Chapter XI
“God damn you, McCormick,” the voice hissed in anger. “What did you do to him? Cale, can you hear me? It’s Jed. Jed Deleon. Come back from wherever you are, Cale. What’s been done for him?”
“For him or to him?” was the bitter reply. “I vetoed ECT but your Director went over my head to the Attorney General and brought a court order releasing it.
“He’s had four sessions. You ever see what electro convulsive shock therapy does to an adult, let alone a thirteen year old skinny, malnourished boy? He’s lucky he didn’t break any bones, let alone tear muscles. For God’s sake, his brain is still growing. Who knows what damage it will do?”
“I’m going to Director Kelstrom and get him to take over Cale’s case. He’s still the Director of the FBI. He owes Cale his life.”
“You better hurry. He’s scheduled for another two sessions this week.”
“Cale, hang in there. I’ll get you out of here, I promise.”
*******
“Can you keep an eye on him for me? I have to go pick up some blood tubes. I’m out of the violet caps.”
“Sure. Park him here. How long will you be?”
“No more than fifteen minutes.”
“Okay. I have an ultrasound in twenty.”
“Oh, I’ll be back way before then. Besides, he’s no problem. He just sits there.”
“Damn it! Where is she? I have to go to that ultrasound. You won’t move, will you, Cale? I’ll check on you in five minutes. Sit here, don’t move and be quiet.”
Quiet reigned; no one heard the drawer open and a small hand searched through the equipment nor grasp around the sterile wrapped scalpel. The first cut was a cold slash that burned icy, and then the warmth as blood gushed into his lap. The second was more difficult because of the damage to the tendons.
He dropped the wet blade into his lap and let his hands dangle in the pool that slowly filled his lap and spewed onto the floor towards the doorway.
Coldness crept up his limbs and his head grew too heavy to hold up. He slumped in the chair, was too far gone when the X-ray Tech returned, saw the spreading pool of blood and screamed.
“Code Red!” he yelled into the phone. “X-ray Lab! Code RED!”
Alarms went ballistic, footsteps raced down the hall and doctors pushed their way into the room.
“I need a BP! Does he have pulse?”
“I thought you said he was catatonic? Get me five units of B+. Call Walter Reed; get a chopper here to airlift him once we get him stabilized! Somebody call that FBI agent, the doctor.”
“Cale, can you hear me? Why did you do this?”
“Pupils are fixed, no blink response. BP is 40/20. Pulse is thready, very weak. He’s bleeding out. Get a large bore into his jugular and push everything you’ve got into him! Get those veins tied off!”
“He’ll need micro-surgery to repair the veins and tendons. His BP is coming up; color coming back into his lips and nails, and who the hell left him alone? He was not to be left unattended, not even for thirty seconds.”
“I had to go get blood tubes. I left him with X-ray.”
“I left to do an ultrasound. I waited for twenty five minutes but you didn’t come back.”
“I got caught up in a choking. Had to do the Heimlich on a patient.”
“Quiet! We’ll discuss this later. He’s taken in four units of blood; his BP is 80/60. No response to the light. How long was his brain without oxygen?”
“I left him for five minutes,” the tech protested.
“Chopper’s here. Is he stable enough to leave?”
“Where’s the patient?” the paramedic and flight nurse jogged in carrying her gear and a gurney. They exchanged vitals and medical data, picked up the boy and transported him to the Life Flight helicopter.
“The FBI will meet you there; A Dr. Deleon is on his way. No one but he or Director Kelstrom is to have access to him after surgery. Understood?”
“Just who is this kid?”
“His name is John Doe. He’s some kind of FBI asset, a thirteen year old kid pushed to this. Take care of him, he’s special.”
“Kid’s lives are all special.”
“Not like this one.”
The doors slid shut on the helio pad and the team watched as the chopper lifted off and dipped as it banked towards the big hospital that catered to VIPs and the military.
The ER team was waiting to take the boy into surgery; they met them on the cement pad and whisked him straight into the OR. The FBI agent waited in the room set aside for family as the surgical team did microsurgery on the boy’s wrists.
Hours passed. The surgeon came out and walked unerringly to the weary man in the chair.
“Special Agent?” At his nod, he continued, “We’ve sutured both wrists; there should be no damage to the tendons or ligaments. This was no attention seeking behavior, he meant to kill himself. The cuts were deep and with no hesitation slices.
“He’s stable, his BP is almost normal. We’ll be taking him to recovery, then to ICU. You can see him, then.” He paused. “We don’t know how long he went without blood flow to his brain and O2 depletion. If it was long enough, he could have brain damage.”
“Frankly, that would be a blessing. He’s been catatonic; his brain was basically shut down, anyway.”
“I hope you have a good psychiatrist handy. He’s liable to try again. We’ll keep him on suicide watch but he more than likely won’t wake up for several hours. The nurses will come out and get you when you can come see him.”
He hesitated. “He looks bad, he’s critical but in stable condition. We don’t know what he can hear or see, so please don’t say anything about his condition.” Jed nodded. “Any questions?”
“None. Thank you.”
“Wish I could do more. Wish I could take it all away. I had a thirteen year old son. He did the same thing only I couldn’t save him.”
“I’m sorry.”
“The warning signs were all there, the depression, alienation, mood swings, acting out. I just ignored them. Don’t make the same mistake I made. Pay attention to them. You’ve been given a second chance.”
“He’s not my son,” Deleon sighed. “I wish he was. I wish I could have known him before.”
“Before?”
“Before a serial killer tracked his entire family down and murdered them. The boy was found unconscious in a sinkhole.”
“No wonder he’s depressed. Survivor’s guilt? Did he find his family?”
“He suffered a brain injury. Doesn’t remember any of it or them. No, his problems stem from something worse.”
“Worse? What could be worse than losing your family to a murderer?”
“Experiencing murders, rapes and evil every time someone touches you or you touch something.”
The surgeon opened and closed his mouth. “Poor kid,” he said, finally. “I’ll come and get you myself when he wakes in recovery. Another hour or so.”
“Thank you, Doctor.”
*******
“Cale, can you hear me? You’re okay, Cale. I thought you had promised me you’d come talk to me before you would do anything like this. You need to talk to me, Cale. You promised. I talked to Penny and she is coming to see you. You’ve made her very sad; she doesn’t want you to solve your problems this way. Cale, open your eyes and look at me.”
The boy’s eyelids fluttered and the great wounded violet of his unusual eyes gazed blankly up at the lights. From his open mouth issued an exhalation that was almost a sigh.
His arms moved restlessly in the restraints but the massive bandages on his wrists prevented him from moving much. He was still hooked up to a unit of blood and IVs in his neck and elbows. He was on a morphine drip and oxygen mask.
“I’m taking you out of here, Cale. I’m taking a leave of absence and you’re coming with me. I just need to make arrangements, Cale. You hang tight, we’ll get you through this, I promise.”
*******
“I’m here to transfer this patient, John Doe,” the FBI agent handed over the paperwork signed by the DO Kelstrom. The nurse looked at him in agitation.
“We can’t find him.”
“What do you mean, you can’t find him?” he screamed.
She turned red, then white. “We went in this morning to change his dressings and he was gone. We had cameras on the unit and no one saw him leave or anyone take him out. We instituted a Code Adam but there’s no sign of him.”
“How long has he been missing?” Kelstrom demanded as the other agents flipped open his phone and began the process of reporting a missing child.
“We don’t know,” she admitted. “Last check was thirty minutes ago. He was there, then. I saw him myself.”
“Jed, go,” Kelstrom shot out and the man took off, yelling into his phone.