Kiss the Girls

students held hands and sang spirituals as well as “Give Peace a Chance.” For at least one night everyone chose to forget that Casanova was still out there somewhere. I tried it for a few hours myself.
    Sampson was alive and recovering inside the hospital. So was Kate. People I had never met came up and fiercely shook my hand inside the suddenly festive facility. A father of one of the surviving victims broke down and wept in my arms. It had never felt this good to be a policeman.
    I took the elevator to the fourth floor to visit Kate. Before I walked into her room, I took a deep breath. Finally, I went in. She looked like a mysterious mummy with all of her head bandages and wraps. Her condition had stabilized. She wasn’t going to die, but she remained in a coma.
    I held Kate’s hand and I told her the long day’s news. “The captive women are free. I was at the house with Sampson. They’re safe, Kate. Now you come back to us. Tonight would be a good night,” I whispered.
    I ached to hear Kate’s voice again, at least one more time. But no sound came from her lips. I wondered if Kate could hear me, or make any sense of the words. I kissed her softly before I left for the night. “I love you, Kate,” I whispered against her bandaged cheek. I doubted that she could hear me.
    Sampson was located one floor above Kate. Man Mountain had already come out of surgery, and his condition was listed as good.
    He was awake and alert when I came in to see him. “How’s Kate and the other women?” he asked me. “I’m about ready to leave this place myself.”
    “Kate’s still in a coma. I just came from her room. Your condition is ‘good,’ if you’re interested.”
    “You tell the doctors to upgrade me to ‘excellent.’ I hear Casanova got away.” He started to cough, and I could tell he was angry.
    “Take it easy. We’ll get him.” I knew it was time for me to go.
    “Don’t forget to bring me my shades,” he said as I left. “Too much light in this place. Feel like I’m in Kmart.”
    At nine-thirty that night I was back in Scootchie’s hospital room. Seth Samuel was there. The two of them were impressive to watch together. They were strong, but they were also sweet. I began the happy task of getting to know Naomi-and-Seth.
    “Auntie Scootch! Auntie Scootch!”
    I heard a familiar voice behind me, and it was the best sound. Nana, Cilla, Damon, and Jannie all trooped into the room. They had flown in from Washington. Cilla broke down and cried as she saw her baby. I saw Nana Mama also wipe away a few tears. Then Cilla and Naomi were giving the word
hug
a new meaning.
    My kids watched their Auntie Scootch lying in the scary hospital bed. I could see the fear and confusion shining in their little eyes, especially Damon’s, who tries to rise above all forms of uncertainty and terror in his life.
    I went to my kids and scooped them up in my arms. I held them both as tightly as I could. “Hello, son, little cue ball in the side pocket! How’s my Jannie?” I asked. For me, there’s nothing like my family, nothing even close. I imagine that’s part of why I do what I do. I know it is. Doctor Detective Cross.
    “You found Auntie Scootch,” Jannie whispered into my ear. She hugged me tightly with her strong little legs and arms. She was even more excited than I was.

Chapter 114

    I T WASN’T over for me. The job was only half-done. Two days later, I trudged down a well-worn path through the woods separating Route 22 and the underground house. The local police officers I passed on the way were somber and quiet. They tramped out of the woods with their heads lowered, not talking with one another, their faces drained of color and affect.
    They had met the human monsters on an intimate basis now. They had seen the intricate and ghastly handiwork of Dr. Will Rudolph and the other monster who called himself Casanova. Some of them had explored the house of horror.
    Most of them knew me by now. I was a regular at the hellfires with them. Some nodded or waved hello. I waved back.
    I was finally somewhat accepted in North Carolina. Twenty years ago that wouldn’t have been possible, not even under these extreme circumstances. I was beginning to like it in the South a little, more than I would have thought possible.
    I had a new notion, a plausible theory, about Casanova. It had to do with something I’d noticed during the gun-battle scene in these woods and on the streets of Chapel Hill.
You’ll never