Sleight (44 page)

“Oh, I’m sorry, I’m sorry. Bear with me, Henry, you’re doing great,” I said. He was growing paler by the moment, and once the clothing was free from his body, I saw the ful extent of the damage.

It was horrifying. I swalowed hard. Bile burned my throat as I wiled myself not to throw up.

I searched our bags for gauze, but remembered Henry had wrapped the entire rol around my hand back in the warmth and safety of our cabin. The medical kit had a few packets of antiseptic, so I tore them open and emptied the contents over the ragged side of the hole. The edges were tidy where the bulet entered, but upon examining the back side of his shoulder, it lacked an exit wound.

That had to be bad—the bulet was either lodged in his shoulder blade, which looked broken, the skin swolen and squishy from pooled blood, or it could have ricocheted into his chest cavity where the potential for serious damage was vast. His uneven breathing was not a good sign.

“We realy need to get you to a hospital.”

“No! There’s no way we can go to a hospital around here. We just have to keep moving.” He coughed, grimacing from the force of the movement.

I unwound the gauze from my hand. Although it was no longer sterile, it was better than nothing. There was enough surgical tape in the kit to hold the length of dressing over the wound opening. Once the gauze was in place, I found every shirt in Henry’s bag and nudged each one onto his upper body. If the bleeding slowed, I guessed he’d be able to go for about a half-hour, maybe an hour, before the blood soaked through the three layers. But only if the bleeding slowed.

I roled up his soiled clothing and stuffed it into the bottom of his bag. I didn’t dare leave anything behind. Our scent would be everywhere already, and any worthy police dog would folow our tracks with ease, at least until the scent disappeared, wherever that was going to be. I didn’t know how far the woods continued or if there was a city center nearby. I didn’t even know where the hel we were.

Henry’s eyes looked heavy and he teetered a little in his seated position on the log. “Not having Alicia around is mildly inconvenient, huh?” he said.

I gave him a mild shake and he reopened his eyes. “Stay with me, Henry. We’re gonna move again, al right?” I didn’t know what to do next. I’d spied a playground across the park, and where there’s a play area, there has to be some of the conveniences of civilization—perhaps benches, a drinking fountain to wash some of the blood, maybe even a pay phone. I needed to get a cab. Henry had started to shiver. We had to move before he passed out.

I puled the backpacks onto my body and urged Henry to his feet. “C’mon, my love, time to go.” He draped his usable arm over my shoulder. The clouds scattered across the sky burned briliant pink as we started across the soaking wet grass of the park.

“Red sky at night, sailor’s delight. Red sky in the morning, sailors take warning,” Henry said. “Good thing we’re not sailors, huh, G?” Shock was nipping at his heels, causing him to stumble and almost topple us countless times.

“It’s so cold out here,” he said.

“It’l warm up soon, sweetie, I promise. Let’s keep moving.

We’re in a park, so we’re going to find a bench for you to rest on, and then I’l get us a cab so we can get out of here. We’l get you al fixed up, I promise.”

I remembered the amulet, how quickly my burn had healed with it around my neck, and for a brief moment, I considered taking it off to hang around Henry’s neck instead. But the warnings I’d been given about not removing it rang in my ears. I couldn’t put us both at risk by being reckless.

By the time I found a bench, our shoes were saturated. I helped Henry onto the seat and asked him a series of questions to keep him awake and thinking.

“How long do you think it wil take to get to France, Henry?”

“Hot chocolate is going to be amazing in France, hey, Henry?”

“What’s your favorite movie, Henry?”

As I asked the questions, I searched for some clue as to where we were. We couldn’t stay put for long. It was only a matter of time before the police set up a perimeter around the train depot, and this park would be a logical inclusion in that perimeter. We couldn’t have made it that far on foot.

I saw a wooden sign posted across from the play structure.

Surely it would have some sort of identifying mark on it.

“Sing me your favorite song. I’m going to run over and read that sign, okay, sweetie? Keep singing to me.” I bolted across the slippery grass to the sign, looking behind me every ten steps or so to watch Henry.

“Children’s Play Park #3, City of Vancouver, Washington.

Dedicated 1998.”

We’d almost made it to Portland, home of a major international airport. “Are you kidding me?” I yeled.

