100 Lives Black Jack Savage Part 3of4

BJS: Life’s a Beach, Then You Die…

SECTION 3 OF 4, Continuation:


X


“You understand, Ms. St. Claire, that we can allow only family members to visit. And for only ten minutes per visit every two hours,” the Head Nurse, Robbins, reminded them.


“Oh, she can have my visit. I don’t mind; and I don’t think ‘Uncle’ Barry would, either,” Logan offered helpfully.


“I’m sorry, but the rules state—“ Robbins started the spiel again.


“Yes, I know the rules,” Danielle interrupted quietly. “But Mr. Tarberry has no other … ‘family’ on or near the island. I’ve come to know Barry quite well, and have been… involved in several of his business dealings, as well as working with him on charitable programs for San Pietro. And I think if we check with the Chief Surgeon and the hospital administrator, Grant Woodall, I’m sure the rules can be… amended.”


The stern-faced woman gave her a long look, then picked up the phone. Her conversation was short and to the point. She didn’t waste time with administrators, either. Her demeanor was unchanged, but she nodded to Danielle. “At my discretion, you will be permitted to visit the patient from five to twenty minutes each hour. Please limit your first visit to ten minutes; if Mr. Murphy is still willing to give up his visit, you may remain for ten more. This is, of course, dependant on the fact that the patient isn’t upset by your presence.”


“Thank you.” She watched as the nurse returned to her station. “Logan, I’ll make arrangements to stay here for the rest of the night. Why don’t you go on home and get some rest? If anything happens, I’ll call you. There’s no need for both of us taking turns sitting in the waiting room.”


Seeing the logic in her statement, Murphy nodded. “Okay, I’ll be back tomorrow morning…” He glanced away shyly, “Maybe we can have breakfast together, too?”


“Of course. Good night, Logan.”


~*~*~*~


Danielle St. Claire, wealthy heiress, was one of the few who lived on San Pietro independent of Vasquez’s influence and clutches. Her grandfather’s, then father’s (and now, hers), plantations brought workers to the island, workers who later settled, joining with the Island’s natives. Natives that were said to be the descendents of the slaves freed by the legendary Black Jack Savage when the pirate took over the ship, freed the African captives, and made San Pietro his headquarters. Through a succession of dictators, Abel Vasquez proved to be the most enduring – perhaps due to his shrewd understanding of human nature and knowing how to make it work for him.


Just as Barry Tarberry made things, and people, work for him – until he was caught. She leaned forward in the metal and plastic chair, chin in her hands, studying the man who had become an enigmatic puzzle to her. On the surface, he’d appeared vain, self-serving, and contemptuous of those around him; yet, she had seen the other facets of his character: The concern, the caring, the gentle humor. The almost ‘regular guy’ that broke through when he wasn’t on his guard, or trying to impress with his wealth and power. But she had never really just looked at him before – at least, not without being leered at in return.


The questions she had consciously avoided before would not be ignored now. How, she wondered, could he create such conflicting emotions within her? How could she even have any feelings for such an egoist? How could she even consider caring about a man who did nothing without some personal or financial gain in the offering? And how could she feel such a jolting sense of despair at the mere thought of losing him…?


Love? She thought not.


She desperately hoped not.


No, not love; but something very close to it. She smiled faintly. What kind of woman would catch, and keep, a man like Barry Tarberry? He had everything… didn’t he? Handsome – unquestionably; power – in less than a week after his arrival, he had made himself second only to Vasquez when it came to ‘making his presence known’; family – New York, maybe; one ex-wife for certain, all, at the moment, out of reach; friends – other than herself and Logan, she knew of none; respect, loyalty – if it wasn’t in the deal, it didn’t count; trust – only the type that earned twenty per cent compounded daily… But he was kind, thoughtful, and gentle – when it suited him. And, as usual when Tarberry was concerned, the more she thought about him, the more confused she became.


So she decided not to try to employ logical explanations where logic didn’t apply. She only knew that he had worked his way, unbidden, into a corner of her life… and heart. And now, as she gazed at his perfect features, she couldn’t help but comment softly, “All these months, you’ve tried to get me to spend the night with you, Barry. Now I am, but I’m afraid it’s not quite what you had in mind.”


