Chapter 37
I was lying on the recliner with my legs spread out and covered with an afghan that had the Presidential seal on it. I think it came off Air Force One. I was awake and feeling the after effects of the shot. Grumpy, head-achy and lethargic. I wasn’t hungry, breakfast was still on the tray untouched. My secret stash of chocolate was there if I got put on bread and water. Felice hadn’t risen yet, I could hear her moving in bed next door, heard her unconscious mind seeking for me but I ignored her. It was Saturday, and she usually didn’t wake up until 10 AM.
Someone’s hand knocked on my door even though I said go away, Kenyan opened it and said good morning. The White House staff Butler was always polite, no matter the circumstances. He escorted in Doctor Anderson and a lady dressed in a severe suit of a decidedly odd color, a deep cranberry with heels that were every bit of 8 inches and shiny black patent leather shoes. Very expensive. She carried an equally expensive briefcase of soft leather.
“What do you want and who are you?” I snapped.
Kenyon said mildly. “Sir, please behave, or I’ll have to call your father.” He softly shut the doors. We stared at each other. I put the recliner’s foot down and sat up so I could hide my legs.
“This is Doctor Lena Torres, Dantan,” he said finally. “How do you feel?”
“Like you stuck a needle in my ass and drugged me without my consent,” I returned.
“I had your father’s written permission, and it was medically necessary,” Anderson said.
“I don’t need my father’s permission,” I retorted. “I’m nineteen.”
“You’re fourteen in a nineteen-year-old body, Danton. You’ve been kidnapped, abused, shot and paralyzed. Don’t you think we need to address your mental wounds as well as your physical ones?”
“So you’re a shrink?”
“I’m a psychiatrist, yes, Dantan. I treat children exposed to trauma, both mental and physical.”
“I don’t want to talk to you.”
“You don’t have to, Dantan. You know, you look like Vange.”
“Vange–you mean my mother? How did you know my mother?”
“We went to school together. Brown. You have her eyes.”
“My mother’s dead.”
“Hit and killed by a drunk driver.”
I didn’t say anything. Anderson knew I wouldn’t move from the chair until they were both gone, I didn’t let anyone see me or my legs uncovered exposed to their pitying stares. We sat in a stoic silence which I won because I could go away for hours amusing myself in the minds of the animals. My favorite lately, was a big black Morgan/TB cross named Really? Ridden by a Washington DC police officer in the city. Four strong legs under me, lungs bursting as he trotted on the cobblestones, the air crisp and cold. It felt weird to know a man had his legs wrapped around us, but the bond between those two was a living, breathing thing that I could appreciate. Besides, it got me out of the house, the White House.
He was trotting through the Park, riding the trails keeping an eye out for vagrants and joggers; this Park had once been the site of a serial rapist and several murders, so the Sergeant took an unofficial detour to patrol once a shift before merging in the downtown square, where they stood and helped direct traffic giving directions and providing a bit more glamour to the Capitol.
Really? danced under him, pulling at the bit and the Sergeant laughed, gave him a nudge and let him canter on the path. He wanted to throw in a good-natured buck or two but was too well trained for that. By the time we reached the street corner, we were down to a sedate walk and the Sergeant patted our neck.
Just across the intersection was the bank, a rare coin store, and a jewelry shop with customers coming and going. Two men stood outside the bank and caught his attention, as did the third man waiting at the curb in an idling van.
“Central,” he spoke into his collar mike. “Any silent alarms reported in from Chase on Constitution?”
“No, MP-12. What have you got?” The dispatcher’s voice asked even as the lookouts saw him standing there on the sidewalk like the Cavalry coming to the rescue. He steered the black gelding across the street and they panicked. The driver hit the gas and aimed his 2 tons of metal at horse and rider.
I took over Really?’s mind, controlling his body, ignoring his rider’s frantic sawing on the reins. Turned my half ton body and hit the van on the rear end, sending it crashing into a parked car where it teetered and fell over onto its side. The driver wasn’t wearing a seat belt and hit the windshield. Dead or unconscious.
Now, I heard guns going off, and felt bullets whizzing by. The two outside were shooting at the cop and missing both of us. I dropped to my knees and shook, clearly indicating he was to dismount. He did, hiding behind a van with his weapon drawn. Checked myself. No bullet holes in smooth, black hide, just a sore shoulder where I’d made impact with the van.
He was calling it in. Sirens came from all over. In the bank, I sensed another mind and dropped most of my awareness out of Really? into the seeing-eye dog of a customer huddled on the floor asking in bewilderment what was going on.
Eight tellers, eight gunmen in suits and face masks quietly robbing the drawers and the vault, which was wide open. The terrified bank guard lay face down under the muzzle of an AK assault rifle.
“Police coming,” one reported in a calm tone. The two outside bolted inside, voices frantic as they related their getaway vehicle was toast. I didn’t know what to do, there were too many of them, and if I tried, they just shoot me and the hostages. Frantic, I vacillated between the horse and the black lab.
Finally, I forced myself awake, and split into three places at the same time. I felt nauseous and very weak, splintered.
Anderson and the shrink were slapping my face, taking my blood pressure and preparing to shoot me with something to wake me up.
“Danny.”
“Get Jake,” I rasped. “My Dad, hurry. It’s important.”
“Your father is on the Senate floor,” he said. “Danny, you had another spell. I want you to go to Walter Reed.”
“No! Get Jake. Or Mitchell Gaines,” I struggled to get out of the chair, but I felt like a fish in an inch of water. “Please, Doctor Anderson! There are people’s lives at stake!”
To humor me, he sent for Jake to come as quick as he could. I told him the situation and in minutes, he had the DC police on the line relaying the information as I saw it through the black Labrador’s eyes. Which gave the police snipers a clear advantage.
“Twenty-three hostages,” I counted. “Including Rosie. The dog.”
I check outside, the Sergeant had approached the bank close enough to observe the front doors but not see it. Really? was ground tied to the sidewalk out of the line of fire. I hesitated, knowing what I intended to do might kill me, and most likely Really?. His own consciousness told me he was a trained police horse and it was his duty to go as his officer pointed him, to die in battle, such as his kind had done for ages.
I’ll protect you as best I can, I vowed and he gave me control. I bolted forward vaguely hearing the Sergeant shout as he tried to grab my flailing rains. Behind me, emergency vehicles bracketed both ends of the street.
I hit the glass front of the bank, and exploded through it, legs tucked under me, neck and head curled close to my body to make as small a target as I could. Missed the bodies of the hostages because I was also in Rosie and saw them in groups huddled together out of the way. The thieves might have been expecting gas grenades or flash bangs, but the sight of a 1500 pound riderless horse through the front lobby stunned them long enough for me to charge the nearest one, and tear the gun from their hand, kick three more hard enough to fracture, legs, chest and head, and stomp two more into red hamburger.
Then, the snipers took over as the rest of them fired. The feel of bullets punching into me was a massive shock. I felt my awareness retreat as the pain overwhelmed both horse and human mind. Falling shook the lobby floor and screaming, I pulled back just before the last one fired a bullet into Really?’s brain.
I screamed and went for the rest, blew into their heads and twisted. Lit their brains up until they were mosh. Didn’t see them suddenly stop, sit down, like mindless zombies. Woke up in bed crying as if my heart had broken. Didn’t know where I was. Didn’t care.