Page 104 of Strangers in Time

Dante had nothing on Hitler.

He stood there as the sun began to leak through the clouds. His arms were so weary, his legs the same, but his mind was the most tired of all. He had never viewed a dead body until 1939. At least not one already in a pine box. Now he had seen more corpses than aperson ever should. In all states of death. No, not all. Never in peace. Not once.

His dear Imogen had not died in peace. She had died with much of importance unresolved within her. He knew she would be an impatient, unruly spirit.

He sipped his coffee, whose only redeeming quality was its warmth, and looked out over the city. Transformed, blighted, attacked, wounded, but not beaten. Not if he had anything to say about it. And he did, if just a minor bit.

When the sun began its ascent, he went inside and started breakfast for Molly.

It was nice to have someone to cook for again.

And she would need her beginning meal of the day, meager though it would be, to get her through the rest of it.

As they all would.

A FACT OFDEVASTATION

HIS INJURIES SEEM DIFFERENT,” said Molly as she looked at the patient that Oliver and Parker had brought in the previous night, though she didn’t know that fact. Oliver had not told her much about what had happened, and he had tried to cover his wounds. Yet Molly had seen the pain on his face and the way he limped on his injured leg.

And, like Oliver’s reaction had been, the patient’s face seemed familiar to Molly.

Matron Tweedy was examining the lad closely. “If I had to venture a guess, Molly, I would say this boy has been beaten. The wound on his head looks like it was done by a blunt instrument. And on his face by a fist. I certainly saw these injuries on the front lines. And his finger is broken.”

“How did he come to be here?”

“The duty report says that two air wardens brought him in early this morning.”

“Air wardens! Do you know who?” asked Molly.

“I wasn’t here.”

“Do we know who the boy is?”

“Look in his trousers over there,” suggested Tweedy.

Molly picked up the pants and looked for an ID tag on them but didn’t find one. However, she froze when she pulled out the registry card from his pocket.

Alonzo Rossi? That was why he looked familiar. He was the boy in the picture Inspector Willoughby had shown me and Mr. Oliver.

Tweedy glanced at her. “Any luck?”

“Um, it says Alonzo Rossi. Will he be okay?”

“He’s still unconscious. His head wound had not been treated and was severely infected. It’s now been thoroughly cleaned and he’s been given penicillin. But the wound was deep—the infection might have already spread and he could have also sustained a brain injury.”

“Oh my goodness.”

“If there is damage to his brain, I do not hold out hopes of his recovering. We don’t have an X-ray device, and the doctors who make rounds here are not brain surgeons. I doubt there are many left in all of London.”

Another nurse came to the door and asked for Tweedy’s urgent assistance with another patient.

“Just finish up here, Molly, and I’ll meet you when I can.”

“All right, Matron.”

After they left Molly bent low and said, “Lonzo, can you hear me? Lonzo? Do you know where Charlie is? I’m a friend of his. Lonzo? Do you know where Charlie Matters is? We’re looking for him.”

Lonzo did not answer. Lonzo did not move. Lonzo did nothing.

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