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FOR THE NEXT HOUR, the three women exchanged tidbits of information in hushed tones in the ICU waiting room. Marrisa had made her way back to them and filled Clara/Raquel in on Uriel’s doings, including her possession. Raquel had likewise filled them in on what she had learned while outside Clara’s body.
“War is coming, and soon,” Raquel informed them solemnly. “There are hordes of demons amassing in the communities surrounding several major metropolitan areas, and Oklahoma City is one of the targets. It would appear the Bible Belt isn’t as secure as local ministers would lead their flocks to believe.”
“Are these hordes of demons in cloned bodies like we discussed before?” Pris asked.
“Exactly, and they’re being led by their prime supplicant, or zero patient, as the case were,” Raquel replied.
“Prime supplicant? Zero patient?” Marrisa repeated, clearly puzzled.
“The only way a human being may give their body to Lucifer’s use is by becoming a supplicant to him; beseeching Satan as a god for guidance, and pledging fealty,” Raquel explained. “The Center for Disease Control uses the term Patient Zero to refer to the first person to become infected in a serious of patient exposures, or an epidemic. I wasn’t sure which phrase you would more readily understand, so I offered both.”
A man in green scrubs with a surgical mask dangling on to leads from his neck pushed through the doors to the waiting room. As they were the only people waiting, Marrisa rose and all three turned to face him. His slumped posture and general body language said he did not have good news for them.
“I’m Dr. Pashteen, Chief of Neurology, and I’ve been overseeing Detective Kratos’ treatment,” he offered in a mellifluous, sing-song cadence. “Frank is comatose and has brain damage from the concussion of the explosion. The brain is a marvelous organ, and can heal and reroute itself, given enough time and adequate brain cells in the right areas.”
He explained in the way most doctors felt was necessary to share with waiting family. “Unfortunately, the amount of damage his brain has suffered is not only very serious, but also in those areas most important to his recovery.”
“What does all that mean, in layman’s terms?” Marrisa asked impatiently.
“I apologize, it is the nature of my job to try to help family members understand what is happening in the best way I know how,” he smiled as he glanced at the floor. Raising his head, he looked from one set of waiting eyes to the next until he had made eye contact with all three women.
“It means, I’m afraid his chances of recovery are very small. We will keep him on life-support for as long as necessary, and will do everything we can to aid in his recovery.” He turned and began to move away.
Clara gasped and her head rocked backward as if struck, but immediately righted herself as her eyes flared silver. Raquel said, “He will wipe away every tear from their eyes, and death shall be no more, neither shall there be mourning, nor crying, nor pain anymore, for the former things have passed away.”
“What did you say?” Pris asked her.
Marrisa recognized the passage from her husband Phillip’s funeral; it was from the Book of Revelation. Calling out to the retreating form of the neurosurgeon, she asked, “Can we see him?”
The doctor turned back to them, embarrassment plain on his face. “Of course you may,” he replied. “Please forgive me for not offering right away.” He turned to the double-doors, keying them open with a pass card. “Right this way, please; or shall I allow you a few moments? I can send someone out?”
Raquel spoke quickly before Marrisa could reply. “If you would be so kind; thank you. In about five minutes?”
Dr. Pashteen nodded and allowed the door to close quietly behind him. As soon as the door closed, Raquel turned her blazing gaze on the other two. “Frank is the linchpin for all that is to come, we must see to his recovery right away.”
“Did you not understand what the doctor just said?” Pris asked incredulously. “He’s in a coma, and not expected to recover.”
“Oh, yea of little faith,” Raquel replied.
The radio she had picked up off the counter in the kitchen squawked in her bag, and Marrisa’s hand dove into her purse to retrieve it.
“I said, I need to know if I can let Hamilton Nichols leave the hospital unescorted. He’s being discharged and there’s no one here to take him home,” the radio announced.
Without hesitation, Marrisa held the walkie-talkie up to her mouth and pressed the push-to-talk. “This is Mrs. Benson; I’m in the ICU waiting room with Mrs. Kratos, and we are guardians for Hamilton Nichols. Please escort him here, and do not let him come by himself. Is that clear?”
The radio was silent for several long moments while Pris and Clara both looked at Marrisa with newfound respect for the audacity she had just displayed. Apparently, the police were feeling the same way.
“This is Sergeant McElroy. Are you the same Mrs. Benson who is the mother of Priscilla Benson?” he asked.
“I am,” she replied.
“How did you get to the hospital unescorted? You weren’t supposed to leave the residence without effective escort, per the lieutenant’s explicit directions,” he fumed. “And where did you get a police radio from?”
