"Now, the Other Foot In the Grave"
May. 21st, 2022 06:40 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
dochermes"Now, the Other Foot In the Grave"
1/27/2005
I.
They had taken him off the CPAP machine which gently forces air into the lungs, now he only had a nasal clip from which oxygen hissed into his system. Hanging from the metal IV tree were bags holding a saline solution, an antibiotic and a magnesium compound. He had long ago signed a DO NOT RESUCITATE form refusing any tube feeding or other heroic attempts to bring him back if he slipped into the darkness. At eighty-four, years struggling with a damaged heart and diabetes had worn him down to the point where life did not seem worth any more effort to hold onto.
Alfred Lemister did not have a private room but it happened that the other bed was unoccupied and the next patient was not expected to be brought in until that evening. He didn't notice. Mostly he drifted in and out of a haze, the pain almost numbed by the shots he had been given an hour earlier. With the thin sheet pulled up to his chest, his bony arms folded down over his stomach, he did not look like much more than a skeleton covered with dry skin and topped with a wisp of white hair. Then something got his attention and both bleary eyes opened.
A man dressed all in black was standing at the foot of his bed, watching him silently. He was six feet tall, gaunt and ominous. Under heavy black brows, a pair of light grey eyes stood out vividly. He did not react as Lemister woke up and saw him.
"No... visitors," the old man gasped. "I said no visitors."
"No one knows I'm here," said the stranger. "My friend caused a distraction at the nurses station- she's good at that- and I have training in stealth. I won't be here long."
"You! It's you. God damn it, have you come here to finish me off? You better ... hurry."
"No," the stranger answered. "I've done enough harm."
Lemister tried to sit up but could not muster enough strength. Just the attempt left him breathless for a moment. Finally, he managed, "Thirty years of pain because of you. My knee never healed. The replacement never worked worth a damn."
"I know," the stranger said in a low even tone. "I'm sorry. It can't be undone."
"Jeremy Bane. Oh I've read about you over the years. You catch serial killers like Samhain and Golgora. All kinds.. of wild stories about you. People think you're some kind of hero. But I remember what you did to me." He started panting and had to stop.
"I know," Bane repeated. "I was sixteen. Young and stupid and cruel. Not that it's any excuse. A gangster offered me money to punish you for stealing from his casino. Obviously he couldn't call the police because it was an underground gambling house."
Lemister managed to get his hand on the wired device with the red button for summoning the nurse but he did not press it. "I remember. I remember... you looked like a little kid. So young. But you tore through my bodyguard as if he was sleepwalking."
"Yeah, I was always faster than a normal Human," said Bane. "I didn't need to do that much damage to your guard, either. He had a gun but I didn't give him a chance to draw it. You were trying to run past me to your car."
"And... you kicked me. In the knee. My right knee."
"I regret it now. I was capable of just tackling you and giving you some light punches as a punishment. But at that age, I was heartless." He exhaled sharply. "I did a lot of things in those years I'm not proud of. They can't be undone."
"Thirty years of pain. Needing a cane. Then a few years ago, using a walker. Now I'll never get out of... this bed alive." Lemister had no emotion left in his voice. He might as well have been reminiscing about good times.
"No," Bane said. "When they take you off the monitors like this and just let you be, it's a bad sign. Some nurse will check in on you in a few minutes as she makes her rounds but they don't expect much."
Lemister worked for a few seconds to continue speaking, "One foot in the grave. No, now it's the other foot in the grave, too. You came here...?"
"Why did I come here, you mean?" The Dire Wolf reached into the inside pocket of his black sport jacket and came out with a thick envelope that was taped shut. "Twenty-five thousand dollars, Mr Lemister. All you had, including the insurance you cashed in last year. Twenty-five thousand that you paid Nine-Fingers."
"You killed him? I thought... he was supposed to be so good."
"No. I didn't kill him," Bane said, moving closer as he thought the man in the bed was having difficulty hearing him. "He met me in a sports bar in Times Square. I was expecting trouble of course. But Nine-Fingers handed me this envelope and said he had thought it over and decided he didn't have a prayer of killing me. So many have tried. And he thought if he blew it, his own life would be cut short."
