a low, shaded concrete wall. “Something special happened to Ben, didn't it? I know he's... well he's Ben so he's not going to listen to anything, but he was healed, wasn't he?”
“He was,” Mark confirmed for the first time since the siblings had started pressing him for answers. “This man inside the building, he's not Jesus. He's not divine, but he has a gift, and because of that gift he's here. I've known him far too many years, and he always ends up somewhere like this, driven mad, alone, terrified.”
“So what are you going to do?”
Mark turned to face Abby, reaching out to touch her shoulder gently with the tips of his fingers. “I'm going to get him out, but first, I want your brother to understand what happened to him. Your brother is... he's a special person Abby. Someone with the ability to understand what a lot of people cannot. Things that you already understand, even if they're not clear to you right now.”
Abby gave a little groan. “I'm so confused.”
“I know, and I'm sorry. I'm so sorry for what's going to happen, and for how things won't ever go back to being the same. I'm begging your forgiveness now, because you're going to be angry with me soon.”
Before Abby could answer, the heavy footsteps of Ben signaled his approach, and Mark was on his feet. He reached for Ben's arm instead of Abby's, choosing to keep his distance from the woman he knew was about to have her heart broken when she found out who he really was and why he could not let himself get any closer to her.
Ben seemed a little hesitant about playing the guide, but Mark pressed on, his cane swishing back and forth across the tiled floors as they walked in to the hospital and to the desk. Ben detached himself from Mark's arm and said in a very stern voice, “I'm Detective Stanford from San Francisco PD. I'm here on a case involving a John Doe in room 245. Please phone the floor and let them know we are on our way up.”
The receptionist clicked repeatedly on her little keyboard, and then picked up the phone. “I have a Detective Stanford here for John Doe in 245.” Her voice was nasal, annoyed, likely irritated at Ben's authoritative tone with her and commanding request. “They're expecting you. Please have your identification ready.”
Ben offered his arm again to Mark and they headed for the elevators. The dinging and swooshing always made Mark uneasy. Along with a dislike of cars, Mark wasn't overly fond of being inside small spaces, and elevators were rather unnerving.
“Ground floor,” said a pleasing electronic voice. Ben pushed the number two button and the elevator doors slammed shut and swooshed upwards in an unapologetic manner. “Floor two,” said the elevator and the doors opened.
Mark was met with bright lights and a rush of chilled air in his face. He felt a little off kilter from the elevators and had to steady himself before they continued on to the nurse's station where someone was waiting for them.
“You must be Detective Stanford,” came a voice, male, low and rumbling baritone. “My name is Dr. Asclepius. I spoke to your chief yesterday, who informed me you might have a positive identification for our John Doe.”
“Uh yes,” Ben said. “This is Father Mark Roman, from Sacred Heart in San Francisco. He believes he might know the patient.”
“Forgive my rudeness, but Father Roman, how do you intend on identifying the patient? He's quite unresponsive so I don't believe an auditory identification will be possible.”
“I have
“He was,” Mark confirmed for the first time since the siblings had started pressing him for answers. “This man inside the building, he's not Jesus. He's not divine, but he has a gift, and because of that gift he's here. I've known him far too many years, and he always ends up somewhere like this, driven mad, alone, terrified.”
“So what are you going to do?”
Mark turned to face Abby, reaching out to touch her shoulder gently with the tips of his fingers. “I'm going to get him out, but first, I want your brother to understand what happened to him. Your brother is... he's a special person Abby. Someone with the ability to understand what a lot of people cannot. Things that you already understand, even if they're not clear to you right now.”
Abby gave a little groan. “I'm so confused.”
“I know, and I'm sorry. I'm so sorry for what's going to happen, and for how things won't ever go back to being the same. I'm begging your forgiveness now, because you're going to be angry with me soon.”
Before Abby could answer, the heavy footsteps of Ben signaled his approach, and Mark was on his feet. He reached for Ben's arm instead of Abby's, choosing to keep his distance from the woman he knew was about to have her heart broken when she found out who he really was and why he could not let himself get any closer to her.
Ben seemed a little hesitant about playing the guide, but Mark pressed on, his cane swishing back and forth across the tiled floors as they walked in to the hospital and to the desk. Ben detached himself from Mark's arm and said in a very stern voice, “I'm Detective Stanford from San Francisco PD. I'm here on a case involving a John Doe in room 245. Please phone the floor and let them know we are on our way up.”
The receptionist clicked repeatedly on her little keyboard, and then picked up the phone. “I have a Detective Stanford here for John Doe in 245.” Her voice was nasal, annoyed, likely irritated at Ben's authoritative tone with her and commanding request. “They're expecting you. Please have your identification ready.”
Ben offered his arm again to Mark and they headed for the elevators. The dinging and swooshing always made Mark uneasy. Along with a dislike of cars, Mark wasn't overly fond of being inside small spaces, and elevators were rather unnerving.
“Ground floor,” said a pleasing electronic voice. Ben pushed the number two button and the elevator doors slammed shut and swooshed upwards in an unapologetic manner. “Floor two,” said the elevator and the doors opened.
Mark was met with bright lights and a rush of chilled air in his face. He felt a little off kilter from the elevators and had to steady himself before they continued on to the nurse's station where someone was waiting for them.
“You must be Detective Stanford,” came a voice, male, low and rumbling baritone. “My name is Dr. Asclepius. I spoke to your chief yesterday, who informed me you might have a positive identification for our John Doe.”
“Uh yes,” Ben said. “This is Father Mark Roman, from Sacred Heart in San Francisco. He believes he might know the patient.”
“Forgive my rudeness, but Father Roman, how do you intend on identifying the patient? He's quite unresponsive so I don't believe an auditory identification will be possible.”
“I have
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