She leaned back in the chair, eyes closing briefly. When he fully recovered, she knew she’d never tell him about her need to be with him, never let him know the depth of her concern. And he, in turn, would resume his role of charming scoundrel, hiding securely behind his status symbols. But that didn’t matter, for she had long ago glimpsed the face behind the mask; the face that had claimed her heart when all his wealth and power hadn’t.


~*~*~*~


It was the early hours of the morning. A time when it was the most tranquil, the most subdued, the most secure. And, the time when a medical emergency was the most likely to occur.


And it was during those early morning hours of quietude when Danielle was jarred from her light sleep by a sudden, erratic beeping that increased in rate and volume. Straightening, she took one look at Barry, just as the rapid beeping became a continuous wail. There was no time for her to react before the room filled with medical personnel, and she was aware only of the cold foreboding that swept over the scene before her. She didn’t want to stay, to watch, but she couldn’t leave; she was frozen, the scene before her all too familiar… Another time, another hospital room, another desperate fight for life – one that been lost.


Danielle stood aside helplessly as nurses and orderlies quickly and expertly prepared to move the patient back to the operating room. It always seemed to happen so suddenly, so unexpectedly; everything fine one minute, and disastrous the next.


From what she could make out from their hurried, hushed conversation, there seemed to be internal bleeding of some kind. Serious, from the looks on their faces. In less than five minutes, he was wheeled out the door, returning for emergency surgery for the second time in less than twenty hours.


She stood by the still open door, watched as the surgeon joined them at the elevator, quickly scanning the clipboard the nurse had given him and listening to her status report. Then they were in the elevator, and the quiet calmness descended once more.


Danielle tried not to think as she went to the waiting room, to the pay phone. This would be different, she told herself. This wasn’t her father. Barry wasn’t old, weakened, beaten down… He was still fighting, still clinging stubbornly, resolutely, to life.


He wouldn’t let go; he pride, his arrogance, wouldn’t let him…



~*~*~*~


Logan fumbled sleepily for the ringing alarm, attempting to shut off its insistent clamor. His eyes focused on the lighted dial, groaning at the time: 4:37 am. The ringing continued, and he realized it wasn’t the alarm, but the telephone. The previous hours’ events came rushing back, and he fairly leaped out of bed. The phone wouldn’t be ringing at this hour of the morning, unless…


“Hello, Logan Murphy.”


“Logan,” Danielle’s strained voice came clearly over the line. “Get to the hospital. Something terrible is wrong with Barry. They’ve taken him back into surgery.” There was a pause, then her voice returned, unsteady with fear. “Logan, it doesn’t look good. I don’t think—”


“I’ll be right there, Miss St. Claire, don’t worry. He’ll be fine, you’ll see. I’m leaving right now.”


As Murphy pulled on clean clothes, he wished he felt as confident as he had sounded.


~*~*~*~


Black Jack nibbled absently on leftover turkey and gravy, all the while watching for an opportunity to slip out, unobserved. The kitchen area had no windows, so he had no idea what time it was, or how long he’d been the storage room. The cook, a large black woman of indeterminate years, had propped the door open, and he was allowed free run of the kitchen.


The other kitchen help began to file in, and the cook instructed on of the late arrivals – a young, pretty girl – to prepare coffee and tea for the doctors’ lounges on each floor. He watched as a three-tiered metal serving cart was loaded, and the young lady started for the double doors, halting to pick up the condiments. Before jumping onto the lower shelf, he chanced a quick brush against long, bare legs, purring contentedly. She laughed, scratched his ears, and then pushed the cart toward the double, swinging doors. A few quick steps, an effortless leap, and he landed silently, and unnoticed, on the bottom shelf. He stretched, then lay down, head on forepaws, as the cart was wheeled through the lobby, toward the elevators…


…just as the outside doors swung open and Logan Murphy all but ran through the deserted lobby, grabbed an elevator just as the doors were closing, and was gone from sight.