The withered old man gasped and Bane thought that was his last breath. But Lemister just closed his eyes and said, "He told you my name?"
"Breaking his own hitman code," the Dire Wolf agreed. "To be honest, I didn't remember you so I did some research and found you here. You have no living family. Your wife died eight years ago. Where do you want me to donate this money?"
Only one eye creaked open a slit. "I don't..."
"Red Cross? The United Way? Maybe your old college? I'll donate it anonymously."
Lemister did not answer and when he did, his voice seemed to come from far away. "Give it.. this hospital. They've treated me okay here."
With that, he was gone. Bane's Kumundu training told him the instant that the heart finally gave up. The eyes were closed, the hands were lying open, one finger still near the call button. The Dire Wolf returned the envelope to his pocket and stood there thinking for a few minutes. This had gone better than he had hoped, actually, and this would be one of the rare times that murder money went to good use.
Moving over to the door, he remained out of sight from the hall. Slowing his breathing until his enhanced hearing kicked in, he waited as the footsteps outside turned a corner. The one voice he could detect was talking on a phone at the nursing station and he timed his exit as the sound of that voice indicated she was facing away. Quickly but not in a rush, he stepped out and around and was lucky enough to arrive at the pair of elevators just as one of them opened with a ding.
Emerging in the hallway by the emergency room, where a young couple were standing close together and examining the boy's bloody bandaged thumb, he found Unicorn waiting, leaning against the pastel green wall with her arms folded.
"That didn't take too long," the little blonde chirped gleefully. "I could have easily argued with that big redhead nurse all day if you needed me to."
"You gave just the right amount of distraction, Ashley." Bane strode toward the pair of glass doors that hissed open automatically as they neared. Freezing air from the late January afternoon gusted in at them.
"So, captain, who did you go see, if I might presume to dare to ask?" said Unicorn, stepping outside right next to him.
"Just someone I used to know."
4/28/2016
1/27/2005
I.
They had taken him off the CPAP machine which gently forces air into the lungs, now he only had a nasal clip from which oxygen hissed into his system. Hanging from the metal IV tree were bags holding a saline solution, an antibiotic and a magnesium compound. He had long ago signed a DO NOT RESUCITATE form refusing any tube feeding or other heroic attempts to bring him back if he slipped into the darkness. At eighty-four, years struggling with a damaged heart and diabetes had worn him down to the point where life did not seem worth any more effort to hold onto.
Alfred Lemister did not have a private room but it happened that the other bed was unoccupied and the next patient was not expected to be brought in until that evening. He didn't notice. Mostly he drifted in and out of a haze, the pain almost numbed by the shots he had been given an hour earlier. With the thin sheet pulled up to his chest, his bony arms folded down over his stomach, he did not look like much more than a skeleton covered with dry skin and topped with a wisp of white hair. Then something got his attention and both bleary eyes opened.
A man dressed all in black was standing at the foot of his bed, watching him silently. He was six feet tall, gaunt and ominous. Under heavy black brows, a pair of light grey eyes stood out vividly. He did not react as Lemister woke up and saw him.
"No... visitors," the old man gasped. "I said no visitors."
"No one knows I'm here," said the stranger. "My friend caused a distraction at the nurses station- she's good at that- and I have training in stealth. I won't be here long."
"You! It's you. God damn it, have you come here to finish me off? You better ... hurry."
"No," the stranger answered. "I've done enough harm."
Lemister tried to sit up but could not muster enough strength. Just the attempt left him breathless for a moment. Finally, he managed, "Thirty years of pain because of you. My knee never healed. The replacement never worked worth a damn."
"I know," the stranger said in a low even tone. "I'm sorry. It can't be undone."
"Jeremy Bane. Oh I've read about you over the years. You catch serial killers like Samhain and Golgora. All kinds.. of wild stories about you. People think you're some kind of hero. But I remember what you did to me." He started panting and had to stop.
