CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
DOC
Am I dead?
I was shot.
Is this Heaven?
I came to with a start, instantly aware that, not only was I very much alive, but I was clothed and pleasantly cool, covered by a thin, soft blanket. The bed beneath me was plush, far more comfortable than what I'd been lying on in my prison.
But despite the comfort, panic was quick to settle in at the realization that my eyes were shielded to my surroundings. And I couldn't move my arms to remove the blindfold.
Not again, not again, not again …
“What the fuck is this?” I demanded, my voice hoarse and rough, as I tugged at the binds holding my wrists to the bed.
“Sorry about that.” A gentle voice from nearby came, and I turned in its direction.
I tipped my head as distant recognition slowly settled in. “Who are you?”
He softly chuckled. “Sorry, Noah. That's not how this works.”
“How what works?”
He was quiet for a moment as footsteps neared the bed. Then he replied quietly, right beside me, “Letting you live.”
I furrowed my brow, my eyes blinking against the cloth over my eyes. “But … the dude in the mask and suit … he said … he said I was innocent. He said he was helping me.”
“Yes,” the man replied, his voice assuring. “He is. We are. But there are rules to benefit from our assistance, and they're in place for our preservation as well as yours.”
He touched my wrist, as if about to release my hands, but then he stalled. “If I allow you use of your arms, do I have your word that you'll keep that blindfold in place?”
“Can't you wear a mask like …” Genesis 18:23. It was the only response he'd given when I asked for his name, and at the moment, it didn't feel like a response at all. “Batman?”
The guy beside me chuckled. “Batman. I bet he’d love that. Actually, I am wearing a mask,” he replied. “But there's more to be protected here than our identities. I can't let you know our location.”
“And what if I found out?”
“Then I can't ensure your safety or survival.”
I swallowed, then reluctantly nodded.
“So, do I have your word? You will not touch that blindfold.”
“You have my word.”
“Thank you,” he replied graciously. Then he untied one wrist before rounding the bed to untie the other.
It felt good to be unbound, to have the freedom of using my hands, but as I rotated my sore, bandaged wrists, I winced and hissed against a pain I hadn’t anticipated.
“Your shoulders were dislocated,” the man explained. “And the bullet Benjamin fired at you hit your arm. You’re lucky it didn’t do more damage than it did. You’ll be fine, but it needs time to rest.”
I exhaled, nodding silently as I absorbed the words. It barely brushed the surface of my injuries, I was sure, and this man … these men … had taken care of me.
“So, what can I call you? Batman’s taken,” I tried to joke as he moved around the room.
“Outside of providing you with the tools to heal, I'm nobody,” he said, never faltering in his tone of kindness.
His bedside manner was impeccable, and as he assessed the bullet wound on my arm, I nodded thoughtfully.
“Whatever you say, Doc.”
He huffed a chuckle. “I'll accept it.”
As he fiddled with the bandages on my wrists, a door opened to the room, somewhere off to the left, and I turned in that direction, as if I could see who had entered the room.
The man now known as Doc halted his administrations, and I assumed he was silently acknowledging the new presence in the room.
Whatever communication was passed between them was quick, and moments later, the door closed again.
“Who was that?” I asked, not expecting much of an answer.
But Doc replied, “Batman,” then chuckled as though the name was hilarious to him. “He wanted to make sure you were awake.”
“He doesn't want to say hi?”
“He's not very social.”
“Fooled me.”
Then I fell silent, allowing my thoughts to take over as Doc moved around the bed, pulling the covers from my body and gently instructing me on where to move and how as he assessed my various injuries.
I knew the man in the plague doctor mask had spared me, but I still couldn't understand why. If secrecy was of such importance, why not just end my life? What did it matter to him or any of them if I lived or died? It just didn't seem worth the trouble, when I put myself in their shoes.
Doc spoke about the extent of my injuries. The gunshot to my arm. The swelling in my shoulders due to them being bound and dislocated. The minimal internal bleeding caused by the beatings. He'd stitched up the open cuts on my face and administered intravenous fluids to fight the dehydration.
Quietly, as if to prevent anyone else from hearing, he spoke of the injuries I'd suffered from the repeated counts of rape, and somewhere along the way, my mind made the decision to tune him out.
And it wasn't that I didn’t appreciate his discretion and display of respect.
