38 Let it be ...

Kris came to on a gurney in the first floor hallway of Sacred Heart’s admin’ building.  “Can you hear me, sir?”  An EMT that looked like an old biker in his off-hours was wafting a smelling salt under Kris’ nostrils.  “Sir, what is your birthday?”  he asked in his stout voice.

“Auwww, man!”  Kris sat up, cradling his pounding head and ears.  Consciousness came slowly and without good news.  Each additional degree of alertness was only an additional awareness of pain and bad fortune.  If it was true what Maggie said, that a good ass-kicking is the first step on the path to enlightenment, then Kris should be a sensei very soon.

“Sir, can you tell me your birthday?” 

Kris looked about himself.  Besides Easyrider here, another EMT, Ricky Martin maybe, was packing up a tackle box of medical trinkets.  A small clutch of priests and church staff looked on with varying degrees of relief and concern.

Kris told the EMT his birthday, and answered a few other questions to his satisfaction.  “Alright,” the gentle giant said, “You seem ok.  I guess you must be tougher than you look, anyway, if you beat down Rhett Herron.”  Easyrider nodded in the direction of the large window wall.  Outside the windows, outside the courtyard gates, were parked two ambulances and more cop cars than Kris could tell.  Recovering addicts looked on with gossipy fascination; a few answered questions to law enforcement officers.

“What are you talking about?  That guy destroyed me.  What do they teach you guys down there at ambulance drivers’ school nowadays anyway?”

The EMT had a long white moustache that went down to his chin and became almost side-chops.  He wore a couple of earrings in each lobe.  “Not today, man.  A while back.  Rhett told me some guy kicked his leg off and stabbed him with a screwdriver.  Turn out that guy is you.”  He smiled at Kris as he put tape on one of his hands.  “Said he was going to kill you.”  The burly EMT laughed heartily.

“You know Rhett?”

“Yeah, he’s one of ours – or he was one of ours, anyway – Ambulance Jockey.    But don’t you about Rhett Herron, friend, I think ol’ Rhett might be going away for a while.  You should be safe and sound.”  The EMT helped Kris up from the gurney.  “Apparently he was running from the cops when he ran in to you.”

“Are you kidding me?”

The EMT chuckled again, “Guess you were just in the wrong place at the wrong time, bud.  Yeah, apparently he went nuts and beat up his girlfriend . . . bad. ‘Roid-Rage, man.  Completely jacked.  No surprises there.  And between you and me, he’s been lifting a bunch of stuff from work: syringes and gloves and junk.  Low-level barbiturates.  Things like that.”  The EMT dabbed a Q-tip on Kris’ cheek.  “You’re pretty beat up, bro.  But it doesn’t look like anything serious.   We can release you into the care of Miss Pendleton here, but I am going to advise you to get X-rayed as soon as possible.”  Easyrider helped Kris to his feet and gave him a hard, jocular slap on the back.  This motion succeeded in effectively pinpointing, via a concert of stabbing pains, the precise location each one of Kris’ internal injuries.  “Be safe, brother!” the EMT said as he wheeled the empty gurney away.

Mary came up to him and hugged him, which hurt as well.  “We have to stop meeting like this,” she said as she rubbed his left shoulder.

“You know, you’re not the first person to say that to me today.”

“Kris, what are you doing here, anyway?”

“Where’s my bag?”  Kris looked around the hall, found his satchel.  He looked inside and was relieved to see that his Mac was undamaged.  Kris leaned in close to Mary.  She of course, being Mary, reduced the personal space even further.  “Mary, I have been getting emails from Alpha.  He says he’s going to kill Maggie.” 

“Oh Kris.”  Mary’s hands went to her face, and then her forehead: a reflexive gesture of worry.  “Kris, this is all . . . it’s just . . .” The counselor literally wrung her hands. 

“Mary, I’m sorry, but there’s more.  Did you know that Paul went to jail,” he whispered to Mary, “for rape?”

Mary turned her back to Kris and stamped away.  He had never seen her do anything like that before, had never seen her pull away from someone.  “Why can’t you . . . Kris – yes – I know about Paul.”

“What?!”

“Of course I know about Paul.  I know everything about Paul.  I know everything about everyone at Sacred Heart.  We are a family, and Paul has been a part of the Sacred Heart family his entire life.  His mother and father, and about a dozen aunts and uncles – all part of Sacred Heart.”

Kris couldn’t figure out for sure if he was mad or not.  “Why didn’t you tell us, Mary?”

“Paul has got nothing to do with this Alpha situation, Kris!  You need to let it be!”  There it is, a part of Kris thought, I knew I heard Paul McCartney.  “He is part of our family, the same way Donnie was part of our family!  And you and Maggie managed to get Donnie killed! Why can’t you two just let sleeping dogs lie?  We could have worked it out, like families do.  Just let it be!”

“Mary, I don’t think it works like that.  There is such a thing as justice, you know?”

Mary began to tear up, lose her composure.  “Paul doesn’t have anything to do with Alpha.” She threw up her hands, “Oh man, I can’t deal with this.  I just . . .” Mary walked off, running her hands through her mane of red hair.  She yelled back down the echo-chamber of a hallway, “Let it be, Kris!”