Elysium Dreams

Healing

Henry couldn't believe Marshal Cain had fought him that hard. She was feisty. It would make killing her that much sweeter, if he made it that long. He was currently in bed. He'd called work to say he was sick. He was waiting for his wife to leave so he could slip downstairs to his office and check the wounds.

He'd come home yesterday claiming to be ill. He'd used pneumonia as his excuse. He'd caught it from the Marshals. Everyone had believed it, even the Marshals.

The first task had been to relocate his elbow. Once that was done, he had passed out. When he came around, he removed the knife with half a bottle of whiskey and serious willpower. He didn't have anything that would work as a local anesthetic at his house. The knife had really hurt. She'd plunged it all the way in, until the hilt had bruised the skin. His shark suit had lost lots of rings; he'd had to dig a few of them out of the wound before stitching it up. Then he'd set to work stitching up his arm.

It had been grueling work. His hands had shook. Sweat had poured from his forehead. His entire body had felt like it was being electrified. The stitching wasn't very even, but it worked. He'd stopped bleeding.

Today he was hoping to redo the stitches, make them look more professional. Scars were easier to explain when they looked like they'd been fixed by a professional. He had hoped he had at least caught her lung.

No luck, the worst damage had been done with the hypodermic needle tear in her neck. She'd never gone into shock, never seemed to react to the medication. He didn't know why. It had worked on everyone else, but not her.

However, he had gotten the halogen lights and his spare key for the morgue back. He didn't even realize he'd dropped the key until he'd gotten home. Luckily, the bitch reporter hadn't turned it over to the police.

Henry finally heard the door downstairs close. Of course his wife didn't come check on him, she was afraid she'd catch something. He got up and crept downstairs.

He unlocked and entered his office. Bandages and bloody water and rubbing alcohol were sitting on the desk. It was a good thing his wife demanded it stayed locked. One more rule for him to live by, but at least it was a good rule.

He took out the contacts that he'd been wearing for the last day. It had been too much of a bother to take them out earlier. No one had come in to check on him. Grace had tried, but she'd been stopped by her mother at the door. Grace didn't need to catch what Henry had.

With all his effort, he snipped the stitches and replaced them. The pain came back and brought a wave of nausea with it. He waited for it to pass. He'd gotten sloppy, and this was the price he was paying.

It took him over an hour to get the stitches redone. They announced over the radio that the Marshals had raided a State Trooper's house during that time. Cain was with them so, obviously, he had gotten the worst damage.

She'd set his plan back, or rather he had, by getting greedy. The opportunity to kidnap her had seemed perfect. His son would have done it. And then it had gone all wrong in just a matter of seconds.

Henry knew he'd been sloppy with Gentry. He had expected to enjoy it, but he hadn't. Despite her appearance and her sometimes snippy attitude, she was always nice to him. It had been a fluke, a spur of the moment decision. One that he regretted. In some ways, Gentry had reminded him of Grace.

He ignored his wife's rule and lit a cigar in the house, his mind flowing backwards to the chance encounter that night. He'd stopped to get cigars and Gentry had been in there grabbing a bottle of booze. The good stuff too. She'd invited him over for a glass. He'd accepted. At that time, he hadn't intended to kill her, just have a glass of Scotch with a colleague.