As I turned to start back toward the bench, I heard music. An early-morning jogger rounded the corner from the east side of a group of trees, heading right for me along a paved bike path. I paused for a moment before flagging him down, thinking of the homeless guy at the 7-Eleven back in Tacoma, but I had no other choice. I had to risk this random jogger being one of Lucian’s plants. To not risk it would’ve sealed Henry’s fate. He would die in the loveliness of Play Park #3.

Like a shipwreck survivor on a desolate beach, I began waving my arms at the jogger as he approached. He slowed to a stop, pinching his wristwatch to pause his run timer. He puled his headphones from his ears and gave me a cautious smile.

“Hi, I’m so sorry to bother you, sir,” I said, as apologetic as I could be, “I was wondering if you might have a cel phone I could borrow.”

“Uh, yeah, sure,” he said, unzipping a smal pack around his waist.

“We need a cab to the airport. Do you happen to know the local cab companies around here?”

“Geeze, I don’t know…dial 411 and you can get one through that,” he said.

“Are you sure? I can pay you for the charges, that’s no problem.”

“No, it’s cool. Go ahead,” he said, looking over my shoulder.

“Is that your friend over there? He doesn’t look so good.”

“Yeah, my brother. Nursing a broken heart. He’s fine. Just hung over, too much partying, ya know,” I gave him a fake laugh. “Our family is at the airport. We’re going on an enforced family bonding getaway today but my dad wil kil us if we miss the flight.” Stop talking, Gemma…

I navigated through directory assistance and got hold of a cab company. They promised a car at the park within ten minutes.

Ten minutes. A lifetime.

I returned the phone to the jogger and offered him twenty bucks for his trouble, which he politely declined.

“Good luck to you,” he said, flexing his knees to stave off cold.

“And tel your brother to go easy on the whiskey next time. Trust me…no girl is worth that much pain.” He winked at me, restarted his watch, and resumed his run.

I sprinted back to Henry, who had falen over on the bench. He looked drunk. No wonder the jogger-turned-philanthropist bought my story. No girl is worth that much pain, he’d said. But I know a boy who is…

In my brief absence, Henry had vomited onto the ground, just missing his feet, and a cold sweat painted his face with a light sheen.

“Up we go, Henry. The cab’s coming. Time to go home!” He hung onto consciousness by his fingernails. My heart raced in my chest as the severity of his worsening condition hit me. He struggled to his feet but was very unstable; it was al I could do to keep him upright. I’d helped Delia to bed in this state on many occasions, even when I was much smaler, but Henry’s height and weight was easily twice that of my frail mother. If the two of us fel onto the grass, there’d be no getting up again.

The white taxicab eased to the curb before we made it across the park, and I waved to let him know we were coming. I prayed he wouldn’t pul away once he saw the condition of one of his passengers.

He waited for us, helping me ease Henry into the back seat.

“Wha’s wrong wit’ him?” the driver asked.

“Too much fun last night,” I lied, climbing in next to Henry and propping him on me.

“No puke in my cab,” he said.

“He’s done puking. Portland Airport, please, as fast as you can get us there.”

“Ju got dinero?” he said. I puled out three one-hundred-dolar bils, and the cab screeched from the curb. I instantly questioned my use of the word “fast.”

“Where ju goin’?”

“Hawai,” I said.

“Hawai…is bueno.”

“Yes, is bueno. Henry, hey, honey, we’re going to Hawai today,” I whispered. His eyes flickered open and he smiled. I breathed a deep sigh of relief. He was stil with me.

The driver sailed down the freeway unobstructed as weekend rush-hour traffic hadn’t gnarled the lanes yet. And as it was Saturday morning, few cars were on the road at sunrise. Finaly, a break.

I rested my head against the back of the seat and curled my right hand around Henry’s clammy fist. I again thought of the amulet and knew this was one of those moments I needed whatever protection it was offering. With my left hand, I reached for it, wrapping my palm and fingers around the bronze triangle. In my mind, I caled to Alicia, to Teo, to Marlene, to whoever could hear us. “We need help. Henry is hurt. Please send help. Please help us before Henry dies.”

The thought of Henry dying before we got to the airport, of him dying at al, sent a fresh wave of panic through me. I squeezed his hand and the amulet tighter, repeating my pleas over and over again, until I was on the verge of tears.

I felt the amulet warm in my hand, though I couldn’t tel if it was in response to my pleas for help or if it was from my body heat.

