Wrapped in Rain(56)

With his knowledge of the rail system, Mutt could be in North Dakota by now. I walked to the window, saw Clark's, let my eyes follow the waterline, and noticed the marina. "Has he ever been to that marina?"

"On a few occasions, the staff have rented canoes and taken some of the patients up creek a few hundred yards. Nothing out of sight of the dock though."

"Did Mutt go on any of those excursions?"

"Every time they were offered."

"How well do you know the owner?"

"Well enough to rent a boat."

"Let's go see him."

Gibby stopped me as we walked toward the door. "One more thing. I told you on the phone, he's a ticking time bomb."

"Think Mutt will become violent?"

Gibby nodded.



"But Mutt's never been violent a day in his life."

"I know, Tuck. It's just something I sense. He has this look ... like a cat poised, ready to pounce. And when he does ..." Gibby just shook his head. "It's as if he's been crouched in that position for fifteen years and can't hold back the springs anymore."

"What makes you say this?"

"The further deterioration of his reasoning faculties."

"Meaning?"

"His mind is lying to him now more than ever. He can't differentiate between a crazy thought and a sane thought. Or if he can, he chooses not to. He's been on medication, and lots of it, for a long time. When it wears off, he's going to become confused. Schizophrenia, bipolar disorders, and schizoeffective illnesses are long-term, chronic illnesses. Unfortunately, they only get worse. Not better. When patients stop taking meds, they decompensate, become psychotic, and need hospitalization. I don't know what you expect to find here, but I warn you: it's not as if you dropped him off here seven years ago with a flesh wound that has now healed, leaving only a scar. It's more like you dropped him off with a cancer and it's spread to every corner of his anatomy. If you find him, your best bet is to give him this." Gibby pulled a clear plastic box containing two syringes from his pocket and extended them in his open palm. "Three hundred milligrams of Thorazine each. And if you can't get back here inside of an hour, give him the second." Gibby grabbed my arm and squeezed the meat on the outside of my shoulder. `Just like a flu shot."

I took the box, studied the insides, and zipped it inside the pocket of my fleece jacket. "Gibby, what's best and worst case if I find him?"

"If you find him, we could send him north, to a `safer' hospital, one where the walls are padded and where he'd eventually die of old age."



"What about taking him home?"

"Not advisable, and not really possible."

"Why not?"

"Bluntly?"

I nodded.

"Because you're going to suffer hell if you do."

I looked out the window, my eyes swimming the creek to Clark's. "With all due respect, we were born there and we're a bit used to it."





Chapter 21


THE OWNER OF THE MARINA WAS NOT PLEASED TO SEE Gibby. Nor me for that matter. Word had spread and people up and down the creek were antsy, disliking the idea that a lunatic was on the loose with no capture in sight. Clark's had hired a retired and undercover police officer to mill around the docks, keeping an eye out for anything suspicious.

"Morning," the owner said, reluctantly extending his hand. "Steve Baxter."

"Tucker Rain."

"You related to that boy that escaped?"

"He's my brother."

"Well, no offense, but I hope you catch him before he goes off and does something crazy. Word is his elevator don't make it to the top floor."

I shrugged. "Either that or he just prefers to take the stairs."

"Well, I've been telling the city for years that dang nuthouse needed to be moved before somebody got hurt. Maybe they'll listen to me now that one of the cuckoos has flown the nest."

I wasn't in the mood for conversation, so I changed it. "I need to rent a canoe. Maybe a square-stern with a fivehorse. You got anything like that?"

He nodded. "I'll loan you mine. It's an Old Town, fifteenfooter, and I've got a little Honda fivehorse that ought to get you up creek and back without any hassle."

I turned to Gibby. "You mind keeping an eye on Katie and Jase for me?"



"Not at all." He put his hand onjase's shoulder. "Me and this cowboy here were just about to do some flyfishing."

"We'll be fine," Katie said, picking up Jase and resting him on her hip. He was half as big as she was and his legs dangled around her shins. He was chewing on the Tootsie Pop stick and looked a lot like a local. Baxter pulled up in his canoe, climbed out, and held her steady while I stepped in. It was clean, stable, and quiet. Perfect for hunting ducks, fish, or people. I looked up on the dock and realized how petite Katie really was. But being petite didn't make her weak. I pushed away from the dock and felt my people place opening up and the two of them sliding in.

I didn't try to stop it.





Chapter 22


THE BLACK WATER FELT WARM FOR THIS TIME OF YEAR. I motored past Clark's and immediately faced a problem. The creek split. It was only eight in the morning, so I decided on the methodical approach. I took the left finger, the smaller of the two, and began the snaking, winding course. The banks were covered in turtles, small alligators, and a few raccoons, and broad, fat lily pads dotted the water's edge like freckles on the arms of a redhead. Luckily, the mosquitoes were tolerable. At ten thirty, I cut the engine and decided to paddle. The creek had narrowed to maybe forty feet across, and I figured if Mutt were back here, I might need the element of surprise. At noon, a manatee surfaced next to the canoe, blew a hole through the top of the water, and scared me half to death. He was all of eight feet, and his wide, massive tail bumped the back of the boat. I paddled alongside, brushed his barnacled back with my hand, and saw the scars of one too many boat propellers. "Hey, buddy," I said, "if you stay back here, you'll keep away from those spinning blades." He kicked once and was forty feet away before he surfaced again. "But if I was you, I'd want to get to that wide open water too. You take care." He blew again and disappeared.