Maison Blanche Revisited

Chapter 3: A Dark and Stormy Night

MANEUVERING THE UNWIELDY COT up the spiral staircase which was the only access to the basement was a nightmare. By the time they reached the exit tucked underneath the stairs leading to the second story they were all sweating and exhausted, but carried the cot on into the study and set it gently on the floor.

While the other three sank into chairs to catch their breaths, Franklin hurried to the ornate desk and grabbed the phone. He dialed quickly and started speaking almost at once. “This is Trooper Martin Franklin of the State Police, badge number 89526. I called earlier about an injured man...” He paused for a moment. “Yes. He’s in very bad condition. He was drugged and tortured. He’s unconscious and we can barely find his pulse.” There was another pause. “I don’t know,” he replied. “Just a second; let me put you on the speaker phone. Three of his friends are here. They can tell you more about this than I can.” He pressed a button on the phone and said, “Go ahead, you’re on.”

“I need to know what kind of injuries he has and how long he’s been unconscious.” The disembodied voice was young, female, and very competent. “I also need to know what kind of drugs he was given.”

Roman got up and walked over near the speaker. “This is Capt. Roman Brady of the Salem, Illinois Police Dept,” he said. “We don’t know what drugs he was given or how long he’s been unconscious. From things he wrote, we know he was hit on the head and then chained in a dirty cellar for the last ten weeks. Besides being drugged, he was beaten with clubs and chains and whips. He has bruises and badly infected cuts all over his body. He could also have internal injuries and he looks like he’s starving: he’s lost around thirty pounds since the last time I saw him back in April. We know he hasn’t had anything to eat or drink for at least five or six days and he’s burning up with fever.”

There a brief silence as the young dispatcher absorbed the information, then she came back on the line. “All right,” she said briskly, “here’s the situation. Your friend needs to be in intensive care in a hospital, and right now that’s impossible. So what we’re going to do instead is create an intensive care facility at your location. I’m going to patch you through to Dr. Nolan Harris at Tulane University Medical Center. He’s a secialist in first aid and should be able to give you all the help you need. But before I patch him through, you can get started on two tasks right now. First, your friend needs water more than anything else. Without an IV, the best way to do that with an unconscious person is give them ice. Do you have any?”

“We have lot’s of ice.” Kristen answered. “We were having a party here for over two hundred people before the storm hit.”

“Good. You’re probably going to need it all. Dr. Harris will also have you using ice to bring his fever down. This is what you do for his dehydration. Crush several ice cubes very fine. Place a spoonful of ice in his mouth, then hold his mouth shut. After he swallows, which he should do automatically, give him another spoonful. Feed him this way for fifteen minutes, then stop for fifteen minutes. Keep repeating this cycle until you run out of ice or until help gets there.”

“I’ll do that.” Kristen was on her feet and out the door before any of the rest of them could respond.

“The other thing I want you to do is set up a treatment center,” the dispatcher continued. “This should preferably be in or near a kitchen. Is your kitchen big enough to hold a bed?”

“This place has a huge kitchen,” Tony said.

“Okay. I want you to move a bed into the kitchen. If possible, move the entire bed, but if you can’t move the frame just use the mattress and springs. After you move the bed, gather every clean sheet and towel you can find: you’re going to need them all. While you’re doing that, I’m going to contact Dr. Harris. Don’t hang up the phone,” she directed, “and I want somebody to stay with the patient at all times. What’s his name by the way?”

“John Black,” Roman replied as Tony and Franklin headed out the door in wordless agreement. “He’s my adopted brother.”

“I’m sorry,” the dispatcher said softly. “I know it looks bad, but we’re going to do everything we can to try and keep him alive. I’m going to call Dr. Harris now but I’ll keep this line open. If there’s any change in his condition, let me know immediately.”

“I will,” Roman promised. “And I’d like to know your name.”

“Sharon. Sharon Kennedy. I have to go now, but I’ll have Dr. Harris for you in just a few minutes.”

Over the next several hours a flurry of activity took place in and around Maison Blanche. While the storm raged outside, rattling and shaking the sturdy old plantation house, its intensity was matched inside as the four would-be paramedics fought to pull John back from the brink of death. On the instruction of Dr. Harris, talking from the speaker phone in the kitchen, they first shaved John’s beard and gently washed ten weeks of grime from his gaunt body. Once he was clean, they were able to give the doctor a clearer assessment of his injuries.

“His wrists are a mess, but they don’t seem to be too badly infected,” Roman said as Tony propped John up against a layer of pillows and held him steady for Kristen to slowly administer more crushed ice. “The really bad spots are on his chest and his back. The cuts are healed over, but they’re red and puffy and very hot to the touch. There are two on his chest and three on his back.”

