The FBI made sure that each of the three patients had an armed guard outside their hospital room and that there was a pair of agents stationed at the carded entry point to the restricted floor. So far, the only people allowed into Cris’ room were the doctors, his lawyers and Matt. Even Jake wasn’t supposed to go in but several of the nurses had smuggled him in to see the child at Matt’s urging.
Both Jake and Matt had been admitted for injuries sustained in the car crash. None were as serious as Cris’. He was in an induced coma so that any brain damage from his extreme temperature and the convulsions was kept to a minimum. He was on high dose IV antibiotics, fluids and liquid nutrition as the doctors were trying to get his system back within normal limits.
By the time the helicopter had flown him to the nearest hospital, the ice had dropped his temp by four degrees, down to 101.5˚, still serious with his septic condition. The seizures had ceased, but his kidneys were on the brink of shutting down.
The doctors were worried that he would reach the critical tipping point, where each event would trigger another leading to massive organ failure and death. Children crashed so quickly, within minutes while an adult could last for days in the same condition.
X-rays showed that his broken leg was set correctly and there was no pocket of gas gangrene or infection in the bone. The Native American healer had saved his leg and probably, his life by her intervention.
There were warrants out for the Beilby brothers and Tempe Neige, but not a lot of evidence to convict them of anything – certainly not murder for hire, the hit and run or kidnapping. All Federal crimes. The only case that they could prove was child endangerment when Neige had shot the horse out from under Cris, causing his broken leg and for the death of the animals.
Neither the Beilbys or Neige had been heard from, found or spotted. Like Cris, both the brothers and Cris' father could disappear into the swamps and woods for years if need be.
In an ironic twist, the judge for Tempe’s custody case had ruled in his favor, but the lawyers for the Trust had already filed a writ for an appeal on the grounds of attempted murder and kidnapping, abuse of a minor and a host of other serious charges. The case was headed to the Superior State Court in New York.
Matt sat with Cris from the moment that he came out of the ER, through the recovery room and transfer to the secure wing. He was at Cris’ bedside, wearing one of those ridiculous gowns with open back, but one of the day nurses had brought him a pair of drawstring pants that covered his ass. Some of the other nurses had complained of being deprived of ‘eye candy’.
He had several lacerations on his arms, shoulders and back that had required stitches. His leg had suffered a ligament tear that the surgeon was pushing for, but he was putting it off until he was sure that Cris was in safe hands.
Pieces of glass were still working their way out of his scalp, legs and eyes. Those were so microscopic that the eye doctor had said he couldn’t remove them, they would have to work their way out on their own. When Matt questioned his eyesight, the optical specialist said he would be fine.
After seeing the remains of the SUV, Matt and the doctors were amazed that all three had survived with only minor injuries. Cris was so sick from his injuries sustained before the accident, if he had incurred any, he would most likely not have survived.
He looked pale. Whiter than the sheets upon which he was lying. Normally, he would have been in the pediatric unit where the linens were decorated with super heroes, cartoon characters and movie icons. Where the walls were painted with cheerful animated figures and balloons, toys and stuffed animals replaced flowers and candy. Although, there was plenty of candy floating around. Favorite pillows, blankets and stuffed toys were the norm.
There were no windows looking out from Cris’ room, and only one-way in or out of the locked floor. Those exits were guarded by armed police and Federal agents. Not hospital security. He was as safe as he could be, at least from his human enemies. Whether he could hold off the specter of death was another story.
“I’m here, Cris,” Matt whispered to the boy’s turned head. He was still surrounded with cold packs to keep his temperature down. He wore cardiac leads on his tiny chest, reporting his heart rate continuously while nurses and aides came every fifteen minutes to take his temp, pulse and respirations. Another recorded his I/O, his fluids in and urine out. Most were kind enough to explain the findings to Eachann, explaining what was good, getting better before giving him the bad news.
The doctors looked so young to him, almost as if they were playing at ‘Doctor’ yet each one was an expert in their field. They told him they were doing everything for him that they could. Said things like ‘if we can keep his temp down...’
‘If his kidneys don’t stop, he can overcome this. If his brain hasn't overheated...
‘If we can keep the swelling down, there won’t be much brain damage…’
‘If there is any damage, he’s young enough to relearn, retrain and recover…’
“Basically,” Eachann said, “if he doesn’t die, he’ll get better.”
‘Maybe, they returned. Maybe better but maybe not. He may live, but not as he was. He might be a child. Forever…’
“No,” Matt said. “He told me that he did not want to live like that. He’d rather die.”
They said that it wasn’t up to him to make that decision but to the Administrators of the Trust. Or his father.
“His father wants him dead!” Eachann yelled. “Besides, I’m his father!”