Under my right hand, Henry’s fist opened, his fingers stretched. I looked from his moving digits to his face, relieved to see his eyes open, gazing right at me. His cheeks had pinked up somewhat and a smal smile on his lips told me he had stepped back from the brink, at least for the moment.

His voice was raspy as he spoke. “Whatever you’re doing, keep doing it.” He turned his hand over and I laced my fingers through his, the coolness of his palm fading. I closed my eyes and resumed my mental chant, begging for help, hoping that Alicia, wherever she was, would hear me and send whatever energy she could through me to fix her son.

I rode like this, concentrating with every ounce of my being, encouraged by the gradual warmth returning to Henry’s hand.

When the cab skidded to a stop, I opened my eyes, elated to find that we were at the departures level of the Portland International Airport.

“Ju say rápido, Alejandro gib ju rápido,” the driver said, smiling.

“Alejandro, you are numero uno. Muchas gracias.” I released the amulet and handed him the $300, even though the meter said $32.80 for the trip. It was a good fare first thing on a Saturday.

Alejandro sprang from his seat and hurried to open my door and help me out. I didn’t dare let go of Henry’s hand as he was gaining strength and color with each elapsed second. He managed to scoot out of the back seat and stand on his own, his gait more solid and stable on the concrete than it had been on the dewy grass.

“Tenga bien viaje,” Alejandro said. I sort of shrugged at him.

“Hab a good trip, mi beleza.” He smiled at me and hooked our backpacks over my free shoulder.

I nodded and guided Henry into the terminal. As soon as the sliding doors opened, I was overwhelmed with the noise.

Conversations in every conceivable language. Fingernails tap-tap-tapped on keyboards. Plastic packages opened. Food chewed and gum smacked. The beep and buzz of security radios. Wheels of transport carts peeled against the polished floors and the whirr of their tiny engines. Toilets flushed. Children laughed and babies cried. People said goodbyes and argued with ticket agents…

endless sounds. Maddening. And the shades…oh, my God, the airport was the hangout for the dearly departed. They were everywhere. At least these were intact. Nothing rotten. And those who saw me either nodded or looked down. It had to be the amulet.

But I had to do whatever I could to drown out the sound, struggle to force the noise into a single stream in my head, ignore the bodies in my peripheral vision, concentrate on getting us out of Portland, out of domestic airspace, out of Lucian’s reach.

“Which airline, Henry?” We scanned the placard above the reservations and check-in counter, which extended on and on, no less than the length of two footbal fields.

“Whichever one wil take us to France.”

As I wasn’t a seasoned air traveler, I needed our choices narrowed a bit. “I’ve never flown before. Any suggestions on where to start?”

“KLM, Air France, Virgin Atlantic…,” Henry whispered. He looked pale again. I was afraid to let go of his hand but he needed to sit, before he colapsed. I couldn’t find us a flight if he was forced to stand next to me at one reservation counter after another; if he passed out, no airline would alow us to board without first seeking medical attention. And the falacy of being hung-over would come to a crashing end once an airport medic saw the real reason for Henry’s “ilness.”

I spied a kiosk next to the information desk where wheelchairs were available to rent. “We’re gonna get you a wheelchair now.

Don’t let go of my hand.” He did his best to stay upright and not drag his feet. Appearances were everything at this juncture, and so far, thank heavens, no blood had oozed through the layers of his clothing.

We made it to the wheelchair kiosk and a middle-aged porter helped me pay for and unclick a chair from the corral. Henry eased into the chair and grimaced when his back made contact with the vinyl seat. The porter excused himself to assist an elderly couple, and I was relieved he didn’t stand around to ask questions or watch me as I struggled to push the chair with my free arm.

“Give me the packs, Gemma,” Henry said. I stopped the chair and situated the bags, one at a time, onto his lap.

I leaned into his ear and whispered, “The book is in my bag.

Hold it closest to your body.” He nodded, a flash of gratitude brightening his weary eyes.

“I can explain,” he said.

“Later. Let’s find a way out of here first.” Rather than steer to each individual airline counter, I decided to ask the young woman at the info desk for help finding departing flights to France. She was able to scan her computer and provide me with three airlines offering service for today to Paris, Marseiles, and Toulouse. A little unschooled in French geography, I took the names of al three airlines, thanked her for her assistance, and pushed Henry to a sitting area.