Louder and louder they came, but the man’s presence was still undeniable. To Sam’s surprised disgust, the man darted in under the car roof and seized the static journalist, gathering him up effortlessly. Suddenly, Sam dropped his charade, but he could not reach his gun in time, and he dropped that as well.
“What in God’s name are you doing, you daft bastard?” Sam shouted angrily as he tried to pry the man’s arms away. It was in such close quarters as these that he finally saw the maniac’s face in broad daylight. Under his fedora hid a face demons would recoil from, a similar horror to his disturbing elocution, but he appeared perfectly sane up close. Above all, the stranger’s terrible strength convinced Sam not to put up a fight this time.
He threw Sam into the passenger seat of his car. Naturally Sam tried the door on the other side to escape, but it was missing its entire lock and handle panel. By the time Sam turned back to try exiting by the driver’s seat, his kidnapper was already starting the engine.
“Hold tight,” is what Sam construed as the man’s command. His mouth was but a slit though the charred skin of his face. That was when Sam realized that his abductor was nor insane, neither had he crawled out of a black lagoon somewhere. He was mutilated, which practically robbed him of his ability to speak and forced him to wear a trench coat and fedora.
‘My God, he reminds me of Darkman,’ Sam thought as he watched the man expertly work blue torque machine. It had been years since Sam read graphic novels or the like, but he remembered the character vividly. As they left the scene, Sam lamented the loss of his vehicle, even if it was a piece of crap from the old days. Besides, before Purdue got hold of his cell phone, it was also an antique from Nokia BC and could do little else than send texts and make quick calls.
“Oh shit! Purdue!” he accidentally exclaimed, remembering that he was supposed to collect the footage and meet with the billionaire in the late afternoon. His kidnapper just looked at him in between evasive motions to get out of Edinburgh’s densely populated areas. “Listen, man, if you are going to kill me, do it. Otherwise, let me out. I have a very urgent meeting and I really don’t care what sort of infatuation you have with me.”
“Don’t flatter yourself,” the burned man scoffed, driving like a well-trained Hollywood stunt driver. His words were heavily slurred and his s’s mostly came out as a ‘sh’, but Sam found that a little time in his company could get his ear accustomed to the distinct diction.
The Taurus hopped over the raised pavement markers that lined the striped yellow paint of the road, where they exited the off-ramp onto the highway. Thus far, there were no police vehicles on their trail. They had not arrived yet, when the man took Sam away from the site, and did not know where to begin pursuing.
“Where are we going?” Sam asked, his initial panic slowly turning to frustration.
“A place to talk,” the man replied.
“My God, you look so familiar,” Sam muttered.
“How could you possibly tell?” the kidnapper asked sarcastically. It was clear that his handicap did not mar his attitude, and that made him one of those types — the type that did not give a damn about restrictions. An efficient ally. A deadly enemy.
9
Going Home with Purdue
“I want to put this on record as being a very bad idea,” Dr. Patel moaned, reluctantly signing out his tenacious patient. “At this point, I have no concrete excuse to keep you confined, David, but I am not sure you are quite fit to go home yet.”
“Noted,” Purdue smiled, leaning on his new walking stick. “For what it is worth, old boy, I will take care not to aggravate my cuts and stitches. Besides, I have arranged for home care twice a week until our next check-up appointment.”
“You did? That does make me feel a bit more relieved,” Dr. Patel admitted. “Which medical aid are you using?”
Purdue’s impish smile woke some concern in the surgeon. “I elicited the services of Nurse Hurst on a private fee over and above her hours worked here at the clinic, so it should not interfere with her work at all. Twice a week. One hour for assessment and treatment. What do you say?”
Dr. Patel was stunned to silence. “Damn, David, you really cannot allow any mystery to pass you by, can you?”
“Look, I feel awful about not having been there when her husband could have used my inspiration, even just on a platform of morale. The least I can do is try to make up somewhat for being absent back then.”
The surgeon sighed and laid a hand on Purdue’s shoulder, leaning in to softly remind him, “It will not salvage anything, you know. The man is dead and gone. Nothing good you try to do now will bring him back or satisfy his dreams.”
“I know, I know, it makes little sense, but for what it is worth, Haroon, let me do this. If anything, seeing Nurse Hurst will ease my conscience just a little. Please, grant me that,” Purdue implored. Dr. Patel could not argue that it was a feasible point, from a psychological perspective. He had to concede that every bit of mental soothing Purdue could spare could help him recover from his all too recent ordeal. There was no doubt that his injuries would heal on almost as well as it was before the attack, but Purdue needed to occupy his psyche at all costs.
“Not to worry, David,” Dr. Patel answered. “Believe it or not, but I understand entirely what you are trying to do. And I am with you, my friend. Do what you deem redemptive and remedial. It can only do you good.”
“Thank you,” Purdue smiled, genuinely content with his doctor’s consent. A brief moment of awkward silence passed between the conclusion of the conversation and the arrival of Nurse Hurst from the locker rooms.
“Sorry I took so long, Mr. Purdue,” she puffed hastily. “Had a bit of trouble with my stockings, if you must know.”
Dr. Patel pouted his lips and suppressed his amusement at her statement, but Purdue, being ever the smooth gentleman, immediately changed the subject to prevent her from further embarrassment. “Shall we go, then? I am expecting someone soon.”
“You are leaving together?” Dr. Patel asked quickly, looking taken aback.
“Yes, Doctor,” the nurse explained. “I offered to take Mr. Purdue home on my way home. I figured it would be an opportunity to find the best route to his estate. I have never been up that way, so now I can memorize the way.”
“Ah, I see,” Haroon Patel replied, although his face was riddled with suspicion. He was still of the opinion that David Purdue was after more than Lilith’s medical expertise, but alas it was none of his business.
Purdue arrived at Wrichtishousis later than he had expected. Lilith Hurst had insisted they stop first to fill the tank of her car, and that delayed them slightly, but they still made good time. Inside, Purdue felt like a child on the morning of his birthday. He could not wait to get home, expecting that Sam would be waiting for him with the prize he so coveted since they were lost in the hellish maze of the Lost City.
“Good God, Mr. Purdue, what a place you have here!” Lilith exclaimed. Her mouth was agape as she leaned forward on her steering wheel to regard the tall majesty of the gates to Wrichtishousis. “This is amazing! Jesus, I can’t imagine what your electric bill is.”
Purdue chuckled heartily at her blunt honesty. Her apparent modest lifestyle was a welcome change from the company of wealthy landowners, moguls and politicians he was accustomed to.
“It is rather steep,” he played along.
Lilith gawked at him. “Of course. As if someone like you would know what steep means. I bet nothing is ever too steep for your wallet.” At once, she realized what she was insinuating and she gasped, “Oh my God. Mr. Purdue, I do apologize! I am mortified. I tend to speak my mind…”