But I also knew that, if I gave permission to think about it now, to relive it, I wasn't sure I'd survive it again.
I wasn't sure I knew how to acknowledge what had happened and still find the ability to move forward as an unbroken man.
The pain would fade, the physical evidence would disappear with time, until all that was left was what existed heavily on my psyche.
It was the largest of the burdens to bear—I understood that—and maybe, one day, I'd be able to speak of it.
But I knew it wouldn't be until I could prove to myself that I was able to be whole, even having lived through what I had.
One day, when I was sure I stood on steady legs, I'd allow them to buckle. But that wasn't today.
So, I just nodded, not yet putting a voice to the things I felt.
“I know it's hard to imagine now,” Doc said quietly, “but time does have a way of fading the scars. It doesn't go away, and you'll fight to keep your head above water, but put your trust in your strength, Noah. You've survived more than most. You can survive this too.”
I sucked in a deep breath. “You sound like you're speaking from experience,” I dared to murmur.
“Because I am,” he replied simply. “You might not ever find yourself able to talk about it openly, and that's okay.
But lying about it … to yourself and others …
that's a flimsy Band-Aid that won't do anything to serve you in the end.
Acknowledge it when you're able. Lean on the people who love you.”
Shame heated my face. “God, I don't know how to talk to them about … about that,” I gritted out, hot tears stinging at my eyes, nausea taking life in my gut.
“Not easily,” Doc replied. “The fear of judgment is very real, I understand.
They might see you differently for a bit, but don't be angry with them for that.
Understand their shock and sadness comes from empathy, compassion, and love toward you, and they won't know how to help you.
It's up to you to voice what you need, as you need it. They're not mind readers.”
I grumbled in acknowledgment. “You're pretty smart, Doc.”
“Well, I didn't go through years of college to be stupid,” he replied, lightening the tone of the conversation before adding, “Be patient with them, but also with yourself, Noah. You won't be okay overnight. Allow yourself to not be sometimes, and then, one day, you will be.”
“Yeah,” I muttered, offering a slight nod.
He cleared his throat. “Anyway,” he declared, a formal end to the topic, “how about something to eat?”
***
Doc brought me a meal fit for a king with more options than one man needed.
I listened as he announced each plate before placing it down on a table. Angel hair pasta with grilled chicken and steamed vegetables. Pork chops with applesauce and mashed potatoes. Baked truffle macaroni and cheese. Chicken Parmesan with vodka sauce and a side of penne.
When he was finished, he joked that he didn't know what I'd prefer, and I joked that he just needed an excuse to clear out his fridge.
But I was grateful to be eating something other than fast-food burgers, grateful to be eating anything at all, and like a man who'd just lost his sight, I fumbled through trying to feed myself before giving him the task.
“You know,” I said in between bites, “this would be a lot easier if you'd just … I dunno … took the blindfold off.”
He chuckled. “I could, but—”
“You'd have to kill me—I got it,” I said, chewing.
His responding chuckle was a little sadder this time before he said, “I promise it's nothing personal. We've all kinda taken a liking to you.”
“All, huh?” I considered that. “How many of you are there?”
Doc sucked in a deep breath, as if he needed the time to decide whether he was going to divulge the info or not. But eventually, he said, “There are three of us.”
“Hmm … so, I've met you and the big, scary dude,” I mused thoughtfully. “But not the third guy … or gal?”
“No, you haven't met him yet. He'll be transporting you later.”
“Oh, good,” I said. “I was wondering how I was gonna get a ride out of here without, you know, seeing anything. Or knowing where I am.”
He laughed again. It was a warm and friendly sound, a drastic difference between him and the man in black who had saved my life.
But despite the extreme secrecy, I knew they were, at their core, good people.
I knew I could be friends with them, and I would ask to stay in touch if I thought they’d be open to it.
And still, I couldn’t help but wonder what they were hiding. And why.
Dad mentioned sometimes that some of the best men he’d ever known, he had met in prison. Good guys who had gotten wrapped up in the wrong situation—just like him.
What are these men wrapped up in? I wondered, listening to Doc move around the room. But I knew I'd never know, and somehow, I'd have to learn how to be okay with that … and not stick my nose into business that didn't concern me.
Thankfully, I only needed to learn that lesson once.
“Can you at least tell me where you're taking me?” I asked. “Just to prepare myself.”
