Peter jumped forward, with Francis close behind him, followed by the rest of the crazy men, who were swept forward by the energy of the instant, leaving behind much of their madness as the need for them to step ahead became clear. Napoleon was rallying the men, waving his arm above his head as if he carried a sword, crying "Onward! Charge!" Newsman was saying something about the next day's headlines and becoming a part of the story, as they all tumbled into the corridor, a flying wedge of men, bent on a single task.
In the momentary confusion of their arrival, Francis saw the retarded man rise up, dust himself off and steadfastly return to the dormitory room, his face wreathed in glowing glory. Francis caught a half glimpse of the man plopping himself down on his bunk, taking his Raggedy Andy doll up in his arms and then turning and surveying his destruction of the door with a look of utter satisfaction.
Then Francis turned away, and he saw Peter racing ahead, toward the nursing station, moving as fast as he could, sprinting with the necessity of the moment. There was a faint glow coming from the station's single desk lamp, and Francis spotted a figure stretched out on the floor. He instantly pushed himself in that direction, his own feet slapping hard against the floor, beating a drummer's pace of emergency. At the same moment, he saw the Moses brothers burst through the far stairwell door, and as they tore past the women's dormitory, cries from that room started to rise up, high-pitched notes that combined in a symphony of confusion and panic, with an allegro of unknown fear keeping the beat.
Peter had pitched himself down toward Lucy's form, and Francis hesitated for an instant, afraid that they were too late, and that she was dead. But then, through all the other noise that had suddenly overtaken the entire hallway, he heard Lucy groan in pain.
"Jesus!" Peter said. "She's hurt badly." He had taken hold of one of her hands and was cradling it, as he tried to guess what to do. Peter looked up at Francis, and then to the Moses brothers as they arrived breathless at the nursing station. "We need to get her help," he said.
Little Black nodded, reached for the telephone, and immediately saw that it was worthless, with its wires sliced. He seemed to think hard, surveying the entirety of the nursing station in a single long glance and then replied, "Hang on. I'm going back upstairs, call for help."
Big Black turned to Francis, his own face a mask of worry and anxiety. "She was supposed to say the word over the intercom or on the telephone… it took us a couple of seconds when we heard all of you…" He didn't need to finish what he was saying, because suddenly the preciousness of those few moments seemed to be in the same balance as Lucy Jones's life.
Lucy felt rivers of pain flooding over her.
She was only peripherally aware that Peter was at her side, and that the Moses brothers and Francis were close by. They all seemed to her to be on some distant shore, one that she was struggling against tides and currents to reach, as she battled against unconsciousness. She knew that there was something important she had to say, before she gave in to the agony that enveloped her, and let herself fall blissfully into the abyss of darkness that beckoned. She bit down hard on a bloody lip, and squeezed a few words past all the hurt that had arrived that night, and all the despair that she'd known, thinking only of the promise that she'd been given a few seconds earlier. "He's here," she spit out softly. "Find him, please. End it here."
She did not know whether what she said made any sense, or whether anyone could hear her. She wasn't even sure that the words that she'd managed to form in her imagination had actually made it past her tongue. But, she under stood, at least she'd tried, and with a deep sigh, she let unconsciousness take her over, not knowing whether she would ever emerge from its seductive grasp, but understanding, at the very least, that all the pain she felt would be swept aside, if only for a moment.
"Lucy, damn it! Stay with us!" Peter screamed in her face, but without great effect. Then he looked up and said, "She's out." He put his ear down to her chest, listening for her heartbeat. "She's alive," he said, "but…"
Big Black threw himself down beside her. He immediately started to apply pressure to the wound in her knee, which was pulsing blood. "Somebody get me a blanket!" he yelled. Francis turned and saw Napoleon heading into the dormitory on that task.
Down the hallway, Little Black reappeared, running. "Help's coming," he shouted. Peter stepped back slightly, still poised next to Lucy's form. Francis saw him look down, and both men spotted Lucy's pistol on the floor. It was as if everything in the Amherst Building was moving in slow motion to Francis right at that instant, and he suddenly understood what it was that Lucy had been saying, and what it was that she was asking.
"The Angel," he said quietly to Peter and the Moses brothers, "where is he?"
That was it, right then, that moment right there, when everything that I knew as my madness and everything that might one day make me sane coalesced in some great electric, exploding connection. The Angel was howling, his voice a din of angry noise. I could feel his grip on my own arm, trying to stop me from reaching out to the wall, scratching, clawing at the pencil in my hand, wrestling with me, trying to prevent me from putting down in shaky script what happened next. We battled, fighting hard, my body pummeled by his blows, over each word. I knew that his entire being was bent toward seeing me stop, fold up and die right there, giving up, falling short, a few feet from completion.
I fought back, scrambling to drag the pencil across the dwindling space on the wall in front of me. I was screaming, arguing, shouting at him, near breaking, like glass about to shatter and burst.
Peter looked up and said, "But where…"
Peter looked up and said, "But where…" and then Francis turned and looked away from Lucy's prone form and surveyed the corridor. In the distance, he could suddenly hear the caterwauling of an ambulance, and he wondered wildly whether it would be the same ambulance that had brought him to Western State that arrived that night for Lucy.
Francis searched first one direction with his eyes, but he was in actuality searching his heart. He looked down the hallway past the women's dormitory, to the stairwell where Cleo had killed herself and then had her hand mutilated by the opportunistic Angel. He shook his head and told himself No. Not that way. He would have run directly into the Moses brothers. Then he turned and examined the other routes. The front door. The stairwell at the men's end. He closed his eyes and thought to himself: You would not have come here this night unless you knew that there was an emergency exit. You would have thought about much that might go wrong, but far more important, of far greater concern, you knew that you needed to disappear so that you could savor the last moments of Lucy's life. You would not want to share these with anyone. So, you would need a place where you could be alone with your darkness. I know you, and I know what you need, and now I will know where you have gone.
Francis rose and slowly walked over to the front doors. Double-locked. He shook his head. Too much time. Too much uncertainty. He would have had to pull out the two keys and let himself out where Security might have seen him. And lock the doors behind him, so as to not draw attention to his flight. Not that way Francis's voices all shouted agreement. You know. You can see it. He did not know whether they were crying encouragement or despair. Francis pivoted slightly, and peered down the corridor toward the broken door to the men's dormitory. Again he shook his head. The Angel would have had to pass by all of them, and that would have been impossible, even for a man who prided himself on murder and invisibility.