She swings and kicks at the man straddling her. He remains unaffected, wrapping his hand around her neck and bearing down. She grabs at him, searching for some place to bury her fingernails. There is no flesh to be found as he is effectively covered. With swift thought, she jabs her fingers into the whites of his eyes.
“Fuckin’ bitch!” he stammers, covering his eyes with his palms.
His partner busily ties the little boy, who is slowly coming to, in a chair beside his father. “Am I gonna have to handle your business too, bro?”
“Tie her goddamned hands down, man. Whore’s trying to scratch my eyes out,” he spews, still astraddle her waist.
“Daddy?” the boy whispers, regaining consciousness. He pulls against the ropes tying his feet and hands down to the chair.
The man’s partner accompanies him on the bed.
“Braydon,” his father calls, blood trickling out of his mouth, unable to hold his head up to search the direction of the voice.
The partner hastily grabs the woman’s wrists, binding them with rope, he stretches each one out to its respective corner at the top of the four-poster bed. She writhes against him the entire time, inciting him to jerk and pull against the rope, making it burn and cut into her flesh. “Lawyer lady. Lawyer lady.” He touches his tongue to the roof of his mouth,
tut tut tut
goes the sound. “This is one case you’re not gonna win. You might as well quit fighting.”
The man sitting on top of her finally quits seeing stars, removing his hands from his eyes, he pummels her across the face.
“Mama!” Braydon screams. “What are they doing to her, daddy? Why?” He cries.
“It’s okay, baby,” she soothes. “It’s going to be okay. Just close your eyes, Braydon. Close them so tight. Like when you and mommy pray. Close your eyes and pray, baby.”
“Shut your fuckin’ mouth!” the guy straddling her orders, ripping her satin nightie from her body, while his partner secures her ankles to the bottom of the bed.
“Please. Don’t do this,” she whimpers, pulling and kicking against the restraints.
“Now you’re not so tough, are ya, lawyer lady?” the man’s partner taunts, moving from the foot of the bed to her husband. He grabs Lon’s head by his hair, jerking it up from his shoulder, physically having to hold it in an upright position after the beating his neck and face took from the shotgun. He puts his mouth right beside Lon’s ear. “We’re gonna take turns with your wife. And the best part, you’re gonna watch.” He turns to Braydon, whose eyes are closed. He slaps the kid upside the head. “You too. Open your eyes.”
Braydon cries, bearing down, keeping his eyes closed.
“You sorry mother-fucker,” Lon attempts to raise his voice, only audible as a gurgled whisper.
“Braydon, baby, keep your eyes closed,” the woman coaxes, tears falling from hers as she watches helplessly the man astraddle her naked body loosen his belt, pushing his pants down around his thighs.
“What’s that?” the man exaggerates, putting his ear to Lon’s mouth. “Speak up, pretty boy. You’re probably used to being quiet. Lawyer lady does enough talking for the both of ya. Isn’t that right lawyer lady?”
The man straddling Brianna on the bed commences to raping her. She cries out, a combination of pain and disgust. “Talked us into a ten-year sentence,” he grunts. Brianna closes her eyes, turning her head away from him, attempting to imagine herself anywhere but there. Pausing momentarily, he licks the side of her face, his mouth coming to rest over her ear. “But we’re such good little boys, we got released early.” She moans, mournfully. “Oh yeah, you like that, baby?” Her body convulses with each tearful, guttural wail released from her lungs.
The man standing behind Lon laughs. “She likes it, pretty boy. Hear your dirty little whore moan?”
With one last fit of strength, Lon throws himself and the chair backward into the man, causing him to fall back against the wall, the chair pinning him underneath. The man heaves and kicks at the chair until it tips over sideways, Lon still tied to it.
“Ha, ha, ha,” the man raping Brianna laughs, his sweaty flesh grinding against her.
“Shut up!” his partner yells, getting to his feet. He positions himself in front of Lon, kicking him over and over again, until he is panting from the exertion.
“You pray, Braydon,” the woman cries to her son. “Close your eyes, baby.”
“‘Yea, tho I walk through the valley of the shadow of death,’” he begins, his eyelids tightly pressed together, pausing to catch his breath between sobs. “‘I will fear no evil...’”
“You about done?” the partner huffs, walking to the bed, awaiting his
turn.