“You will be taken to a familiar location; don't worry,” Doc said. “You'll be left with your phone as well.”
Behind the blindfold, my eyes narrowed. “You have my phone?”
I listened as he sucked in a long, deep breath before answering, “Yes.”
“H—”
“No more questions,” he said without a hint of animosity. “Please. It's for your protection.”
“And yours,” I added, my suspicions rising.
“Yes,” he agreed.
How can I ever let this go?
I couldn't, and I knew I never would. It would keep me awake at night and eat away at me forever. But no amounting curiosity mattered when the stakes were so great. And something told me they were never-ending.
“Are you finished eating?” Doc asked with finality, the bed shifting as he stood.
I nodded.
“All right. I'll talk to … my other associate, and we'll get you ready to leave.”
“And what nickname can I give him?” I asked, smirking.
“Hmm …” There was a playfulness in his thoughtful response. Then he huffed a laugh as he replied, “Cujo works.”
“Cujo?” I laughed. “Not sure that makes me feel better about being alone in a car with him.”
“He'll get you there safely,” he replied with assurance. “Just don't expect him to be as pleasant of a conversationalist.”
I couldn't help but grin. “Well, Doc, that sounds like a challenge.”
And it was one I was more interested in focusing on instead of wondering what I was going to say to Meg when I finally got to talk to her again.
But, God, I couldn’t wait to hear her voice.
***
With a hand against my back, Doc led me through what seemed like a long corridor toward my freedom. I hadn't walked in a little over a week, according to him, and though it felt strange, my legs achy and weak, I was surprised how easily I moved.
“It takes more time than you'd think for muscles to atrophy,” he’d explained after he helped me to my feet. “You'll be fine.”
His hand left me now, and he stood to my side.
“Wait here,” he said, then warned, “Do not move from this spot.”
“What if I did?” I asked.
“You're smarter than to test us,” he replied, a smile in his voice.
His footsteps moved away over a carpeted floor, leaving me standing.
But I wasn't alone.
I sensed a presence to the side of me, familiar. I recognized the sound of his breathing as I canted my head in the direction in which he stood nearby.
“Batman,” I said.
I wasn't surprised to be greeted by silence, and still, I smiled as a heavy knot built in the center of my throat.
“I know you're not gonna say anything to me,” I said, my voice tight and choked.
“But you saved my fucking life, man. I mean, I'm nothing to you.
I'm nobody. You could've put a bullet in my head and dumped my body in the ocean, wiped your hands of this bullshit …
but you didn't. I'm gonna be a dad soon, and because of you, I get to see my baby be born. I … I can't thank you enough for that.”
As expected, he said nothing. But I heard a shifting against floorboards from where he stood.
I cleared my throat and composed myself before adding, “And listen, man.
You gave me your word once, and I trusted it.
Now, I'm asking you to trust me. I'm not gonna go looking for answers. You and your buddies are safe with me. This … all of this … it ends today. But, holy shit, I'm gonna be grateful for you forever. I just needed you to know that. I’m so … so fucking grateful.”
A moment went by before a firm but kind hand landed against my shoulder, offering a squeeze.
“Enjoy your life, Detective. And you are far from nobody.”
He surprised me by speaking, using that low, gruff Batman voice again. I opened my mouth to respond when that hand left my shoulder, and I listened as his heavy footsteps disappeared somewhere behind me just as another set approached.
“All righty. Let's get you the fuck outta here,” a new voice said before shoving a sack over my head.
The breath in my lungs stuttered as I uttered, “What the hell?”
“Just a little added security there, friend,” he said, laying a hand against the back of my neck and urging me forward. “Move.”
“I take it, you're my chauffeur,” I said hesitantly, doing as he’d demanded.
He huffed a laugh, deep and rattly, like he'd spent the better part of his life smoking. “I heard about your little pirate nicknames,” he replied. “Don't you go giving me one though.”
“Afraid I'll get attached?”
A door swung open ahead of me, and for the first time in over a week, fresh air kissed my skin. Overwhelming emotion crashed against my chest, and I gasped, only to quickly fight against a rush of embarrassment as my eyes welled up with hot, stinging tears.
“Nah,” the driver said. “More afraid I'd have to kill ya. Now, watch your step, Detective. Got a few stairs coming up, and I'd hate to see you break your neck.”