Of course, they didn’t believe him. They hadn’t seen the ghosts in the swamp, or the strangers hidden behind Matt and Jake’s eyes.
After all the precautions that the FBI and the law firm had put into place, the people in charge were relieved and puzzled when neither Neige or the Beilbys tried to attack the child or reach the hospital. A week or two went by with no sign of either man and the security grew less strict than Matt was comfortable with. Both men had recovered enough to leave the hospital. In fact, both had been ordered back to their precinct by their Police Lieutenant. Neither man wanted to go or to leave Cris.
Jonas Sanderson and Jane had left earlier in the second week but called nearly every day for updates on the boy.
He was still in a coma, but no longer was it chemically induced. CAT scans and PET had been taken of his brain. Although they showed damage to portions, it was thought that he could recover with intensive cognitive therapy. The same as stroke patients received.
The blood infection was proving stubborn to treat – most antibiotics would not touch it. They had tried Encyclovir as a last resort and so far, it seemed to have a grip on the pathogens. His last seizure had been nine days earlier and for the past four days, his temp hovered around 101˚.
Two men dressed in dark blue scrubs entered the room. Both men were large, over six-four and built like football players. What Matt found odd was that one of the men wore leather Danskos on his feet. He didn’t know that the clogs came that large –the pair were every bit of size 15. The other nurse or tech had much smaller feet than he thought possible for such a giant. Really, both together weighed over 600 pounds. Matt stared frankly at them with obvious disbelief.
They wore photo IDs on lanyards around their necks, there was no way that the pair were anything other than who they claimed, they were too large and memorable to be assassins. Too large to get out of their own way.
Both photos matched their faces, they had the look of cheerful gnomes instead of giant ogres. They could have played ogres in the movies except that neither man was in any way ugly. On the contrary, both were handsome. The taller man with the chestnut hair and blue eyes was named Gregory, the other was called Robert. Gregory stared at Mathieu in surprise.
“Oh,” he said. The detective nearly fell out of his chair. Gregory’s voice was deep, mellow, like black velvet with Southern overtones. He made James Earl Jones sound like he was a bullfrog.
“I didn’t know he had company, that you were still here, Detective Eachann,” he said laying the folder of paperwork between Cris’ legs.
“I’m not leaving until he wakes up and is home safe,” Matt shrugged. “And Neige is caught. Is Cris going somewhere?”
“We have orders to take him for another PET scan upstairs,” Gregory answered.
“Another one? He just had one two days ago!”
The huge man shrugged. “I know but Dr. Soong ordered another and a blood diffusion test. He wants to see if there is further damage or any improvement. I don’t argue with the neurosurgeons, that’s why they get the big bucks. I just follow the orders.”
“Why two of you? You a matched pair?” Eachann was curious. He stood up as the pair worked around the bed, unlocking the wheels, transferring the IV poles onto the bed instead of the free-standing one behind. Swiftly, the R.N. unhooked the cardiac leads, BP cuff and other lines onto the portable unit which lay next to the boy’s side.
“Look at us,” Gregory smiled. “Who would be stupid enough to take us on?”
“Bullet would take you out without fuss or muss,” he retorted. “Well, quite a bit of mess. You dudes are massive, but you aren’t bullet-proof.”
“No, that’s what your people are here for, to stop the bullets.”
“The idiots pulled all but one cop at the front entrance,” Matt said in disgust. “Because no one has seen or heard from the perps.”
“It’s been two weeks. If his father was planning something, wouldn’t he have tried by now?” Gregory said gently. “We won’t let anything happen to him.”
“Just the same, I’m coming with you,” Matt said. He followed them down the hallway and into the elevator ignoring the sign that said patients and staff only. The went up six floors to the Nuclear Wing, following the signs for the Positive Emission Tomography scanner. The big electromagnet that scanned a living brain and mapped out the areas that were in use, alive, functioning and thinking.
The computer screen glowed with warm colors in red, gold and orange where the brain was actively working. Blue, the cool areas showed where the parts were at rest and dark gray were those that had stopped firing, indicating where the brain had suffered damage. Unlike a leg or an arm that could heal from a broken bone, once brain cells died, they remained dead. There were large areas in Cris’ scan that showed where blood flowed no longer, where the mind had died.
To Matt’s dismay, even he could see the vast difference between this scan and the one from two days earlier. His heart shuddered in pain, fear and despair. He could not bear the thought of losing Cris, his son again. Especially to a fate like that of living death. He prayed that if Cris’ brain damage was bad, that it was bad enough so that he could not survive on his own and would have to be on life-support. So that the powers-that-be could take him off and let him go in dignity. He would rather lose him than see him as a living corpse for forty or more years.