“Almost,” the man grunts, his bodyweight collapsing onto his arms, he leans over her face. “Open your eyes, lawyer lady. I got something to show ya.” She turns her face toward him, a stoic emptiness displayed. As she opens her eyes, he pulls the ski mask from his neck, revealing a spider web tattoo. Shedding the black fabric, his long greasy hair falls around his shabby facial scruff, maintaining his anonymity. He smiles a menacing, toothy grin, causing Brianna’s recollection to surface. She is numb, silent. “What’s the matter, cat got your tongue?” he says, a wicked laugh escaping his disturbed soul.
TONY IS STARTLED from his sleep by a rattling of the shackles holding Gina down to the bed. She writhes and cries with great strength, her eyes shut. Tony jumps up, bolting to her side as the monitors flash and ding signifying her vital signs have increased. Her heart rate pounding, her blood pressure surging, her chest rises and falls at a rapid pace. Nervously, Tony eyes the pins in the shackles, as if they may miraculously break with her power. He wants to touch her, wake her, console her...something, but he’s not sure who he’ll be addressing, Gina or Vigilare?
Now you’re as paranoid as Dr. Godfrey
, he scolds, reaching out to her. He gently places his hand to her forehead stroking it through her hair. “DeLuca,” he speaks quietly. “Gina,” he says, louder this time.
She opens her eyes, desperately searching. Much to his relief, they are not sparkling emerald green, they are dark green, the eyes of his entrusted partner.
“Oh, thank God,” he sighs, grabbing her hand.
She fixates on his voice, his image before her. “Tony?”
“Yeah, baby.” He smiles, pleased at her deduction. “It’s Tony.”
A nurse walks briskly into the room, assessing the monitors, and Gina.
“What’s going on?” Gina looks to him. “What happened? Where’s the little boy? Where the hell am I?” She pulls against the restraints, causing the shackles to start clinking.
“Ms. DeLuca,” the nurse leans over her. “You’re in the hospital. You were shot in the shoulder.” She resets the monitors, quelling their incessant beeping. “Can you tell me your birthday?” the nurse asks, assessing a baseline memory.
“7, 7, 77,” she rattles off.
Judy eyes the identification band around Gina’s wrist, verifying her answer. “Maybe you’d like to buy my lotto tickets. Doesn’t get much luckier than that,” she says, smiling. “I’m Judy, your nurse. How many fingers am I holding up?” She holds up her index finger and her middle finger.
“Two,” Gina states flatly. “Where’s the little boy?” She looks to Tony.
“What little boy?”
“I couldn’t get to him.” Her eyes fill with tears.
“You were having a dream, Gina. It’s not real,” he consoles.
“Ms. DeLuca, are you having any pain?” Judy interjects, busily documenting her assessment.
“Yes,” she says sharply.
“Where?”
She pulls against the padded restraints secured inside the shackles. “These things. They’re a pain in my ass. Will you please untie me?”
Tony chuckles at her response, happy to see she hasn’t lost her spunk.
Judy smiles with an understanding nod. “I’m afraid I can’t do that. They’re for your own safety. So you don’t accidentally pull out your IV lines.”
“Yeah,” Gina says, dismissively.
“I’m going to report to your medical team. I’m sure they’ll want to do a thorough examination now that you’re awake.” Judy excuses herself from the room.
Tony continues leaning over the side rail of her bed, looking her over as if he’s never laid eyes on her before.
“What’s really going on here, Gronkowski?” She grimaces, the pain in her shoulder building. “And why are you looking at me like that?”
He is taken aback. “You really don’t know. You don’t remember.”
“Remember what? The last thing I remember is falling asleep on my couch after I showered. After I met with Aubrey Raines. A strange duck, that one. Nice enough, but she kept looking at me like she could see right through me. Like she knew something I didn’t.”
“You don’t remember last night? Randall Barnes’ apartment.”
“Ooh, did we take him in?” she hopes. “Did he shoot me in the shoulder? That son of a...”
“Gina,” Tony interrupts. “You’re the Vigilare...or whatever,” he blurts out.
She smiles, starting to laugh, only to quickly stifle herself due to the pain the otherwise pleasurable action causes in her shoulder. “So, I guess that makes you my sidekick.” She rolls her eyes. “Batman and Robin. The Green Hornet and Kato. What kind of a sidekick does Vigilare have?” She ponders. “Just for the record, if I was her, that...whatever...I would have a much cooler name than Vigilare. What kind of name is Vi-gi-lare?” she stretches it out, fully enunciating the word.
Tony smiles with a shrug. “I think it’s kind of sexy.” He pauses. “Except for that eye thing you do. That’s kind of spooky.”
