Henry Westphal (hwestphal) wrote in light_of_may, @ 2014-03-23 17:26:00 |
|
|||
Entry tags: | 2009-10-04, jo |
Every monster was a man first.
Who: Jo Summers, Henry Westphal
Where: Ballard House
When: Early evening, October 4
Status: Complete
The tires of the hospital transfer van hummed along the road. On the radio, Hank Williams sang, the volume flipping from soft to loud without any touch of the dial. He didn't like country music, but hadn't complained when the driver had turned it on. Henry sat in his seat with his eyes closed, long hands folded into his lap, his good shoulder and his temple leaning against the cool window. The interior of the van was warm, and he felt even warmer; he had the urge to take off his robe and sit in his old tee shirt and sleep pants, to let his hot skin cool off. He didn't, though, trying to remain as still as possible.
Everything hurt, but at the same time, didn't. He felt restless, as if his bones and muscles wanted to snap, to crack, to shift into some different configuration. The corners of Henry's full mouth curved down--that was true, was what would be happening. He would be changing and soon, into something awful, horrible, into something like the thing which killed Madison and had almost killed him.
He should, by all logic, be dead. Eviscerated, bleeding out, his guts spread over the ground around him, his shoulder crushed--no one should survive something like that. And yet he had. Two days ago he'd been attacked, but he'd healed the equivalent of three weeks or better in those two days. His fingers unlaced and touched his belly where four huge, wide, red scars, thick and raised, went from one flank to the other. He didn't need to touch his right shoulder to feel the scars there; they pulled with every movement of his hand and arm. That he could move at all was beyond imagining; the damage had been massive.
But at least he was alive. Madison hadn't been granted that miracle.
"Hey, Westphal, we're almost there."
Henry opened his eyes. Across from him sat Max Simpson, one of the members of hospital security. He was an Army vet, a decade older than Henry, and they'd gotten along well since Max had started there; he was the size of a tank and so was most often sent to ER to handle the rowdies. Henry was glad Max had volunteered to go with him to Ballard House. Others hadn't wanted to go, and honestly? He couldn't blame them. He was a monster.
"Thanks, Max," he said, and straightened, his muscles stiff and sore. He rubbed at his nose; Max's aftershave seemed suddenly too strong, sharp.
The van turned off onto a side road and within minutes, the driver pulled up to a heavily-fortified gate; a fence that looked ten feet high surrounded the property.. The driver spoke a few words into the intercom and Henry raised a hand to his ear because god, loud. A moment later they were through and on the way to the mansion.
Ballard House was far more than merely a house; it was a mansion of grey stone and clean lines. Very nice. Someone had taken good care of it and the grounds, and while it could have looked intimidating, it didn't. If buildings could look welcoming, this one did. Henry had of course heard of Ballard House, but he'd never actually seen it before.
Golden light spilled out of the windows, muted, because the sun was still just over the trees. They pulled to a stop and Max hopped to his feet and waited for Henry to get to his own, staying close in case Henry needed him. He didn't, and shuffled to the door and down the steps like an old man.
They went in together, Max holding the door for him. Within, it was huge and bright, and he blinked at the intensity of it before it settled into something like normal. Henry could hear the murmur of many voices, smell the scents of many bodies. Henry wasn't normally one to feel shy, but somehow now he did. Maybe not shy, exactly. Nervous, definitely. He put on his calm, collected nurse face but his hand slid into the pocket of his robe, fingers twining in the beads of his mother's rosary that she'd placed there before he left the hospital.
"Here comes someone to check you in," Max said and Henry turned his attention to a young woman with short brown hair approaching with a clipboard and a smile.