“Those are probably what’s causing his fever,” said Dr. Harris. “They’re going to have to be lanced and cleaned out. It’s going to be very unpleasant but it has to be done. Go ahead and bandage his wrists first, then we’ll get started.”

The amateur surgery took over an hour, and as Roman finally sank into a chair at the kitchen table, wiping his damp forehead with a shaking hand while Kristen placed the last bandage on John’s back, he told himself grimly that the doctor was a master of understatement. The experience had been more than unpleasant...it had been awful. When he had driven the sterilized knife into the center of each infection, foul green pus had come spurting out, spattering all over their hair, faces and clothes. The wounds then had to be scraped until all the infection was gone and they bled cleanly; then they were flushed with hydrogen peroxide solution and finally bandaged with baking soda poultices. The only good thing about the whole ordeal was that John had remained unconscious throughout...if he had awakened while they were working on him, he would have been in agony and quite possibly could have died from shock.

The bandaging complete, Tony and Franklin eased John over onto his back and tucked a sheet around his naked body while Kristen addressed their invisible medical mentor. “What do we do next, Dr. Harris?”

“We’re going to try to bring his fever down,” the doctor replied. “Fill ten freezer bags with ice, wrap each of them in a dishtowel, then place them around his body. Also resume giving him ice for his dehydration. Take his temperature every fifteen minutes and let me know when it starts to change. That may take several hours, so you should work in shifts. Two of you stay with John while the other two get a couple hours sleep. I have to check on some other patients right now, but I’ll keep this line open and a nurse can reach me immediately if you need me.”

“All right. Thank you, Doctor.” Kristen glanced over at Roman. He was obviously exhausted from the strain of performing John’s surgery (having insisted on taking that responsibility upon himself) and looked like he was on the verge of collapse. “Tony and I will take the first shift, Roman. You and Franklin can use the bedrooms at the top of the stairs.”

“Thanks,” Roman said tiredly, pushing his chair back from the table and rising slowly to his feet. “But let me know if there’s any change.”

“We will,” she promised. “Now go get some sleep.”

As Tony and Kristen started pulling bags of ice from an enormous freezer, the two police officers left the kitchen, dragged themselves up the long stairway, and collapsed wearily into bed.

Two hours later, Roman awakened with a groan as a loud knock penetrated his troubled dreams. As the knocking persisted, he called sleepily, “I’m awake,” and was fumbling for the bedside lamp when the door opened a crack and Kristen peered in from the hall. “Can I come in?”

“Sure,” he yawned, finally finding the switch and blinking at the sudden glare. “I was so tired the only thing I took off was my shoes. How’s John?”

“There’s no change yet,” she replied, walking tentatively into the room as he threw back the covers and swung his legs over the side of the bed. “I wanted to ask you something before you go downstairs.”

Her tone was so serious that his cop instincts suddenly went into overdrive and he wanted to grab her and start interrogating her, but years of dealing with reluctant witnesses and recalcitrant suspects prompted him to go slow and not scare her off. “Sure,” he said lightly, slipping on his shoes. “What can I do for you?”

She stopped at the foot of the bed and rocked back on her heels. “Roman, do you...,” she paused, took a deep breath, then finished in a rush, “do you think Tony knew Stefano was alive?”

“I’m sorry, Kristen,” he said regretfully. “I just don’t know. To the best of my knowledge, Tony’s never been involved in Stefano’s illegal activities, but he is Stefano’s son. It seems pretty obvious now that Stefano staged his death so you would blame John and marry Tony. But whether Tony knew about it or not, its difficult to say. If he did know, he may not have said anything to try and protect both you and Stefano. Have you asked him about it?”

She shook her head. “Not yet. But I will, once John’s out of danger. The trouble is,” she confided somberly, “I don’t know what to believe anymore. I feel like I can’t trust anybody. Stefano lied to me my whole life. Maybe Tony’s been lying too. If he does say he didn’t know Stefano was alive, I don’t know if I’ll be able to believe him.”

She sounded so miserable and dejected that Roman wanted to put his arms around her and comfort her like he would Carrie or Sami, but restrained himself, saying instead, “I wish I could tell you what to do, Kristen, but I can’t. I’m afraid this is something you’re going to have to decide for yourself. But I can offer some advice. Like I said, right now, there’s no evidence that Tony has been working with Stefano. Until something turns up to change that, I think I’d be inclined to give him the benefit of the doubt. But then again,” he sighed, “what do I know? Look at what a mess I’ve made of my own marriage: I shouldn’t be giving advice to anyone.”

“That’s not true,” Kristen protested. “I think your advice is very good and I’m going to try to follow it. I love Tony, and without any proof to the contrary, if he says he didn’t know Stefano was alive, I’ve got to have faith that’s he’s telling me the truth.”

