KnockOut - Catherine Coulter [75]
“It’s okay, Ethan, you can come in now.”
“This is amazing,” said Dr. Hicks, who stood in the doorway beside Ethan. He stared from Savich to Blessed, who was still panting from the pain. “That was the most incredible psychic phenomenon I’ve ever seen.”
Dr. Truitt appeared next to him in the doorway. “They paged me. What’s happening here?”
A half-dozen hospital personnel were soon clustered around Dr. Truitt, looking from Savich to Blessed Backman, who lay on his back, moaning, blindfolded, his wrists strapped down.
Ox stood beside the bed, staring down at Blessed Backman like he could kill him and enjoy it. Savich turned to the hospital staff. “It’s over now. We do have a little something to show you, Dr. Truitt, you and the staff. It’s a video in the next room. You’re in living color, Blessed. Maybe this will help keep you in solitary confinement for the rest of your miserable days.”
Ethan said, “I don’t suppose there’s a prayer of keeping all this away from the media?”
“We can try,” Dr. Hicks said. “Some of these people won’t want to confess to another soul that they saw a man take over another person’s mind so easily. Some simply won’t believe it. But the media will sensationalize any hint of psychic powers. Even if no one believes it, they’ll come like locusts.”
But Savich knew it would get out, knew Blessed’s family would find out fast that they had him. What would they do?
Cindy Maybeck stood beside Ox, rubbing her arm where he’d hit her. She’d recognized him when he’d first arrived with Sheriff Merriweather. He’d given her a parking ticket last year. She looked up at him. “Why did you hit me?”
“Because that nice old codger took away your brain for a while. You’ll be okay now. Do you have a headache?”
She shook her head, frowned. Ox knew she didn’t understand, but maybe she would when he explained it to her over dinner at Marlin’s Mexican if she said yes. He’d also teach her how to parallel park.
39
BRICKER’S BOWL, GEORGIA
Wednesday afternoon
“Joanna described Bricker’s Bowl well,” Sherlock said, staring around her. “It’s like the whole town’s at the bottom of a gigantic soup bowl. Very cool. It makes me want some chicken noodle. How many people live in this valley?”
“Around five hundred souls,” Savich said.
“It looks like nobody’s come or gone in a lot of years. It should be in black-and-white, like that old movie Pleasantville. Look, Dillon, there’s a cell tower, power lines, all the modern conveniences. Somehow they look out of place. I’m thinking the Backmans would have to be careful about what they do around here, you know, not soil their own backyard.”
“Joanna did say she saw Blessed stymie the young guy taking pictures the day they buried Martin Backman’s urn in their cemetery.”
Sherlock said, “And his brother Grace stopped him.”
Savich picked it up. “Blessed did tell the young man he wouldn’t remember anything. Neither did Ox or Glenda or that nurse at the hospital. Blessed would have to be very careful, though, or sooner or later he’d face a mob.”
Sherlock nodded. “And we’re talking years upon years living here, Dillon. Look there, cows grazing, goats munching away. Makes me feel better. But what I don’t understand is why Blessed doesn’t simply walk into a bank and stymie a teller and walk out with a gazillion bucks. No one would remember he was even there.”
“Maybe he’s tried it. They could have a lot of cash stuffed in those graves. We’re going to find out, I promise you that.” Savich turned the rented Camry into the first filling station, Miley’s. A young boy with buzz-cut wheat-colored hair was putting air in a couple of tires on an ancient Honda. A heavyset woman was seated inside the Quik Mart, the cash register in front of her, staring at them through the glass.
Sherlock said, “That woman’s looking at us like we’re trouble. Fact is, though, if I lived anywhere near the Backmans, I wouldn’t just be paranoid, I’d move. We don’t need gas, Dillon. Why’d you stop?