It didn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out that something was up. Black Jack separated from the Siamese, and reappeared at the bank of elevators on the third floor just as Murphy exited the center one.


~~“What’s going on? What’s happening?”~~ Savage demanded.


“What’s going on? What’s happening?” Logan caught up with Danielle as she stood anxiously outside the ICU doors.


“I don’t know. They just took him back in for surgery. I can’t find out anything.”



Logan placed a comforting arm around her shoulders, leading her toward the waiting room and the large, comfortable sofa. “It’ll be okay. He did fine before, and they’ll let us know something as soon as they can…”


Murphy continued his monologue, words intended solely to console and comfort; there wasn’t much else he could do. But Black Jack Savage had no desire for words of comfort; instead, he searched out the operating theatre.


Following an orderly in green scrubs, he found the operating room with no trouble. He strode down the hallway, passing several aides, orderlies, and RNs; he nodded to each one in turn, speaking in an official tone,~~ “Dr. Savage, here as special consultant on the Tarberry case.”~~ He lingered briefly near a pretty RN, as she indicated the OR to an orderly, ~~“Through those doors? Thank you, Nurse.”~~


He entered, it seemed to him, a room full of activity and confusion; there appeared to be more machinery occupying the room than people. He sauntered over to one of the surgeons, looked over the man’s shoulder curiously; and then just as quickly looked away. He didn’t know what the two surgeons were doing, but it wasn’t pleasant to look at.


And from the expressions on the partially concealed faces grouped around the patient, it wasn’t too pleasant for them, either.


The tone and atmosphere were quiet, serious. Someone in the room called out an encouraging comment. “We’re losing him.”


The surgeon’s response was equally encouraging. “Damn.”


Black Jack stared at them. ~~“Well, c’mon, guys, this is the wonderful world of the Twentieth Century. You’ve got lasers instead of broadswords, transfusions instead of leaches, education instead of guesswork –”~~ He glared directly at the Chief Surgeon, ~~“You were trained for this, right? You’ve got the knowledge, man; use it!”~~


“Do we close?”


“…yes…no—“


~~“Great. I so admire a decisive man.”~~ Savage sat on the edge of the operating table, his form obscured by the Chief Surgeon and his assisting nurse.


“We continue. We’ve got to get the bleeding stopped. He’s not going to survive another surgery. He may not survive this one,” he added under his breath.


~~“Looks bad, Barry. Doc, here, can’t decide whether to let you die now or later.”~~ Black Jack watched the attempts to maintain and stabilize Tarberry’s life support. He sighed heavily. ~~“I’m gonna have to do it, aren’t I? I really hate this, Barry. It’s difficult enough under ideal conditions. This – well, I can’t even get your permission, they’ve got you so far under. But then, you won’t be putting up a fight, will you? Dammit, you’re not gonna get through this if I don’t bail you out, and you have my solemn word that I won’t stay any longer than necessary.”~~


Bracing himself, he briefly closed his eyes, sending out a thought. ~~“C’mon, Larry, give me a break, here. He’s about as low a life form as you can get, but he’s my life form. Thanks, man, I owe ya.”~~


The ghostly image faded into grayish mist, coalescing into a sparkling vapor that swirled upward, then descended in perfect alignment into the form lying deathly still on the operating table. Almost immediately, indicators registered the change, and Savage took his first human breath in 300 years – and aside from the moment of his own death, it was the most agonizing pain he’d ever experienced. Barry may have been deeply anesthetized, but he wasn’t, and he quickly made the necessary neural connections. It was like slipping off into NeverNever Land, and he understood the attractions of such a powerful drug. Savage had never actually possessed another human – had never wanted to; and certainly not one who had one foot in Limboland and the other firmly planted in the Valley of Death.


He felt weighed down, struggling against a powerful current. But he was stronger, and concentrated on strengthening a faltering heartbeat and steadying respiration. He heard voices - hollow, distant - and knew he had succeeded in pulling Barry back, if only temporarily, from the grasp of death.


“Heartbeat…stable, respiration…stable. Blood pressure… 120 over 60.”


“He’s rallied. Let’s finish up, and get the hell out of here.”


