Hunted

Chapter 4: Father Tim

When Haley awoke, he was in a small but comfortable bed. A clean bandage was neatly and securely wrapped over his damaged shoulder, and his sweat-drenched, odorous bodysuit had been replaced with fresh bed pants. Beside him was an end table with an empty glass and a pitcher of water, and on the wall opposite him was a crucifix.

For a moment, he thought that he had been taken to Our Lady of Mercy Hospital, but this room had neither the antiseptic smell or feel of the place. While the room was clean, the tan drapes were obviously old, as were the blankets and sheets on the bed. The floor was carpeted, something he could never remember seeing in a hospital room. The walls were off-white and lacked any decoration, other than the crucifix and a portrait of Jesus praying at Gethsemane, a heavenly light illuminating His handsome but pained face. Through the room's single window, sunlight leaked around the drapes and into the room.

Haley thought hard to recount his time in the sewers, his exit being almost as mysterious to him as his entrance. As his hazy memories of what had happened became more clear, he surmised that Hanrick and his family must have brought him above sometime last night, which meant he had slept at least the better part of twenty-four hours. He struggled to recall who he was to be taken to. The name alluded him, but he remembered it was a man of whom Hanrick had spoken very highly.

With only a single grunt of pain, Haley managed to lift himself into a sitting position. With his good arm, he poured himself a glass of water and drank it slowly. The cool liquid brought instant relief to his parched throat.

Haley had refilled the glass when a gentle rap shook the room's hollow wooden door. "Come in," he said hoarsely, the second word coming out as a squeak. He took another swallow of water.

A thirtyish man wearing the black clothes and white collar of the Roman Catholic priesthood came into the room with a warm smile. "I'm Father Tim Sanders," he said, extending his arm.

"Jack Haley," Haley responded, taking the priest's hand. He noticed the grip was strong without being forceful. "How long have I been out?"

"You were brought here about two a.m. last night. It's now ten in the morning. I don't suppose you remember much of what happened?"

Haley looked mildly concerned. "I hope I didn't do anything to embarrass myself."

"Nothing like that," Sanders reassured him. "You were just slightly delirious, calling out repeatedly for your wife and about the murder. Actually, you had a bit of a rough spell, high fever and all, but you pulled through it all right. Hanrick had somehow managed to get a sedative to help you sleep. His resourcefulness always impresses me. Once they got you here, I put some numb salve on your shoulder. It's not a substitute for the medical attention you need, but at least it should take the edge off the pain."

"It does feel a lot better," Haley said, appreciatively lifting his arm a fraction of an inch to test what was still basically a useless limb. He let his eyes quickly survey the room again. "Where are we?"

"A spare bedroom in the rectory. Actually, there are three spare bedrooms now. I've lived alone here for the past six years."

"Hanrick had a lot of good things to say about you."

The priest's smile became gentle, almost embarrassed. "I do what I can. It's not nearly enough."

"Can you get in touch with Hanrick when you want? I'd like to help him out when I get back to work. I owe the man my life."

"I can reach him when the time is right," said Sanders. He paused for a moment, a concerned look on his face. "Do you want to talk about the murder?"

"Two men with pulse guns and high-tech helmets...appeared, for lack of a better word, and assassinated Jonathan Morris, a scientist at Universal Technologies. I don't know how they got there, or how I got out and into the sewers after I was shot." He looked at Sanders to gauge his reaction, but could read nothing. "Great story, huh?"