The doctor stood. “All the rooms are occupied.” He pointed at Wyatt with a trembling finger. “And besides, I don’t want him anywhere near our patients.”
Wyatt felt disappointed. He would have thought the doctor could have been more calm in such a situation. Obviously he’d never been a combat medic which, considering how things were shaping up outside, would be a good skill to have.
The nurse returned and handed the keys to the doctor.
“Do we have any candles?” the doctor asked her. He dropped the keys into the guard’s huge hand.
“Candles? Uh, no. Not at all,” she said, casting furtive glances in Wyatt’s direction. She was pretty. Older, maybe in her mid-forties, but that didn’t bother Wyatt. He liked women in uniform.
The doctor waved at the guard. “What is this maniac still doing here? Get him out and watch him!”
The guard pulled Wyatt around the bodies, their shoes leaving bloody impressions on the linoleum tiles. “Watch your step,” the guard said as they passed Ethan’s body on the gurney.
He let himself be guided to the front doors which were still propped open. As Wyatt and the guard moved outside the crowd of people backed away, some gasping.
“Excuse us,” the guard said, and escorted Wyatt over to a giant hatchback parked nearest the door.
Figures the doctor would have the best spot, Wyatt thought as the guard took him to the passenger side door and fumbled with the keys in his hand.
Wyatt looked over the darkening parking lot and out at the main street. Cars, trucks and buses were lined up in both direction, bumper to bumper and stock still. No one moved. Things had not changed much since Wyatt took Ethan into the clinic.
Now he knew it was all for the better.
“This is a good thing,” Wyatt mumbled.
“What?” the guard said, finally unlocking the door and opening it. “What did you say?”
Wyatt offered the man a syrupy grin. “This is all a good thing that’s happened. Trust me on that.” He felt the conviction down in his bones.
“Uh-huh,” the guard said, and shoved Wyatt up into the passenger seat. With his hands restrained behind his back, it made sitting uncomfortable.
“I’m not comfortable,” Wyatt said. He felt sleepy, like a nap was needed now more than ever.
“Shut up, and don’t cause any problems,” the guard said. Confident Wyatt was secured, he fished a phone out of his uniform’s front pocket.
Wyatt watched him with pity and shook his head. “No need for those anymore, friend. Today has changed that.”
The guard thumbed the buttons on the phone which looked like a toy in his massive hand. The screen remained dark. No rings or beeps. “Damnit,” the guard said.
Wyatt watched him for a few moments as he futilely tried to resurrect the little device. “Do you know what is going to happen?”
The guard looked up and arched a brow at Wyatt. “Yeah, I know what’s going to happen.”
“What?”
“I’m going to hand you over to the police, is what’s going to happen. Then I’m going to submit an overtime sheet and demand a danger pay bonus.”
“Danger pay?” Wyatt laughed. The term was odd to hear out loud. “That’s not what I meant.”
“Okay, what do you mean?” The guard looked frustrated. Wyatt felt for him, he was having a rough day. Something Wyatt could identify with.
“You’re not going to hand me over to the police,” Wyatt said.
The guard scoffed. “Oh, no? What am I going to do with you then?”
“You’re going to let me go.”
The guard laughed, a deep barking sound. “That’s rich. You really expect that, huh? Murder two people in my clinic and just waltz away?”
“No, you’re going to let me go because I have a job to do.”
“And what’s that? Kill more people?”
Wyatt shook his head, the approaching night felt like cotton against his senses. “I didn’t kill people,” he nodded toward the clinic and the bodies inside. “Those weren’t people.”
The expression on the guard’s face said he thought Wyatt was nuts. “If those aren’t people, then what are they?”
“A beginning,” Wyatt said, smiling wide. He rested his head back against the seat.
The guard scoffed again. “Damn nut-job. Murderous, killing nut-job. But you still didn’t answer my question.”
“Which was?” Wyatt said through lidded eyes.
“Why would I let you go after what you just did?”
“Because I have a job to do, and not you, nor anyone else, can stop me from doing it.”
“What job is that?”
Wyatt thought for a moment, then said, “I don’t know. It’s not clear to me, yet.”
Some people at the front of the clinic starting yelling at each other. Then a man pushed a younger woman against a glass window, causing it to rattle.
“Hey!” the guard said. To Wyatt he said, “Stay put and don’t be stupid.” He slammed the door and went over to the brawling couple shouting for everyone to calm down.
Wyatt watched as the guard tried to maintain order. Even despite his size, things were getting out of hand. The people were agitated. Not just at what Wyatt had done, but the fact that this entire situation was confusing, and it wasn’t getting any clearer.
He looked over each one, men and women, husbands and wives. They were all at the start of a great change. Sort of like himself, only Wyatt knew his change was for a greater purpose. What it was he couldn’t be sure, but he wasn’t worried. He’d get a sign soon enough.
A strange sereneness passed over his body as he contemplated the possibilities of what his new job would be. Whatever it was, it would finally give him something more to strive for than simple survival. No more dumpsters, no more cans, no more bottles. No more being afraid.
Killing Casket and Scarface had dislodged something inside him. A jagged thing which had been stuck in his soul for so long he’d forgotten to even dream anymore. Now, he was in a dream.
“Penny for your thoughts?”
Wyatt turned to the voice. Ethan was sitting in the driver’s seat, looking at him with a wide grin.
“You’re dead,” Wyatt said. “What’s up with that?”
Ethan shrugged. “Can’t say for sure. Only I know it has something to do with you, of all people. Damned if I can figure out why.”
Wyatt looked Ethan over. His friend looked just as he was before Casket had sliced him up. Rough and ready for a day of dumpster diving. Was he an angel? He didn’t look it. But he didn’t smell bad anymore. In fact, Wyatt was certain Ethan smelled like peppermint.
“No,” Wyatt said, sitting up. “You’re dead. I saw you die. Then you talked to me from that gurney like nothing had happened. Now you’re here in the doctor’s truck like it was something I wanted.”
Ethan looked around the truck’s cab and placed his hands on the wide steering wheel. “This is the doctor’s truck? Damn fine set of wheels, if you ask me. Guess he could afford it, being a doctor and all. Although I think he kind of sucks at his job considering he couldn’t save me.” His face scrunched up in thought. “Do doctors have their pay cut when someone dies in their care?”
Wyatt shook his head, his eyes never leaving Ethan. He was here. Really here in the truck. Wyatt could feel his presence just as if someone alive would be. “Why are you here?”
“Enjoying this fine example of American automotive craftsmanship!”
“No,” Wyatt said, shaking his head. “Why are you here for me? Are you a figment of my imagination? Am I suffering a trauma of some kind?”
Ethan’s smile slipped a little as he matched his friend’s stare. “I’m not a figment of anything. I’m your friend and always will be. Trust me on that. And as for suffering a trauma,” he waved his hands at the darkness around them and the people clustered outside, “the entire universe is suffering a trauma on a massive scale. But it doesn’t have to be that way. It doesn’t have to be as painful as it might be unless something happens to ease them through this great change.”