Which were Black Jack Savage’s sentiments, exactly.



XII


There were two other patients in Recovery as Jack/Barry was wheeled in. The orderlies positioned the gurney, and a RN made the usual checks and notations before going into an adjoining room to watch the monitors.


Black Jack began the process of ‘settling in’; another hour or so, and Barry should be able to cope on his own. Savage had a lot of questions, but dared not search for the answers. He’d have to contain his burning curiosity (or perhaps it was the patient’s fever he was experiencing), for Barry was unaware of his presence, and he did not think it would be wise to suddenly announce the fact. The last time Tarberry had experienced anything near a ‘possession’ was by the spirit of a young woman whose child was lost at sea, and even that brief joining had left him shaken to his soul.


There was also the fact that, morally, Savage knew he was in the wrong; despite the fact that he had gotten a quick ‘go ahead’ from Larry. It was one thing to be invited in, quite another to be a ‘soul crasher’. There was the danger of losing identity forever to the stronger of the two. But this was one of those rare occasions that was the exception to the rule, or Larry would not have allowed it. The fussy little twerp no doubt knew that Black Jack had no intention of staying any longer than needed.


~*~*~*~

A little over two hours passed before Black Jack dared to start pulling away. A gradual disengagement, to allow Barry’s natural internal rhythms to take hold; the sparkling vapor shimmered over Tarberry’s body, separating with slow deliberation. The monitors registered only slight alterations, ones well within the perimeters of safety. The separation took nearly five minutes, and had gone undetected by both machine and human.


Black Jack reformed into his own image, and shivered, feeling the chill of death – more noticeable than ever before. He stepped back, arms wrapped tightly around his chest as he waited for the coldness of non-existence to become natural for him once more. He remained in the room until the patient was moved to Intensive Care, and waited there until they were again left alone. The charts, graphs, and monitor readings meant nothing to him; a touch would tell him all he needed to know. Barry was still in a deep state of unconsciousness, and Savage chose not to attempt contact.


Still feeling somewhat shaken himself, Black Jack sought the sanctuary of his home. He would return later, he promised silently; but now he had to leave, as he didn’t trust himself to stay any longer.


XIII


Murphy carefully closed the door behind him, sent Danielle a small smile and a wave through the glass wall. The low, steady hum and beep of machinery was the only sound in the room, and, after being outside in the bright, hot sunlight, the cool dimness was a disquieting contrast.


Barry himself seemed to have changed little; he was still pale, still weak – almost fragile looking.


“I took care of everything, just like you wanted me to, Mr. Tarberry.”


There was no response, and Logan wondered how Barry could be considered to be in better condition now than he had been when he’d last talked to him – at least then Barry had been able to respond.


“Uh, I’m not going to stay long. Dan—Miss St. Claire is outside. She’s going to stay with you for a while. Bet you’d prefer her, anyway, wouldn’t you? I’m going to get my car, and get back to the Castle. Don’t you worry about that. I’ll stay there for as long as you want me to.”


The complete lack of acknowledgement was getting on Logan’s nerves; he felt like he was talking to an empty room. Although the heart monitor stated otherwise, Murphy wasn’t at all certain that Barry was alive. He was so… deathly still. Logan leaned over, placed a tentative hand on Barry’s neck and shoulder; the skin felt cool, and he quickly withdrew his hand, backing toward the door.


“I’ll, uh, be going now, Mr. Tarberry. I’ll be back later…” Leaving was even worse. What did one say to someone who, in all probability, didn’t even know you were there?


Danielle caught his arm as he walked by her, concerned by his sudden quietness and distant expression. “Logan, what is it? Is Barry all right?”


He seemed to look beyond her. “I don’t know, Miss St. Claire. I really don’t know…” He slipped from her grasp, and she watched as he walked down the hall toward the elevators.


XIV


Savage sped quickly through the spatial interstices, knowing it would attract the Snarks, but needing to get to Blackbird Castle. His brief taste of life had been… intoxicating, overwhelming… His ghostly state had become so natural for him, that he had forgotten what it was like to be alive. He hadn’t wanted to leave, knowing he had no right to stay. A part of him had desperately wanted to remain, and that frightened him. When he had separated from Barry, and once again felt the sharp, icy pangs of ‘death’, it had taken all his willpower not to return. That’s why he needed distance, now – and quickly.


