Marker of Faith

CHAPTER 9

CHAPTER 9

Rattle's day dragged on. He'd watched earlier as Detective John Bergenson, he caught the man's name in the wind, was led to a car and driven away; he was covered in his friend's blood and it looked like the man was in shock. Now the scene was even more of a zoo. Reporters arrived and were relegated about 500 feet back behind some police tape. They were yelling questions at anyone who passed near enough to hear them.

Jackals.

Rattle's hiding place had yet to be discovered. The officials, cops, the important people with badges were all shaken up and it was total bedlam trying to get the scene reorganized and back to protocol. It wouldn't be long before someone discovered him, though. Should he just shuffle out and wander over, or should he stay put until they found him and hauled him out? If discovered Rattle could play the hapless, drunk homeless guy pretty easily (the truth until this morning!) and they might let him go.

Probably not, though. More likely they'd haul him in about the dead priest and try pinning the murder on him. He'd make a pretty convenient suspect. And then how would he explain all this craziness anyway? Did anyone else feel the hum or see the extra shadows? He starts in with that and they'd think he was nuts and pack him off to the psych ward for observation.

Why didn't I just keep running? Yeah, why did I come back here? Considering that I crumpled like a pathetic old man in front of the espresso cart, what on earth made me get up and wander back? Maybe nothing on earth! That's the crazy part.

When he ditched Lem, the last thing Rattle wanted was to come back here. As he ran away from his friend and felt the familiar burn in his chest, he thought that was it, game over, but instead he'd just passed out. Rattle awoke to paramedics and concerned onlookers, and he should have just let them take him to a hospital and away from this madness. But after all of his nightmarish VA hospital stints after the war, he'd sworn he'd never go back to a hospital alive. Rattle pushed away from the EMT's, who were startled enough by his vehemence to let him, and he walked away. Weak and in pain, very much alive, but with a creeping terror nestled close to his damaged heart. The old man searched warily for Lem, quite sure he was lurking and ready to pounce, but his crazy friend was gone.

Good riddance. That boy had been touched.

Rattle made his way slowly back here, drawn back by something he didn't understand. He arrived in a daze, unsure of what to do. The cops hadn't shown up yet, so he settled in to wait. For what, Rattle didn't know but something had pulled him back. Something...maybe it was the hum or maybe he was just plain stupid. Every fiber of his being, every survival instinct from his years in-country, and in Special Ops in Vietnam, was screaming for him to run, to get away. But no, here he was, hiding in a pile of refuse, waiting for the next bomb to drop.

"I'll talk to that John guy," he said to himself. That was a good place to start for answers, and he nodded as his eyes drifted closed. Fatigue washed over him and he started to pass out.

"Don't friggin' move a muscle!" The shout and pull of cardboard off of him roused Rattle and he curled up into a protective ball. The decision was made for him after all, and he was hauled up and shoved forward by a heavyset cop who looked more mean than human.