“I drove us here in my van, for which I have a license, and which is equipped to carry not one, but both of the wheelchair users currently with me. And Officer Omikawa left the radio for me,” she answered succinctly, and with just a little edge in her voice.
“Yes ma’am, I understand,” he said, suddenly all cooperation. “I’ll personally be escorting Mr. Nichols to the ICU waiting room in short order.”
Pris gaped at her mother. “Go Mom,” she gushed.
Raquel also nodded her beaming countenance in approval. “These are becoming desperate times, and call for desperate measures.”
Three minutes by her watch, Marrisa observed Ham turn the corner from the elevator lobby toward them. A tall, red-haired, muscular policeman with a huge handlebar mustache strode beside him.
“Sergeant McElroy, I presume?” Marrisa said, rising and offering her hand.
He shook her hand firmly, maintaining his grip longer than necessary. “I don’t know whether to arrest you, hug you, or both,” he said, finally releasing her hand.
“I don’t know you well enough to hug, and why would you feel you could arrest me?” Marrisa replied coolly.
“Why would I feel I could...you me why would I think I should?” McElroy replied, flustered.
“No, I said what I meant,” Marrisa smiled. “Perhaps you haven’t been briefed on what capabilities our young super heroes have as of yet.” She grinned at Ham, and then Pris.
“Super heroes? Ah, no ma’am, I don’t believe I have,” he admitted. “There have been some rumors, but I’ve learned to stick with facts during my 12 years on the force,” he informed them.
“Let’s just say, unless I wanted to go with you, I don’t think you could make me,” she answered boldly.
Sergeant McElroy was aghast. He had never had anyone appear so utterly confident that he could not exercise his authority over them, and it showed plainly. “Perhaps you could enlighten me?” he finished, his voice a mixture of curiosity and something near contempt.
“No, you really don’t want me to do that, unless you’re a good swimmer,” Ham replied.
Clara, Priscilla, and Marrisa all burst into simultaneous giggles.
“Are you all on drugs?” the sergeant asked. “Did they give you something after the incident at the Kratos residence? I need to call for some additional officers to escort you to a safe location,” he finished, reaching for his radio.
Ham glanced at the radio as he drew it from its holster, and watched as he pressed the talk pad. “This is Sergeant McElroy. I need six officers to the ICU waiting room forthwith.”
He held the radio slightly away from his ear, anticipating a reply. When none was forthcoming, he repeated his request, twisting the knobs on top in an attempt to get some response. The radio was dead. McElroy tapped the radio against the palm of his beefy hand, turning the power knob off and on several times.
“Huh, it was fully charged when I came on shift two hours ago,” he said, more to himself than the others.
Remembering Marrisa had a radio, he looked at her. “Mrs. Benson, I’ll need to recover the radio Officer Omikawa gave you,” he said, holding out his hand.
“Certainly,” Marrisa replied, handing the radio to him. “And I didn’t say Omikawa gave it to me, I said he left it for me.”
Raquel had been smiling throughout the exchange, and was about to speak when McElroy keyed the radio. Nothing happened, and he went through the same routine he had with his own. Patrick McElroy wasn’t born at night or last night; he smelled a set-up.
“What exactly is going on here?” he asked plaintively.
“Please, allow me to demonstrate,” Ham offered. The others watched in earnest to see what new skills he might have discovered. “Don’t be alarmed, I have no intention of hurting you,” he concluded, addressing the now smirking officer.
The radio McElroy had placed in its holster sprang from the leather case and bounced off the ceiling tile overhead, rattling it in its frame. It then made a circuitous loop around the room before coming to a stop two feet in front of the Sergeant’s face.
When the shocked policeman reached for the walkie, it danced away from his hand as if they were magnetic opposites. Dawn rose on the startled officer’s face, and he realized the rumors he had heard were at least partially true. The big man stumbled toward a waiting chair and collapsed into it, bouncing it several inches backward.
“So you see, I really don’t need police protection, I have my own,” Marrisa said proudly.
Raquel called the officer by his first name. “Patrick, you’re a wonderfully devout man, and my Father loves you for your faith. Have faith now that what you see and hear in the near future is all for His good and His will.”
The door of a storage closet opened twenty feet down the hall, and Uriel stepped out in his host body. “I heard your call,” he said without preamble. “How may I serve?”
It was testament to the bizarre nature of the night that none of the other’s were shocked to see the custodian step out of a closet, when they had been there for hours and had not seen him go in.
Turning to the others, Raquel said, “We must tend to Frank’s recovery now; time is slipping away and he must be there to fight with us, or all is lost.”