"I know," Bane repeated. "I was sixteen. Young and stupid and cruel. Not that it's any excuse. A gangster offered me money to punish you for stealing from his casino. Obviously he couldn't call the police because it was an underground gambling house."
Lemister managed to get his hand on the wired device with the red button for summoning the nurse but he did not press it. "I remember. I remember... you looked like a little kid. So young. But you tore through my bodyguard as if he was sleepwalking."
"Yeah, I was always faster than a normal Human," said Bane. "I didn't need to do that much damage to your guard, either. He had a gun but I didn't give him a chance to draw it. You were trying to run past me to your car."
"And... you kicked me. In the knee. My right knee."
"I regret it now. I was capable of just tackling you and giving you some light punches as a punishment. But at that age, I was heartless." He exhaled sharply. "I did a lot of things in those years I'm not proud of. They can't be undone."
"Thirty years of pain. Needing a cane. Then a few years ago, using a walker. Now I'll never get out of... this bed alive." Lemister had no emotion left in his voice. He might as well have been reminiscing about good times.
"No," Bane said. "When they take you off the monitors like this and just let you be, it's a bad sign. Some nurse will check in on you in a few minutes as she makes her rounds but they don't expect much."
Lemister worked for a few seconds to continue speaking, "One foot in the grave. No, now it's the other foot in the grave, too. You came here...?"
"Why did I come here, you mean?" The Dire Wolf reached into the inside pocket of his black sport jacket and came out with a thick envelope that was taped shut. "Twenty-five thousand dollars, Mr Lemister. All you had, including the insurance you cashed in last year. Twenty-five thousand that you paid Nine-Fingers."
"You killed him? I thought... he was supposed to be so good."
"No. I didn't kill him," Bane said, moving closer as he thought the man in the bed was having difficulty hearing him. "He met me in a sports bar in Times Square. I was expecting trouble of course. But Nine-Fingers handed me this envelope and said he had thought it over and decided he didn't have a prayer of killing me. So many have tried. And he thought if he blew it, his own life would be cut short."
The withered old man gasped and Bane thought that was his last breath. But Lemister just closed his eyes and said, "He told you my name?"
"Breaking his own hitman code," the Dire Wolf agreed. "To be honest, I didn't remember you so I did some research and found you here. You have no living family. Your wife died eight years ago. Where do you want me to donate this money?"
Only one eye creaked open a slit. "I don't..."
"Red Cross? The United Way? Maybe your old college? I'll donate it anonymously."
Lemister did not answer and when he did, his voice seemed to come from far away. "Give it.. this hospital. They've treated me okay here."
With that, he was gone. Bane's Kumundu training told him the instant that the heart finally gave up. The eyes were closed, the hands were lying open, one finger still near the call button. The Dire Wolf returned the envelope to his pocket and stood there thinking for a few minutes. This had gone better than he had hoped, actually, and this would be one of the rare times that murder money went to good use.
Moving over to the door, he remained out of sight from the hall. Slowing his breathing until his enhanced hearing kicked in, he waited as the footsteps outside turned a corner. The one voice he could detect was talking on a phone at the nursing station and he timed his exit as the sound of that voice indicated she was facing away. Quickly but not in a rush, he stepped out and around and was lucky enough to arrive at the pair of elevators just as one of them opened with a ding.
Emerging in the hallway by the emergency room, where a young couple were standing close together and examining the boy's bloody bandaged thumb, he found Unicorn waiting, leaning against the pastel green wall with her arms folded.
"That didn't take too long," the little blonde chirped gleefully. "I could have easily argued with that big redhead nurse all day if you needed me to."
"You gave just the right amount of distraction, Ashley." Bane strode toward the pair of glass doors that hissed open automatically as they neared. Freezing air from the late January afternoon gusted in at them.
"So, captain, who did you go see, if I might presume to dare to ask?" said Unicorn, stepping outside right next to him.
"Just someone I used to know."
4/28/2016