“And what will you do if he does say he knew Stefano was alive?”

“I don’t know,” she admitted. “Everything’s so confused right now, I haven’t thought that far ahead. But one thing I am sure of--so many people have been hurt because of Stefano: John, Marlena, you, Billie, your children--if Tony knew Stefano was alive and didn’t do anything to stop him, then he’s partly to blame for what Stefano did. I don’t think I can live with a man who would let people be hurt like that and not try to stop it.”

“I hope it doesn’t come to that,” Roman said softly. “I like Tony. He’s always been a good man. He was just as shocked as the rest of us when we found John, and if he did know Stefano was alive, I’m sure he is holding himself partly responsible. That guilt will eat away at him for the rest of his life, and in the end, he’ll punish himself far more than you, or I, or some court ever could.”

“You’re probably right,” Kristen acknowledged, rubbing her arms as if to ward off a sudden chill, “and I’d have to take that into consideration before I made any decision. But right now,” she shivered, “I don’t want to think about this anymore. I just want John to get better. I’ll go wake Franklin. Send Tony up when you get downstairs.” And she was out the door before Roman could think of a response.

The night seemed to drag on endlessly. The howling wind made sleep next to impossible, and despite the ice packs, John’s fever refused to subside. By the time a dull gray light signaled the onset of morning, exhaustion, worry and tension had everyone’s nerves stretched to the breaking point. Even though the wind was finally dying it would be several hours yet before a rescue helicopter could be sent aloft with any degree of safety, and Roman had a sick feeling that by the time help did arrive it would be too late. He was gently sponging John’s hot face with a damp cloth and trying not to yell at Franklin’s irritating tuneless whistling when a stunned, very familiar voice caused him to jerk his head around.”

“Roman?” Bo repeated, standing in the kitchen doorway while Billie peered over his shoulder. “What are you doing here? What’s going on?”

“Bo. Thank God you’re all right.” At the sight of his brother’s face, Roman felt some of his tension evaporate in a wave of euphoria. In his concern over John, he had buried his anxiety over Bo’s whereabouts deep inside, trying not worry over something he could do nothing about. But now Bo was safe and there really was nothing to worry about, at least as far as Bo was concerned anyway.

“Of course, I’m all right,” Bo said. “What are you doing here, Roman? Who is that? Did somebody get hurt during the storm?” He walked toward the bed and Roman moved quickly to block his view. He didn’t want Bo to see the shocking transformation in the man he regarded as a brother without some preparation.

“Let’s go into the hall for a minute, Bo.”

Catching Bo’s shoulder, he nudged him toward the doorway even as Bo protested, “What are you doing, Ro? What’s going on?”

“I’ll tell you everything,” Roman said tiredly, continuing to edge him toward the door. “But not here. Please, Bo. In the hall.”

Seeing the strain on Roman’s face and hearing the exhaustion in his voice, Bo finally acquiesced and moved back into the hall. Roman joined he and Billie there, closing the kitchen door behind him.

“All right,” Bo said softly, “we’re here. Now please, tell me what’s going on.”

Roman rubbed his hands over his face, trying to shake off his tiredness and get his thoughts in some sort of coherent order. “What’s going on,” he finally sighed, “ is a nightmare. I got here late last night, following a lead on a drug dealer with connections to Stefano. A Louisiana State Trooper with a search warrant came with me, and we forced Tony and Kristen to let us search the mansion. We found a man chained to a wall in a locked room in the basement. He’d been in there for ten weeks, drugged and tortured by Stefano, who finally took off and left him there to starve to death. He’s in very grave condition and the authorities can’t get medical help out here because of the storm.”

“Dear God,” Bo whispered in horror, while Billie stared at him in stunned silence. “Do you know who he is, Roman?”

“I’m afraid so,” Roman answered quietly, wishing more than anything he didn’t have to be the one to break the news. “I’m sorry, Bo. I’m more sorry than you’ll ever know. It’s John.”

“John?” Bo repeated in anguished disbelief. “You mean our John? John Black?”

“Yes.”

“But John and Marlena are on a cruise,” Bo insisted. “Marlena called...she called...” His voice trailed off as the ghastly truth sank in. “Oh, God,” he groaned. “It was a trick, wasn’t it? Stefano--”

“He has her,” Roman sighed. Closing his eyes, he leaned back against the wall, trying to control the panic he felt whenever he thought about Marlena. “He has her. He took her away over a week ago. They could be anywhere in the world by now.” His legs suddenly gave way as the worry and exhaustion of the long night finally caught up with him, and he dimly heard Bo call his name as he slid down the wall.

to be continued...

© 1998 by Ruth Stout - All Rights Reserved

Background Image Courtesy of Proof New Media Inc. at freeimages.com

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