“Evaluation? For what?” Dalton asked with concern. “What happened to him?”
“They didn’t say. Look, I wouldn’t worry, Dalton. These matters arise at times. They usually resolve themselves fairly quickly.”
“So let’s go to Saranac Lake.”
Boone groaned. “It’s not as easy as that. There is red tape. My leeway extends to Holbrook.”
Dalton blew out his cheeks. “Well did they give you a timeline of when he might return?”
“They didn’t say but if it’s serious it could be days, a couple of weeks, or longer.”
“I don’t have a couple of weeks. I need to get back to L.A. soon,” Dalton said raising a hand to his head and sighing. Silence stretched between them and Dalton looked up at one of the stained-glass windows. The image of the cross and Christ stood out. Suffering. So many abandoned him in that time of fear. Jack wasn’t Christ but he had done a lot of good for others and was now suffering. As a friend, probably his only friend, this wasn’t the time to turn away. It certainly wasn’t something Jack would do. No, he rose to the occasion, came alive and thrived under stress and risk. Dalton needed to do the same.
Boone took a few steps forward and lifted a hand. “Look, if you’re that worried, I can promise to check in on him and keep you updated.”
“I appreciate that,” Dalton shot back. “But you don’t understand. Jack doesn’t open to just anyone. Guy is a closed book. No, I need to see him. Isn’t there something you can do?”
“I’m not a miracle worker.”
Dalton slumped into one of the chairs and continued looking at the colorful window. He hadn’t come this far to turn back now. There was more to this and he needed to hear it from Jack. Boone came over and sat beside him. “I’ll see what I can do. I can’t promise anything but I will look into it.” Both of them remained there saying nothing for a short time before Boone got up and walked out, telling him he would return soon.
Although Dalton believed in God, and prayer was a regular part of his life, for the first time in a long while he found himself at a loss for words.
Ten minutes later, Boone returned with good news.
“I’ve managed to arrange a meeting,” he said.
Dalton turned. “How?”
“I would like to say it was the Good Lord but…” he reached into his pocket and took out his wallet. “Money talks.”
Dalton scoffed as they headed for Saranac.
Not long after arriving at the dreary three-story hospital, they learned why Jack was there. Everything about it sounded odd. He didn’t give specifics only that there had been an accident. While Holbrook wasn’t taking the blame for it, the security guard who had arranged for them to see Jack didn’t cherry coat it. He said in no uncertain terms that someone at the top of the chain had dropped the ball and if it was leaked to the media, there was a good chance heads would roll. He’d also told them they could see Jack on one condition, they were to tell no-one. The hospital cop liked his job, and didn’t want to lose it. Of course a couple of Benjamin Franklins had sealed the deal.
Jack was in a room on the third floor, a secure location often used for those with mental illness. Two guards were outside his locked room. One was reading a newspaper while the other thumbed through his phone. “Just wait here,” Boone said. Dalton observed him approach them, they exchanged a few words. A security guard looked over at Dalton and nodded before Boone beckoned him over. Inside, Jack was lying in bed, the covers pulled up to his chest and his arms beside him. His eyes were open but he didn’t glance their way. “Five minutes. No longer,” Boone said.
Dalton nodded and Boone stepped out, closing the door behind him. Pulling up a chair, he stared at him. “Jack. Hey. It’s me. Dalton.”
Nothing. Jack stared ahead as if in a trance. Dalton noticed the sides of his temples were red as if someone had burned the skin. “What the hell did they do to you?” He placed a hand on Jack’s arm and gave it a squeeze. No acknowledgement. It was as if his brain was fried or he was doped up. They had him hooked up to an IV so there was a possibility they were pumping morphine or some mind numbing drug into his system that was making it hard for him to register. “Jack. Come on, man,” he said giving him a little shake. “What happened? How did you end up in here? What did they do to you?”
Jack stared off into space, oblivious to what was happening around him.
Dalton looked at the clock. He only had a few minutes. He got up and walked over to the window and opened the drapes to let some of the sunshine bathe Jack’s face. “I told you not to follow after her. You didn’t listen. You never listen.” Dalton took his seat again and placed his head in his hands. In the silence only a clock could be heard ticking, then a mumble. Dalton turned but Jack’s lips weren’t moving. He was beginning to think he was hearing things. “Look, I have to go but I will be in touch again soon. I…”
“Gafino,” the word came from Jack’s lips as a whisper.
“What?” Dalton leaned in to hear him better. Jack repeated it again.
“Gafino? Roy? Was this Roy? Is he alive?”
His lips moved but each time he just kept saying the same thing. Then he realized Jack wasn’t just saying one word but two. The first word was barely audible. Dalton placed his ear within breathing distance of Jack’s mouth, but he
