Where There is Wailing and Gnashing of Teeth

Chapter 11: That's What Little Boys are Made Of

Thirst.

Floating in a bucket in an ocean of brown rust. His mouth puckered and dry – aching for the water beneath the rotted flotsam. He couldn't turn his head towards the wet that was so close.

Shivers rode the rails up and down his arms. He felt a clench in his belly and the pain that followed froze his mouth wide.

He remembered that he'd been somewhere dark, somewhere cold. It wasn't dark any longer but he couldn't get the ice off his skin. He tried to scrape at it but his hands were grabbed and pushed down. He wanted to fight but there was a flood of bright orange bubbling through him – his veins were putting down roots and he could feel himself growing, lifting up high in the air and swinging overhead.

He saw a flock of gulls and chased them towards the sky.

~-~-~

He hadn't even made it to the station. Apparently, five minutes into the drive, Kulish had started trembling. The officers with him hadn't thought much of it – perps did everything from pissing themselves to bashing themselves bloody against the windows, so a little shiver hadn't even brought up their eyebrows.

But then he'd started to convulse.

Carlton hadn't gotten word that booking had been postponed until after Kulish had been brought to the hospital. The two officers that had brought him in had been ordered to stick by his side even if they had to put on scrubs and start passing instruments. Henry, damn him for the bad habits he'd passed on to his son, had been hovering close enough to pick up the majority of the conversation. Barely time to clip the phone back to his belt before the man decided to go all eye for an eye. An unarmed Henry was no less of a threat than if he'd been packing, Carlton had been fairly well convinced that he'd intended to rip Kulish open by hand if it came to that.

One set of arms wasn't enough by half, it had taken the combined force of Carlton, Buzz, and three hospital security to drag Henry away from the ER once he'd hooked his gnarled fingers around the doorjam. The staff had wanted him gone – out of the hospital and off the grounds. Carlton had found himself fighting what normally was a black and white issue. Safer for both parties if Henry left, but there would have been more than just the cost of a night in jail for the crazed father. It had been O'Hara that had actually made the choice for them. With her hand on his arm, she'd managed a feat that five men had struggled with. Almost too cliché' to believe if Carlton hadn't witnessed for himself, a few words from the young woman and the insanity had shivered out of the old man.

Carlton had eased relations with the staff by placing himself and O'Hara in charge of Henry before the three of them had returned to the waiting room.

Twiddling his thumbs and wearing down the coating on the linoleum had barely made a dent in his anxiety. A half hour into his impromptu shift as Henry's warden and he'd been more than ready to relocate to the observation room where their perp was living the high life.

Some time later, his lack of clock watching placing it between five minutes and three hours, O'Hara had suggested coffee and maybe something with carbs and Carlton had gone for the vending machine without waiting for further details.