Chapter Six – Part 3
Chuck turned to see the cop at the other end of the corridor, a cup of machine coffee in his hand, arms held wide. "It's all right, Charlie." Said the cop in what was supposed to be a reassuring voice.
Chuck looked back, and saw the nurse looking at the cop. No voices played in his mind— thank God— but Chuck could see in her face the event change from a mess on the floor to psycho on the loose.
He was trapped. He knew if he ran toward the nurse, the cop would shoot him. That was the way cops thought. Chuck was frozen, his hands out in a parody of the cop, trying to think of what to do. Fear was tearing through him like a pack of dogs gnawing at his gut.
"Look, you had a scare. That's all right. You had a bad time at the library, but everything's all right now."
Chuck knew that voice, it was how cops talked to crazy people. The bastard was going to grab him and someone would shoot a needle in his arm, and he'd wake up in a little cell, padded or unpadded, with no way to escape the voices in his head.
His temple began to throb and. . .
«view of himself, standing befuddled. "Everything's all right Chuck just a little bit closer and I can grab him."»
Chuck turned to face the cop. The cop was almost to him now. Behind the cop, he saw a nervous‑looking doctor inching toward the intercom. Fuck, what did I ever do to deserve this?
"Look man, I just want to go home." Chuck could hear the note of hysteria in his own voice.
"We'll talk about it, but why don't you sit back down." The cop was within six feet of him now.
Chuck glanced at the stretcher where he'd been strapped down. He saw the cop's feet move. Chuck didn't know if the cop was grabbing for him, but that was what he was expecting, so he lashed out. His hand was useless, but the doctors had left his steel‑toed boots on, so he kicked as hard as he could.
Chuck caught the cop in the stomach. Coffee sprayed the wall as the cop's hand clutched on the cup he was holding. The cop's eyes widened in a single moment of lucid fury, and his other hand started moving to his belt. Chuck never knew if it was for the baton or the gun. Chuck kicked again, near the kidney.
The cop folded as if he had taken a bullet.
The next kick took the cop in the side of the head, and the cop dropped. Before the bastard had time to recover, Chuck wrestled the gun out of the cop's holster. Chuck looked to either end of the corridor and neither the doctor or the nurse had moved.
Boy, are we in trouble now.
He pointed the gun, left‑handed, at the cop on the floor. I'm not going to jail or a nuthouse, period and excla‑fucking‑mation point.
"You two," he said to the nurse and the doctor. "Get over here or I waste the fucking pig."
After a brief hesitation, both came. For the first time Chuck thought he might actually get out of this hospital.
