“You’ll have fill out a visitor’s pass,” said the nurse. “What about her?”
Story scribbled quickly. “Beth’s a close friend.” “I’m sorry …”
“It’s okay,” said Beth. “I’ll wait here.”
Story stuck the adhesive label on her shirt and ran for the elevators. She was half out of her mind as she ran past rooms, counting numbers, 302, 303, 304…
Two detectives and a uniformed officer approached just as quickly from the opposite direction and arrived first.
“Stay right there by the door,” one of the investigators directed the uniform. “Don’t let anyone inside unless personally cleared by me.”
“What’s going on?” asked Story.
“Who are you?”
“The sister of the patient in there.”
“Can I see some identification?”
She opened her wallet. The detective studied a student ID and handed it back. “Your brother was the victim of a robbery.”
“Robbery?” said Story. “What? For souvenirs?”
“Businessmen traveling alone are common targets at motels.”
The other detective stepped forward. “Miss Long, did your brother ever mention anything about diamonds?”
“Diamonds? Why? No.”
“Maybe he didn’t tell you for your own safety.”
“He told me everything. What’s the guard for?”
The detective glanced briefly at the uniform. “Just got word. Nothing definite, but he may have been hit by the same people responsible for a string of similar crimes over the last month.”
“So again, why the guard?”
The detective bit his lip.
“Whatever it is,” said Story. “I can take it.”
The detective knew people-knew she could. “You might want to have a seat.”
“I’ll stand.”
“Okay, two of the other victims didn’t make it. We think your brother got a good look, which is why they left him …” The detective stopped.
“For dead?” said Story.
“If it is the same people, your brother may be the only living witness.”
“Are you saying they’ll come back?” “This is just a precaution.”
Story took an extra-deep breath. “Can I see him now?”
“We’ll have to pat you down.”
“But you saw my ID.”
“Sorry, ma’am, but I’m sure you’d want us to take every safeguard.”
“You’re right.”
“It’ll only take a few minutes for a female officer to arrive.”
“Can’t you pat me down?”
“Against the rules …” He felt the emotion in her face. “Hell with it: Go on in.”
She involuntarily froze at the doorway. There he was, her baby brother, all gauze and beeping machines, face unrecognizably swollen, one leg hanging from a pulley. She walked quietly to the side of the bed. Crying would only upset him. She used her strength to smile.
Howard looked back up and parted his mouth slightly, but nothing came out.
“Shhhhh.” Story gently patted his arm. “Don’t talk now. Just rest.”
He opened his mouth again, the sound of a weak breath. Then, in the quietest possible voice. “Ser …”
“Ser…?”
His eyes went to a bedside table and a Ziploc bag of personal possessions. Story opened it and went through his wallet, finding an oddly handwritten business card with a Web address. She turned it toward her brother. “Is that what you’re trying to tell me?”
The slightest nod from Howard. Another weak breath and finally the full word. “Serge …”
“Serge?” said Story. “Who’s Serge? Is he the one who did this to you?!”
Howard strained to say something, but lost consciousness first.
U.S. HIGHWAY 1
Serge’s Blog. Star date 574.385.
