Chapter Eleven

“We’re there when you need us just clap your hands…”

I jerked myself awake. The early morning sun peeked through the window until I stood from the cot and drew the curtains closed. I was in no mood for the sun today. Feeling more rested than I had over the past three days, I brushed off sleep and glared at the machines as I stood over Gabriel. My nightmare had come true. The robed men were here. Maybe not in the room but they had their king strategically positioned, and my queen was exposed and vulnerable. Chess wasn’t my game, and hunting ghosts wasn’t my trade, but the man with the cane was certainly no apparition, and I knew he came for Gabriel last night. Tempted to pick up the phone and call Michael, I waited until I could tell him in person.

My goal had been to stay awake all night standing guard, but after the first hour or two of waiting for the man to barge through the door, I fell asleep. As far as I could tell, he looked too young to be Michael’s father, but it had to be the same cane-wielding man he’d seen on the sidewalk the other day. The past was on our doorstep, but I still refused to accept it completely. Things like this didn’t happen in real life. There’s no such thing as Bigfoot. I sank down into the chair and said good morning to Gabriel while watching his delicate eyelids for the slightest flutter. I’d been there for an eternity, but my watch argued that six more hours would make forty-eight. Two days in a coma. They usually come out within the first three. Hope dwindled as I stared at his slender fingers, the same fingers he’d used to inject the heroin into his scrawny arm.

After washing up in the bathroom, I sat down to put on my shoes and go downstairs for a cup of coffee. Changing out my socks, I looked up at the bag of fluid and saw it was in need of a refill. My favorite nurse would be around soon, I gathered, perky and upbeat with a gentle hand, I wondered if she actually prayed for Gabriel like she said she would do. People always say they’ll pray for you, but I doubted any of them did. A social nicety among Christians, but hypocritical nonetheless. I slipped on my shoes and stood to leave but stopped when I glanced at Gabriel. He moved. It was real this time, not fatigue or wishful thinking, but a real twitch of his thumb. More of a jerk, absolutely it was a jerk! I held my breath and stood over him, my eyes daring not to blink as I waited for the big awakening.

The door swung open and my favorite nurse shattered the moment. “How we doin’ this morning? Brought you some coffee daddy’o, hope you don’t mind if I–”

“Shhh!” I held up my hand and took the coffee with the other. “He moved,” I whispered. “I saw his thumb jerk.”

The nurse stood frozen with her hand against her chest and her finger against her lips. She leaned in closer and watched him with me until I relaxed my posture and cleared my throat. Thanking her for the coffee, I sat back down and apologized for cutting her off. She shrugged and proceeded to change out the fluids.

“Man come askin’ bout this room last night,” she said, looking over her shoulder. “Wanted to know about the status of the patient. I told him I couldn’t give out that info, less he was family.” She laughed and shook her head, “Can you believe, he said he was the father. Strange lookin’ fellow, walked with this gold-handled cane, but he switched sides with it. Didn’t see no limp.”

“Did he say anything else?” I asked, my foot tapping the ground.

“Only that he’d be back later,” she said, fluffing up Gabriel’s pillow. “Wake up now, angel, been long enough.” She approached the window and threw open the curtains claiming that the sunshine would be good for him. I smiled and nodded. Remaining calm until she left the room, I then dove for the phone and dialed Michael’s house. Lisa answered. Panic took over my voice.

“Tell Michael to get his ass up here! The devil’s real, Lis!” I slammed the phone down and peeked out the door. Nurses and doctors. I ducked back inside and called Billy. I needed him to bring my gun.

I hadn’t expected Lisa to come with him, but she arrived with perfect hair, a tight knit sweater and a pistol in her bag-like purse. It was nothing new, she always carried one on her at Michael’s request, so if Billy failed to come through, I had backup. He hesitated on the phone before agreeing. Billy didn’t like guns, and I understood that, I didn’t either. I also didn’t like perverted middle-aged men asking about my son.

Michael stood over Gabriel with his arms crossed and his eyes closed. He said very little, only that Gabriel needed to wake up, and that we were in danger. I stood beside him, my eyes transfixed on Gabriel’s smooth olive complexion, the curve of his face, his high cheekbones and thick dark hair – the resemblance knocked me off my feet. I’d noticed it before but never gave it much thought. We all have similarities, but the longer I stared at him with that nagging notion in my head, the more I realized he resembled a boy I used to know. Michael blinked and opened his eyes when Billy entered the room.