He was so deeply involved in his introspection that, at first, he wasn’t sure he heard the summons – wasn’t even sure that it was a summons. He slowed, and the entity calling to him caught up with his fleeing form. The messenger was from Lawrence “Larry” Dellaveaux, Record Keeper of Souls, who kept the balance sheets on Mankind’s deeds, good and bad. And Black Jack could honestly say that he had never seen anyone like her in all his dying days…


The messenger had taken the form of a young Island beauty, stars sparkling in her ebony hair, her eyes the color of the ocean, her form a centerfold fantasy – what there was of it. The tightly fitting sarong tapered off below her knees, and she hovered without the benefit of wings. A daemon of some kind, a benevolent spirit pledged to do Larry’s bidding.


Dellaveaux obviously had an urgent message for him, one that couldn’t wait until he returned to the Castle. With a sense of foreboding – for the little Frenchman’s messages were always bad news of some type – he followed the lithesome lovely down to the Chancellor’s domain.


~*~*~*~


“Monsieur Nsaku—“ the little twerp’s bow was more contemptuous than courtly, the accent strained more than usual, “it is so good for to see you again.”


“Let’s cut to the chase, Larry. And drop the sissy accent while you’re at it. You speak English just as good as any American-born citizen – which, I admit, ain’t sayin’ a lot…” Savage sat on the far corner of the richly carved and gilded desk; here, on this plane, he could affect matter if he wanted to. “Now, what’s the low-down – and don’t call me ‘Monsieur Nsaku’. The name’s Savage, Black Jack Savage. Make an effort to remember it.


“What is it this time? You gonna disallow a couple of saves? Put some extra black marks against my name? Must be important, for you to send someone after me…” A terrible fear suddenly dawned. “Don’t tell me Barry’s here--!”


“Not yet. But he will be shortly, because you left too soon.”


“Look, he was fine when I left. I’m not supposed to stay, anyway, you know that.”


“This is an exception. And are you a doctor? I’m only doing this ‘cause I like you, and I’d hate to see you spend Eternity in the East Wing of Hell.”


“Sure. Like none of this is reflecting badly on your record. Tell me, Larry old man, what’s Purgatory like these days? Still got anybody left to pray for ya?”


The foppish Frenchman sniffed, flipping a lace cuff at him. “My record keeping is impeccable. My soul isn’t the one in jeopardy. Now, you can either return and pull Mr. Tarberry back to his normal state of existence, or start getting used to a new partner. Which, as things currently stand, looks to be a high-brow geek named Logan Murphy.” Going over to a gilt-laden podium, Dellaveaux scanned through several pages. “Murphy… Murphy… ah, here we are… Logan Albert Murphy…” He looked up, dark eyes glittering with sadistic amusement. “Oh, you’re gonna love this guy, Black Jack; he’s saint material for certain. Should have those 100 lives saved in no time.”


“Wait a minute. What do you mean, ‘100 lives’? There are only 87 left to go.”


“New partner, new deal and another set of lives. The previous thirteen will go on Tarberry’s account, since you abandoned him.”


“Oh, all right, you soulless dog! I’ll go back. But I’m doing this under protest; so be sure to put that in your fancy-ass book! And I won’t be responsible for what happens while I’m ‘in residence’…” Black Jack turned away with annoyance, voice lowering as he began to fade away. “…There’s… something about life that makes it very difficult to give up.”


“Well, of course; that’s the whole point.”


“One thing’s for certain,” Savage muttered as he faded away completely from the Chancellor’s office, “The mere idea of having Logan Murphy as a partner is more than enough incentive to save Tarberry’s next-to-worthless hide…”


The air shimmered in the hospital corridor as Black Jack re-appeared, “And I’ll never let the smug bastard forget it, either!”


CONTINUED AND CONCLUDED IN PART 4: "BLACK JACK SAVAGE 4 of 4"