“You’re freaking me out. Alright, seriously, stop kidding around, Gronkowski. What the hell’s going on? And, what’s that?” She looks to the crucifix dangling from the side rail of her bed, the same crucifix the woman in her dream wore. “How’d that get here?” Her mind spinning, attempting to make sense of the entire chaotic scenario.
Tony looks to the crucifix. “Dr. Godfrey hung it there.” He shrugs his shoulders. “As for what’s going on, I don’t know where to begin. It’s going to sound crazy, Gina.” He paces beside her, running his hands through his hair, coming to rest on the back of his neck. “I was there, and I still don’t believe it.”
Nurse Judy returns with the medical team. A stream of white coats with clipboards march into the room, lining up around Gina’s bed. Dr. Godfrey meanders in at the end of the line. “Mr. Gronkowski, would you care to accompany me to the waiting room?” Judy offers kindly.
He looks to Gina who shakes her head, her eyes wild and nervous at the commotion in the room.
“No. Thank you. I’m not leaving her.” Gina opens her hand. Tony fills the void, placing his inside hers.
“Only for a little while,” Judy coaxes. “The team needs to fully evaluate her now that she’s conscious.”
He stays put.
“Ms. DeLuca,” a white coat addresses her. “Could you please state your given birth name?”
Another white coat shines a penlight into her eyes, peering down into them, as his cohort begins connecting electrodes to her scalp to conduct an EEG (electroencephalograph) in order to measure brain activity. They crowd around her as if she is some sort of exhibit they have come to see.
“What the hell’s going on here?” Tony demands.
“Get off me,” Gina says, feeling claustrophobic, her body surges with adrenaline.
“Orderlies,” a white coat calls through the wall intercom.
“Orderlies?” Tony challenges. “Get your hands off her!” He starts pulling and pushing white coats away from Gina’s bed.
Gina is writhing and pulling against her restraints.
Two large orderlies who conceivably could have played professional football as offensive linemen enter the room. The white coat who called them points to Tony. The men grab him, each one mashing against the sides of his neck, bearing down on the muscle, causing him a paralyzing amount of pain. As they escort him from the room, Dr. Godfrey smiles and winks at him reassuringly.
Amidst the commotion and chatter in the room, Dr. Godfrey maintains his stature, shuffling calmly to the head of Gina’s bed. She continues to fight, her vital signs soaring off the charts. Her strength gaining by leaps and bounds, the pins holding the shackles together start to give way. Her head feels as though it is about to explode from the blood pulsing through it, steady and rhythmic like a drum.
“Close your eyes, my dear,” he instructs, noticing her incision site holding together the gunshot wound to her shoulder is starting to tear. Blood trickles out. Something soothing and familiar about his voice causes her to obey. She closes her eyes, shielding the ever-pressing emerald green light.
Dr. Godfrey pulls a syringe from his pocket, loaded with an amnesic and sedating cocktail. He stealthily pushes the potion through her IV, quickly disposing of the evidence. “There, there,” he soothes, running his thumb over Gina’s forehead at the juncture of her eyes. Within seconds, her heart rate decelerates back to normal, her respiratory rate slows, her body sinks into the bed, weightless. She sleeps.
Outside in the hallway, near the nurses’ station, the orderlies shove Tony off to Chief Burns before taking their position across from the door to Gina’s room. They stand at attention shoulder-to-shoulder, arms to their sides, hands clasped behind their backs.
Tony rubs at his shoulders, wincing. “Who hired the Guidos?”
“The Feds,” Chief Burns replies. “The white coats. They’re all Feds. Got their own unit for these types of occurrences.”
“You mean like Sector 5?”
Chief nods. “How is she?”
“Goddamn sci-fi shit.” He shakes his head. “She was a hell of a lot better before they showed up.”
The two local officers with Vanguard PD confront a woman who is requesting entry to the hallway and into Gina’s room. She shows them the proper credentials and they let her pass. As she rounds the corner, Tony spots her.
“What’s she doing here?” he asks Chief. “Does she have clearance?” he questions the officers. Dr. Patricia Ryan smiles at him daringly, waving her federally issued identification card as she passes him by, carrying with her a small stainless steel case.
“Psychological evaluation,” Chief answers.
“She’s not federal.” Tony slaps his hand down on the counter. “I’m telling ya Chief, that woman is up to something. I know it! Besides Gina can’t stand her ass. She’s not going to get anywhere with DeLuca.”