I was proud of Billy for going through with it but wasn’t at all surprised when he told me he left the gun in the glove department of the van. After asking for the keys, I peeked around the door and stepped out into the stark white hallway magnified by fluorescent lights. The nurse’s station sat empty as I padded across the floor and crept around each turn looking for the man with the cane. I had no plans of shooting anyone but needed the gun as a precautionary measure. Intuition took over and I followed my gut, but I didn’t have a plan. I didn’t know what to believe, only that the man with the cane had eluded me the other night with Michael, who shook in my arms after spotting him on the street corner. I didn’t know what to believe, but I suspected we were being played. Whoever I saw last night was one hundred percent real, verified by the friendly nurse. The elevator door opened, and a black walking cane emerged followed by a hunched-back elderly gentleman accompanied by a young nurse. I smiled, boarded the elevator and punched the first-floor button.

People everywhere. I paused before stepping out, but the metal doors closed in on me and forced my expulsion. Scanning over the crowds of long-faced people, I hurried to the exit and stood outside on the curb until I zeroed in on Billy’s dirty white van. The morning sun swallowed the parking lot and erased the drab hospital air from my wrinkled clothes. The change of atmosphere, the warmth of the clear blue day altered my perception and cast doubt on my current state of paranoia. The man with the cane could simply be from Gabriel’s school, a concerned teacher, another parent, or maybe Lisa finally called child protective services. I choked down a smoke and concluded that I had nothing to worry about, besides Gabriel being in a heroin-induced coma. Heroin might take him from me but certainly not a cane-wielding ghost.

I grabbed the gun just in case but felt ridiculous for doing so. All this talk about occultism and satanic baby killers had made me crazy. Michael made me crazy. I believed him. I didn’t believe him. I know what I saw. I didn’t know. Stuffing the gun into the waistband of my pants, I figured I was as crazy as Michael. Products of our childhood who never sought help, never got clean and never healed, that’s what all of this was. There’s no such thing as the boogieman. The sun flooded the air with clarity and awakened my appetite as I slammed the door and decided to grab a bite to eat. I couldn’t remember the last time I ate, and my empty stomach refused to go ignored for one minute longer. Weakness set in, a slight head rush and my vision slightly blurred, I leaned against the van and waited until the episode passed. The weight of the last two days crashed down on me. I needed food and rest. Too much too soon. Too much movement and thinking. Too much worry, panic and fear. Comforted by the sun and the crisp morning air, I leaned against the van and briefly closed my eyes until a deep voice called out my name.

I whipped around and scanned the parking lot. Nothing. I stepped away from the van and checked the rows of vehicles, slowly circling in place and bobbing up and down as my eyes searched for the man with the cane. Looking out across the street, I noticed three figures draped in black robes standing at the bus stop. My legs trembled as I forced them to move closer and walk to the edge of the curb. The hooded figure in the middle clutched a plastic scythe while the two standing next to him fidgeted with their robes. One of them scratched his head and bent down to tie his shoe. The grim reaper and his distracted cronies. I’d been spooked by everyday people dressed in Halloween costumes. I definitely needed some food.

Someone had called my name though, and the voice I might have recognized. Muffled and sounding more from within than outside in the parking lot, the deepness of the man’s voice reminded me of a slowed-down audio recording. I didn’t recognize the voice as anyone I knew, but I’d heard it sporadically throughout my life as a child. On the outskirts of sleep where dreams had yet to materialize, the deep voice would call out my name and rip me off my pillow. As a young child, I feared it was demonic, something from the underworld summoning me by name. As an adult, I see it as my subconscious mind playing drill sergeant to ward off sleep. It had been at least ten years since it last happened, but outside by Billy’s van I heard that same subterranean voice louder than I ever thought possible, much too loud for the subconscious mind.

