him on the gurney. In the bright corridor lights, Francis could see deep swaths of maroon blood on the tall man's billowing nightshirt. 'That the guy that woke you up, Franny?' the first detective demanded, his question carrying with it all the authority of a man accustomed to being in charge of things.
Francis nodded.
'… And after he woke you up, you went out to the corridor where you found the nurse already dead, right? Then you called Security, right?'
Again Francis nodded. The detective looked over at the policemen standing next to Peter the Fireman, who also bent their heads in agreement. One replied, as if to an unspoken question, 'That's what this guy said, too.'
Lanky seemed to be quivering. His face was pale, and his lower lip shook with fear. He looked down at the handcuffs restraining him, then put his hands together, as if in prayer. He stared across the hallway to Francis and Peter. 'C-Bird,' he said, his voice quavering with every word, his hands pushed forward like a supplicant at a church service, 'Tell them about the Angel. Tell them about the Angel who came in the middle of the night and told me that the evil had been taken care of. We're safe now, tell them, please C-Bird.' His voice gathered a plaintive, lost tone, as if each word he spoke seemed to plummet him further into despair.
The detective instead, suddenly half shouted at Lanky, who shrank back at the force of the questions shot at him like so many sharpened spears or arrows. 'How'd you get that blood on your shirt, old man? How'd you get that nurse's blood on your hands?'
Lanky looked down at his fingers and shook his head. 'I don't know,' he replied. 'Maybe the Angel brought it to me?'
As he was replying, a uniformed officer came walking down the corridor, holding a small plastic bag. At first Francis could not see what it contained, but as the policeman approached, he recognized it as the small, white, three-peaked cap that hospital nurses often wore. Only this one seemed crumpled and the rim was stained in the same color as the streaks on Lanky's nightshirt. The uniformed officer said, 'Looks like he tried to keep a souvenir. Found this underneath his mattress.'
'Did you find the knife?' the detective asked the officer.
The policeman shook his head.
'What about the fingertips?'
Again a negative from the uniformed officer.
The detective seemed to think for a moment, assessing things, then he spun abruptly to face Lanky, who continued to cower against the wall, encircled by officers, all of whom were shorter than he was, but all of whom seemed, in that second, to be larger.
'How'd you get that hat?' the detective demanded of Lanky.
The tall man shook his head. 'I don't know, I don't know,' he cried. 'I didn't get it.'
'It was underneath your mattress. Why did you put it there?'
'I didn't. I didn't.'
'Doesn't make much difference,' the detective replied with a shrug. 'We've got a lot more than we need. Someone read him his rights. We're out of this loony bin right now.'
The policemen started to push and prod Lanky down the hallway. Francis could see panic striking like lightning bolts right throughout the tall man's body. He twitched as if electric current was flooding him, as if each step he was forced to take was on hot coals. 'No, please, I didn't do anything. Please. Oh, evil, evil, it's all around us, please don't take me away, this is my home, please!' As Lanky cried pitifully, despair echoing throughout the corridor, Francis felt his own handcuffs being removed. He looked up, and Lanky caught his eye. 'C-Bird, Peter, please help me,' he called out. Francis could not imagine ever hearing so much pain in so few words. 'Tell them it was an Angel. An Angel came to me in the middle of the night. Tell them. Help me, please.'
And then, with a final shove and push from the collected police officers, Lanky was rushed out the front door of the Amherst Building and swallowed up by what remained of the night.
Chapter 7
I suppose I slept some that night, but I cannot recall actually closing my eyes.
I can't even remember breathing.
My swollen lip stung, and even after washing up a little, I could still taste blood where
