“Nobody’s the devil or an angel, Lennie. You know me.” This was new. She had never seen him like this before.
“I know! I know! Oww!” He snapped his head around, first to the right, then straight up. “Ayyyyyyyy! I hear. Yes! Yes!” His eyes focused on her anew, something primal in them. “Can’t fool Lennie, no you can’t…” His voice trailed off in a mumble. “I saw the devil kill right here…right here…” Then, “Kill the devil!”
He said it with such a drawn-out shriek that Cheryl Beth felt a chill spread with infinite slowness across the back of her neck.
“It’s the devil from hell, he’s coming out of the floor! Fuck fuck fuck fuck! I hear! I hear!”
He reached into the parka and his filthy hand returned with a knife. The handle itself seemed huge and the blade was longer and black. Lennie held it out like a cross to ward off vampires, then started jabbing and swinging it against unseen phantoms. He flapped the sleeves of the parka, the movement sending out fresh waves of foul odors.
Her feet felt like the cement of dreams and from her stomach came a nauseous lurch she hadn’t felt since she had seen her first autopsy as a nursing student. She fumbled to pull the cell phone out of her lab coat, nearly dropping it. All she could see was the long thick dark blade.
“Lennie,” she said in as calm a voice as she could manage, “Lennie, put down the knife. You’re going to hurt…”
“He’s right there behind you!” he bellowed. “The devil from hell. He’s come up from hell to get me. But nobody’s gonna get Lennie. No fucking devil’s gonna get Lennie.”
Cheryl Beth’s fingers felt numb and huge as she tried to punch in the keys to hospital security. Where was everybody? She looked around for help, found none. Then he was there, a blur of dark color, a heavy mass rushing toward her. Her hand exploded in pain and the cell phone flew into the wall, smashing into several pieces. Time moved fast and slow. She was conscious of every part of the phone clacking down to the floor, her stethoscope, pens, and Starbucks card flying out of her lab coat, as if each was taking days to reenter the atmosphere. But he had gotten to her so fast, faster than her brain could even send a signal to step back or block his swing. He pushed her roughly and her left ankle gave way, then she was flying and sliding backward on the waxed floor. Somehow her head didn’t hit the tiles. She turned to see him rush toward the patient, the knife held high as he screamed in a language she couldn’t comprehend. Now it would happen, just like it had with Christine, and then he would come for her. This was how it had happened. Oh, God.
Suddenly he seemed to hit a wall and collapse. His bulky form abruptly turned horizontal and crashed. She realized the man on the floor had shoved the wheelchair forward, tripping Lennie, who now fell forward across the chair.
“No, devil!” He landed at the patient’s legs and was flailing. The knife was still in his hand. She heard the blade strike the floor, a hard, off-key sound. She remembered a game her brother had played as a teenager, poking a hunting knife as fast as he could into a table between his outstretched fingers. Was it called mumblypeg? Cheryl Beth could never bear to watch and she thought it made him seem like a redneck. Now she heard the same chilling sound: bak, bak, bak, bak.
Lennie pulled himself up over the man, climbing and slithering up his body, swinging the knife. But the man grabbed his wrist with one hand, then two, while Lennie screamed, spat, and thrashed atop him. The man’s face was red and he grunted with effort, twisting his torso. God, the sutures would come out. She pulled herself to her knees with difficulty, as if she were willing some other body to move. Her hands wouldn’t stop shaking. She grabbed Lennie from behind and pulled on him, feeling the parka rip. Then it gave way entirely and she fell backward again, landing painfully on her butt, half a filthy jacket in her hands. Just then the patient bucked his head, crashing his forehead into Lennie’s nose. He screamed and the knife slipped from his hand, hitting the floor loudly. Lennie tried to roll toward the knife but the man grabbed his shoulder and Lennie fell back. He was again on top but this time facing the ceiling, being restrained by the patient. He kept flailing his hand toward the knife. Cheryl Beth ran and kicked it away. By the time she turned around, the man had his arms locked around Lennie’s neck in what looked like an odd wrestling hold. Lennie struggled with renewed fury but only for a few seconds. Then his eyes rolled back and his body went limp.
“Oh my God, are you okay?” Cheryl Beth pulled Lennie off the man. “Is he okay?”
“Probably,” the man said, lying on his back, his chest heaving to get breath.
“You’re sure you’re all right? Can you feel your toes?” The man nodded. “Your right leg’s doing well. That was quite a trick, pushing the wheelchair under him. Probably saved us. I used to think I was a good woman in a crisis.”
“You are.”
She looked back at Lennie. “I thought he was harmless.”
“Nobody’s harmless.” The man smiled and held out his hand. “Will.”
“Cheryl Beth.” His hand felt warm in hers.
“That’s a pretty name.”
Just then she heard Lennie moan, but Will almost involuntarily kicked his right leg. His foot connected sharply with Lennie’s skull and this time the man lay still.
Chapter Thirteen
The security men came and handcuffed the derelict. Will was into his wheelchair and Cheryl Beth brought his two p.m. meds. She checked the sutures on his back, which somehow had survived intact. He had slathered hand sanitizer on his hands, arms, and face. The adrenaline from the fight was still fueling him. He was high on it, even if his muscles were starting to ache and he could still smell the man’s odor on him. Then the uniforms arrived and led the suspect off to a squad car. He was mumbling to himself but looked no worse for the choke hold Will had administered. He had seen cases where the hold could kill a suspect and hated to use it. But it had been a few years since he had been in a fight like that, and back then he could walk and run. He had needed every advantage he could get.
Now he sat in a small conference room with Dodds and the head of hospital security. He was a former cop named Stan Berkowitz. Will never knew him well. He was always in patrol and had risen to sergeant. He had retired at fifty, but he looked ten years younger, right down to his fine suit, sculpted chin, and perfect haircut. He looked like a congressman.
Dodds said, “Stan ‘Don’t Call Me David’ Berkowitz.” Will chuckled, knowing Berkowitz hated the nickname.
“I made ninety-five thousand last year,” he said. “So screw you both.” He still talked like a cop. “Why are you still putting up with the shit out there when you could retire, get a pension, then start to make real money. Private sector loves retired cops for security gigs. They give you respect, too.”
Dodds said, “So how’d this guy get in the hospital with a knife, now that you got respect and all.”
“Welcome to my world.” Berkowitz opened his hands and smiled gently. “We do a lot of Medicaid cases here. This isn’t Indian Hill. We knew about Lennie, of course. Leonard Snowden Williams Jr.—he sounds like chairman of Procter and Gamble, huh? He had been a patient. He was homeless. He would sometimes get inside. That’s not uncommon, especially in the wintertime. We have to run them out of the old boiler room, the closed wings. We do what we can, what with budget cuts and all. We had to lay off nine security officers last year. There’s no money for screening devices at the doors. That wouldn’t be practical anyway. There’s always risks. We have a risk-management officer, know that? Some things fall between the cracks.”
“Like security for the basement wing where Dr. Lustig was killed,” Will said.
Berkowitz shifted his jawline to Will. “What the hell happened to you, Borders?”