The coast remained clear as I headed back to the hospital room. Speed-walking nurses passed me in the hall, and a few sickly patients meandered about, but the phantom threat was a no show. A Halloween spook that triggered my overactive imagination, that’s all he was, an everyday person. No getting around the friendly nurse though, that one knotted my stomach, that one made it real, that one inspired me to fetch my gun in the first place. Rounding the corner, I saw the friendly nurse sprint across the hallway to her station as a stern-faced man in a white coat walked briskly toward Gabriel’s room. Dizziness. Nausea. I held my stomach and picked up the pace, my sprint becoming a high-speed charge the minute he made that horrific right turn.

They crowded the bed. Michael and Billy stood on one side while Lisa moved out of the way for the doctor to get in closer. She wiped her eyes and smiled when she noticed I’d entered the room. I remained frozen by the door, but Lisa stood beside me and gently rubbed the middle of my back, her perfume as light and wispy as the curls falling across her face. She was beautiful in that moment, as were the flower arrangements basking in the sunlight that shone upon Gabriel’s pale green eyes. Michael turned and grinned, motioning for me to come closer with his sleeve pulled over his hand. I cradled myself and struggled to digest the moment as tears spilled down my cheeks, and Gabriel’s weak voice answered the doctor’s questions. He was awake and talking, and I hadn’t been there. I wasn’t the first person he saw when he opened those pale green eyes.

I stood in the background and listened as Billy talked to the doctor, answering questions and discussing Gabriel’s outpatient care. Michael stepped away from the bed and greeted our friendly nurse who beamed as she entered the room. He placed his hand on my back and pushed me forward, but I stumbled to a halt, the gun pressing up against my waist and Billy’s muscular arm shaking the doctor’s hand, blocking my view. Joyful tears and thankful smiles engulfed the room, myself included, but the red balloon tainted my celebration. My little skater kid had secrets, a whole other side to him I didn’t know, and as happy as I was that he survived the overdose, anger overpowered my relief. I felt betrayed and played a fool. I didn’t trust him, and my paranoia reared its tinfoil head, again.

Shadows surrounded his eyes, and his pale skin glowed against his matted dark hair, but a touch of rose colored his cheeks. The doctor left the room and I approached the bed, my arms crossed against my chest, and my face solid and stern. Uncertainty poured from his eyes as he watched me approach, and he looked away when confronted by my silence. I reached down and gently took his hand, holding it between mine and stroking his long slender fingers. I asked for a moment alone with him. Michael nodded and left the room arm and arm with Lisa, but Billy hesitated at the door and studied me as if he didn’t trust the situation, as if I didn’t have the right to be alone with my son. Gabriel watched Billy leave and lowered his head, his long bangs sweeping over his eyes. Sitting down on the edge of the bed, I gently grabbed his chin and forced him to look at me.

“How long have you been using?” I asked, my tone moderate but firm.

Gabriel blinked and glanced at the tube attached to his arm.

“How long?” I asked, reinforcing my grip.

His fierce green eyes cut in to me and a scowl sharpened his face, but the angelic boy returned in an instant. The delicate features worked their magic and his eyes displayed sadness and regret, a lost little boy in need of a big hug. I resisted the strong yank on my heart strings and waited for a reply.

“About six months,” he said softly.

“Who gave it to you?” I asked.

Gabriel dropped his eyes again and mindlessly picked at the hospital blanket.

“Who?” I asked.

The scowl returned, and his laser green eyes targeted my hardened face. “Can this wait?” he asked. “I just woke up from a coma.”

“It ends now,” I said. “You’re going to tell me everything you know. This ends now.” I stood from the bed and turned my back to him. I wanted to take him in my arms and kiss the top of his head, just like when he toddled up to me as a three-year-old, I’d kiss the soft hair on his head and scoop him up, my faith in humanity replenished by his high-pitched giggles.

“I got it from someone at school,” he muttered.

I turned on my heels and examined him.

“A teacher, kind of,” he said. His long skinny fingers reached for his water causing the sleeve of his hospital gown to slide up his arm, exposing the tiny needle marks. My stomach rejected the sight and churned out a pillar of stagnant air. Gabriel struggled to make contact with the plastic cup just out of reach, rearranging his gown and scooting himself closer to the table. I handed him the small white cup and reclaimed my spot on the edge of the bed.

“What teacher?” I asked. “I need a name.”

He hesitated and sipped his water, puckering his chapped lips as they soaked up the lukewarm moisture. “Mr. Spencer,” he answered.

