Chapter 62
A dim light flicked on in the back of Chuck’s brain. The figures standing there in the shadow dance, two of them, he saw the faces. Yes, for sure, it was the same, it was this one, Kovak, and another, darker. The darker one had deformed feet. Like rocks.
“The feet . . .” Chuck said.
“Ah!” Kovak said happily. “You see them.”
“See what?”
“Try to hear him,” Kovak said.
“What do I hear?” Chuck said. His voice was thick and slow.
“Just listen.”
“No,” Chuck said.
“And?”
“My brother.”
“I like you,” Kovak said. “I like you very much. You may be able to save your brother. Would you like to do that?”
“Where?”
“You give me something first. That’s all I ask, will you do that for me?”
Stan. Need to see him. See him. “Yes,” Chuck said.
“Good,” Kovak said. The Kovak in the room with him now. The Kovak in his memory was also talking. Chuck could hear his voice, “
Where did he say it was? The truck. Where did he say it was?
”
And then in his brain two men fighting. Men in uniforms.
Sports uniforms.
The dream. The weird, strange dream. Only not a dream now, in his mind now.
“You see something,” Kovak said, Kovak in the room. “What is it?”
“Nolan Ryan,” Chuck said, unable to resist the questioner. “Mario Lemiux.”
Chuck’s eyes were heavy, like he wanted to sleep. But it was clearer in his mind. Nolan Ryan and Mario Lemiux. He could see them now.
Nolan Ryan, his childhood hero, wearing his Angels uniform, on the mound at the Big A, only the uniform top was too short and his stomach was showing. He had a rash or something on this stomach.
He was pitching to Mario Lemiux, but Mario Lemieux was a hockey player . . .
Kovak shook Chuck’s shoulders.
The images in Chuck’s head scrambled, then coalesced again, stronger.
Kovak said, “What are you talking about? Save your brother.”
“No,” the Asian doctor said. “Too hard.”
“Shut up,” Kovak said.
Rush ten line . . .
“I see it behind your eyes,” Kovak said.
“Rash,” Chuck muttered. “Nolan Ryan has a rash tan line.”
The doctor said, “He’s delirious.”
“No,” Kovak said. “He’s got something. He’s
got
something.”
Someone pounded on the door.
Kovak went to the door, threw it open. Chuck heard voices. He thought he heard someone muffled, like he was gagged.
The door opened wider.
Stan!
Gagged. Eyes pie shaped. Hands restrained behind him.
Pushed inside by someone.
Someone Chuck knew.
Yes. The guy from the accident. The guy who rear ended him and pulled a knife. The Mad Russian.
Every nerve in Chuck wanted to jump up and tear into everybody, but he couldn’t move. Lethargy enveloped him, made everything feel slow around him.
“And so here he is,” Kovak said. “Your brother, safe as you can see. He’s scared, a bit nervous––”
Stan broke free of the Mad Russian and ran at Kovak with lowered head.
And got him right in the stomach.
Kovak grunted as he went down, hard, on his back. Stan on top wiggling and trying to get up.
Mad Russian grabbed Stan by the shirt and yanked him up like a laundry bag.
“No!” Chuck managed, his tongue feeling like two tons.
Mad Russian threw Stan against the wall.
Stan hit, went down, didn’t move.
God, oh God, let me out of here. Give something to kill with.
Kovak was on his feet. Blue fire in his eyes.
He advanced toward Stan.
God, oh God.
Kovak stopped before Mad Russian, took one look at Stan, then slapped Mad Russian so hard he hit the ground.
“Incompetent!” Kovak took a step toward the downed soldier.
Crablike, Mad Russian scurried backward.
And then the room’s lights started flashing. Alarms split the air.
Kovak leaned over and picked up Mad Russian the same way Mad Russian had picked up Stan.
He threw Mad Russian out of the room.
He waved at the doctor to follow.
The doctor seemed like he couldn’t get out of there fast enough.
He’s going to leave us here. Me and Stan.
Stan, who still was not moving.
Kovak went through the door, closed it.
Chuck could not hear a lock. The alarm pierced his hearing.
He wanted to cover his ears, couldn’t do a thing.
Alarms and flashing lights going on in the room and in Chuck’s mind.