Page 28 of Phoenix Fire

One of the young thugs kept hitting him, hard angry shots to the mouth and gut. Carlton saw the fists coming at him and turned, twisted, and howled. One blow split his lower lip, and he felt a dull aching in his gums where his teeth felt numb and loose. The rustling sounds, the voices, the tumbling night sky all seemed surreal. Finally, there came a blow to the back of Carlton's head with something very hard.

In the milliseconds just before total blackness merged with the night, he heard far off voices … he heard his brother and Grandmother Wimsley calling to him from some safe place near a dam in the high desert. There were tears in their eyes and they spoke softly of love and family.

Carlton could not feel the other blows that fell on his body. When his attackers had fled, his world was void of feeling and thought. Blood flowed from his head and face. One twisted arm extended along the pavement of the alleyway. Several fingers of his right hand lay at awkward angles across his abdomen. His splayed body twitched to some inner command. The night gave up harsh sounds of tires screeching, rubber burning, and a car engine revving.

An early morning street cleaner noticed the unconscious body of Carlton Prince in the short narrow alleyway and called the police. The police found no wallet on or around Carlton's body. There was only a folded piece of paper in the pocket of his blood stained shirt. The piece of paper had a name, an address, and a telephone number.

Carlton was taken to the emergency room at St. Joseph's Hospital.

It was 5:15 AM.

Chapter Nineteen

The telephone persisted in its ringing.

Jenny slowly left the misty depth of her sleep, making soft mumbling sounds of protest. She pushed herself to an upright position against the bed's headboard, cleared her throat, and reached for the pesky phone.

“Hello.” Jenny glanced at the digital clock on the bedside table. It was 5:50 AM.

“Is this Jenny Mason?” the officious voice asked.

“Yes, I'm Jenny Mason. Are you aware of the time?” As soon as she asked the question she began to consider a menu of horrible possibilities. Had something happened to her father? To her mother? Oh, please, she thought, don't let anything be wrong with them.

“Yes, Ms. Mason, I'm aware of the time and I'm sorry to be calling so early, but we have a problem and you may be the only person at the moment who can help us out.”

“Who is 'we’?” she asked, now more awake and attentive.

“Sorry again. 'We' are the Phoenix Police Department, and we have an injured and unidentified male Caucasian in the emergency room of St. Joseph's Hospital. The man's been badly beaten, and we can find no identification. The only thing we found on his body was a slip of paper with your name, address, and phone number. We were hoping you might be able to identify the man. He's a tall man, six feet plus, probably in his thirties.”

Jenny's first thought was of Jason. Fear gripped her. “Oh, my God! It might be Jason.”

“Jason? What's his last name?”

“Prince, Jason Prince. I can come to the hospital.”

“That would be most helpful, Ms. Mason.”

Jenny did a quick water splash, combed the sleep knots out of her hair, dressed in faded jeans and a light blue sweater. As she left her apartment she tried not to think of what she might find at St. Joseph's Hospital.

The streets were not yet busy with heavy traffic. A slight incipient line of light appeared on the eastern horizon. Jenny was now fully awake but she could still feel the lethargy that came with an earlier wake-up time. The lingering lethargy was offset by the frenetic sense of fear. As she sped along the route to the hospital, she spoke aloud, “Oh, God, please let him be okay.” She lowered the window and inhaled the cool early morning air as so many darkly edged thoughts assailed her.

A uniformed police officer came up to her as she entered the emergency room, a bulky, older man with a thick gray mustache. “Are you Jenny Mason?” the policeman asked in a subdued voice, that kind of whispered utterance common in hospitals.

“Yes, I'm Jenny. How is he?” she asked with anxious urgency.

“About the same. They believe he's stable. Follow me, please. We'd like you to make sure our victim is the man you mentioned over the phone.” The officer's name on the name tag was Bret Donahue.

Jenny followed officer Donahue down the hallway, through two heavy double doors, past yet another spacious treatment room with curtained cubicles, and into a long corridor. The smells grew more pungent as they turned left into an isolated room filled with sounds of monitors beeping, shuffling feet, low barely audible voices speaking in quick staccato crispness.

The three people in the IC room, an intern and two nurses, were introduced to Jenny by officer Donahue as Dr. McNulty, and nurses Bingham and Coulter. Jenny was maneuvered by Donahue into a position by the still form lying on a hospital gurney.

Tubes ran from the nose of the victim. There were abrasions and blood spots over most of his face, and the top of his head was covered with a bloated white cap of gauze and tape. His left arm was in a cast and connected to some sort of pulley apparatus. His right hand was also bandaged.

It took Jenny only a second to recognize the supine body of Carlton Prince. Except for a mild gurgling sound coming from the nasal tube, his body gave no sign of life.

“Is this the man you mentioned on the phone, Ms. Mason?” officer Donahue asked.

Jenny's eyes were locked on the face of Carlton Prince, preoccupied and seemingly unaware that the question was asked. Without changing her gaze she answered without hesitation. “No, this is not Jason Prince. This is his brother, Carlton Prince.” She finally broke her trance-like stare and hastily added, “Will he live? He looks so pale and still.” She stepped back from the gurney.

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