“The principal?” I asked, narrowing my eyes. “The principal gave you heroin? Come on, Gabe, the truth.”

Sitting up straighter in the bed, he downed the rest of his water and tossed the cup at the wastebasket, his aim falling short as it hit the rim and rolled under the bed. “I knew you wouldn’t believe me,” he said, pulling the covers tighter. “The Easter Bunny gave it to me. He’s my connection. Better?”

Dropping my shoulders, I relaxed my posture and reached up to move a stray lock of hair away from his eyes. “I believe you,” I said, my fingers making contact and lingering across his forehead. His troubled eyes filled with tears and my heart strings tightened to the point of exploding. “If you’re feeling up to it,” I said, “I’d like to know how all of this came about.” Nodding and wiping his eyes with his knuckles, Gabriel pulled up his legs and briefly walked me through the events leading up to his overdose.

It began about this time last year. He was a freshman at the highly reputable private academy on which I spent way too much money sending him. Throughout the school year, Gabriel heard rumors from various stoner friends who claimed that the academy was the main hub for a drug-trafficking ring. Like father like son, he scoffed at the idea, but by the end of the year, he went from smoking weed under the bleachers with his stoner friends to shooting heroin alone in his closet. He confessed to experimenting with harder drugs progressively throughout the year. Acid, cocaine, ecstasy and pills served as the gateway drugs that eventually led to the Grand Poobah he instantly embraced.

“I figured I’d just try it once,” he said, “but the guy I scored it from, he just kept offering it for free. Some senior, I think.”

I resisted the urge to storm the campus and seek out the little bastard, calmly asking instead how the principal fit in to all of this.

Tilting his head, Gabriel stared at the tulips on the metal bedside table and replied, “Mr. Spencer is the fountain through which the smack flows.”

I raised my eyebrows and waited for an explanation.

Shock is always the initial response. These things don’t happen in real life, and if they do, it’s somebody else in some other town that you hear about on the evening news, but again, I knew better. I knew what lurked behind closed doors. I listened as Gabriel described the party that introduced him to a network of powerful people. Artists, musicians, the local elite of the entertainment world, my crowd, it all took place right under my nose. A celebration for the best of the best, and Gabriel had been invited. He attended the private function last spring, the invitation stating that it would honor the academy’s exemplary first-year students, the gifted, the rising stars, the straight-A newcomers who took initiative and went above and beyond their scholarly duty. I remembered dropping him off at the event which was held at an old Victorian house in the Museum District.

“I was a little confused,” he confessed, fidgeting with the tube stuck in his arm. “I mean, I spent most of the year slacking off. I knew I didn’t deserve that invitation. I thought it was a mistake.” He picked at the tape holding the needle in place and began tugging at the plastic tube. I put my hand on top of his to get him to stop. Glancing up at me, he sighed and leaned back against his pillow. “I thought I was at the wrong place when I got there. Didn’t see any other students, none that I recognized anyway, just a bunch of older men drinking, shooting the shit. I helped myself to a cocktail, no one seemed to care, so I stuck around.”

I asked if he recognized any of the older men and he said he didn’t until he went upstairs to use the bathroom. “I heard someone call my name,” he said, “so I followed the voice down the hallway until I came to a dead end. When I turned around, Mr. Spencer was standing behind me.” Gabriel paused and flashed a weak smile at Michael who popped his head through the door. I held up my hand and mouthed for him to give us five more minutes. He nodded and ducked back out.

“He told me to come with him,” Gabriel continued. “I figured they caught on that I didn’t belong there. I figured the hammer was coming down. He led me to another room, locked the door behind us and–” Running his hand through his tangled hair, Gabriel released a deep sigh and turned to look out the window. “I think I’m done talking,” he said absently.

I stopped myself from pushing the issue too far too soon. I didn’t want to pressure him, but my mind instinctively filled in the blanks. I knew what happened behind closed doors. The wolves devoured the sheep, but not before the perverted old men had their fun. I recapped Gabriel’s confession in my head and tried my very best to restrain my inner psycho. Six months. He’d been using heroin for six months and I’d been completely clueless. Mr. Ashley Brava, the recovering heroin addict, failed to notice the track marks on his own son’s arm. He must have used all summer long, under my roof, under my nose and under my radar. I didn’t want to know where he found the money to support his habit, but eventually I’d find out. Eventually Mr. Spencer would be up for hire in the morgue. No way around that one.

Gabriel fidgeted with the tube again, picking at the tape and lightly tugging on the long cord that led to his bag of fluid. Putting my hand over his, I leaned over and wrapped my arm around his shoulders. His body stiffened and then relaxed as I gently ran my fingers up and down his back. Resting his head on my shoulder, he apologized for all of this. I kissed the top of his head, closed my eyes and listened for the high-pitched sound of his giggles.

I could eat again. Michael returned with a sandwich and I devoured the soggy sub within five minutes, coupled with a bag of chips, soda, and a half-eaten chocolate chip cookie. I could think again. Focused and calm, I devised a plan of action while choking down my lunch. Today was Friday. D-day. Time to give the pinched faced lawyer his desecrated mask, but before I did so, Gabriel needed to be in a safe place, tucked away and out of sight while daddy unleashed his fury. Michael and I would attend that party tomorrow night, and there I would find Mr. Spencer, I was sure of it, as sure as I was about him laying hands on Gabriel. I read it on his face and in his voice. I knew the signs. They were after him, so help me, they were all after him.

Gabriel slept while I gathered our belongings, packed up my overnight bag and placed his books in two separate plastic bags. Michael sat bedside with his arms and legs crossed watching his every breath. I stood on the other side of the bed and played with Gabriel’s hair until his green eyes met mine.

“Time to wake up, my angel,” I said. Smiling, I ran my fingers up his arm until I came to the plastic tube. Gabriel’s eyes widened and he sat up straighter in the bed, glancing at Michael and then back at me. Michael nodded, nudged Lisa with his elbow and then pointed down at her discarded shoes. Michael felt it too. The change in the atmosphere, the drop in temperature, the cold chills – Michael knew the signs. He knew what was coming down that brimstone path. Gabriel flinched as I tore away the white tape and pulled out the IV needle.

“You should be used to this,” I said.

He blinked and withdrew his arm from my grip. “I don’t have anything to wear,” he muttered.

I hadn’t thought about that. Shit! Digging around in my bag, I pulled out a wrinkled tee-shirt and a black pair of trouser socks. Gabriel leaned over and stared at my dirty laundry as if he might find a snake hidden under the shirt. Michael crinkled his face and shook his head. Pulling off his new black pea coat, he wrapped it around Gabriel’s shoulders and helped him slip his arms through the sleeves. Lisa’s protests mingled with the background noise, and her idle threats of fetching a nurse or a doctor also went ignored. This behavior was routine, and in the end, she would invariably follow Michael’s lead. Billy’s departure from the bathroom, however, posed an actual threat. The toilet flushed, and I knew what was coming: logic, rationale and common sense. Michael helped Gabriel off the bed and supported his weight while Lisa buttoned up the pea coat that swallowed him whole. The bathroom door swung open and Billy emerged as the voice of reason, the drummer with the muscular arms who never missed a beat.

“Absolutely not!” he exclaimed, shutting the door behind him. “Gabriel, get back in bed, doctor’s orders. He needs at least two more days here.” Billy came around the bed and took Gabriel by the arm, but Michael reinforced his grip and pulled him closer. They argued back and forth with Billy calling us paranoid and Michael arguing we had reason to be. Gabriel released himself from both their grips, sat down on the bed and asked for a pen and piece of paper.

“I want to leave Nurse Miles a note,” he said, “after that, we should go.”

Billy sighed and threw up his hands, “fine,” he said, “but if someone really is after Gabriel, they’ll find him regardless.”

“That’s why he’s going to your place,” I said.

That made him happy. Billy nodded and found Gabriel a pen and paper. I glanced down at the note on my way out and quickly read what he wrote: Dear Nurse Miles, Thank you for your prayers. Looks like someone was listening. Please give the flowers to someone who needs them. Love Gabriel. He always wrote love Gabriel, even if just to let me know he’d be home late. I walked behind him while Billy and Michael stayed at his side, and Lisa took lead. We walked as fast as Gabriel allowed with his balance unsteady and his black trouser socks slipping on the cold linoleum floor. He shielded his eyes from the sun as we exited the hospital and waited on the curb for Billy to bring the van around. I had my son back, and I intended on keeping him.