PATIENT-X by JASON RONIN (best ereader for pdf and epub .TXT) 📖

the UN commissioner and the Brit Prime minister A.S.A.P., and in the mean time I want our borders closed and I want marshal law instituted in every state”

“Congress ain’t gonna be happy ‘bout that” Carlton Pace said; his voice sounded horse from the big cigars he regularly smoked. “Well, congress can kiss my ass,” he held the paper in the air, “They have attacked the very heart of what we hold dear, it is time for serious action, we have to take control of our nations and tighten the screw till the weevils’ pop out of the corn so, we can crush them once and for all” he paused for effect “Are you all with me on this?”

Not realising what Dwight was fully proposing, they acquiesced.

“Okay peoples let’s go do some good, Marcus have Congress assembled for a meeting by 1800 hours, and I will address them at that time”

His vice president nodded, and they all filed out.

Jason had waited until night-time before he made his move. Walking the streets with his hat pulled down and hands in the pockets of his combat jacket he was trying to appear invisible. He had located a store where the clerk seemed disinterested with his customers, he pulled out his wallet before entering the store, and found what appeared to be a couple of thousand dollars which came as a bit of a surprise the last time he checked he had about forty dollars, the day was looking up. Once inside he purchased a pair of scissors, shaving cream, and razors. It took a while to find a public convenience that shady types were not using, never the less he found one. After cutting his hair and shaving, he made his way to Union Station, after paying the $127 dollars he found himself sat in a nearly empty carriage of the 20:05 to Penn station, New York. His nerves had been singing like live electrical cable all the way from the motel, he had gotten directions to the station from a street map he found in his room. After studying the map, Jason was pleased to discover he was only about three blocks from the station, which allowed him a path through back alleys and away from the streets. As he gazed out at the platform, he hoped his luck would hold up until he found out what had happened to him. Jason was in no doubt if the police caught up with him his life would be at an end.

He pulled his hat down and slumped into his seat, his whole situation seemed hopeless. A black cloud of depression fell over him. As he thought more about the events of the last few hours and it took all his reserves of energy to push it away. Crossing his arms, he propped his head against the window, as he was about to close his eyes, the carriage door opened and a man entered. He was tough looking, six foot tall with a baldhead and well-muscled body that strained at the seams of his dark suit. The hairs on the back of Jason’s neck prickled, as the man scanned the carriage with his steely grey eyes. They settled on Jason for a second and he thought he was caught, that the man was a cop, and he was going to pull out his gun, the moment passed and the man moved on to take a seat somewhere to the rear of him.

Jason could have kicked himself he was seeing danger all around in every shadow. He closed his eyes and decided to sleep the journey away. He knew he should remain aware, but he was so tired with the intense pressure of his situation.

Shaun sat in his seat on the Amtrac train. He tried to comprehend what he had seen, he had stowed his overnight bag and entered the carriage scanning the other passengers for any kind of threat when his eyes had passed over a man in a baseball hat; black jeans, t-shirt and a green combat jacket, and he was clean shaven with a wiry build, about 5’8. Something was familiar about this man, and it was not until he was seated, that he realised he had set eyes on the man who had shot the President. His first instinct had been to jump on the man and restrain him, before calling for the police. He held back because he was probably in as much trouble as the guy in the carriage with him. Therefore, he had taken a seat two rows behind him and decided his best course of action was to follow him to wherever his destination may be.

Shaun relaxed as the train made its way out of Union station for the start of the three hour twenty-five minute trip to New York. Whatever happens will happen Shaun thought, he knew he was probably putting himself in harm’s way as he had no way of knowing what backup the man had or where he was heading, but he had a feeling that the course of action he was embarking on was the right one. Whatever resided in the P.O box could wait a while longer. Shaun followed close behind the man as he exited Penn station onto 7th avenue, instead of hailing a cab he turned left and headed onto w 33rd street walking as though he knew where he was going. Shaun followed close behind, always keeping a few people between them. They past a blue and white parked at the kerb. Shaun considered informing them what he was doing but quickly changed his mind when he thought back to the events at his house.

They had walked for several blocks until they arrived at a building on east 33rd, he ducked inside. Shaun stopped outside the entrance. Above the double glass doors was the legend Crystal building, on the door, it said Madison Psychiatric services and Counselling Institute. Shaun laughed to himself; where else do you go after killing the president but your psych doc.

He pushed open the door and stepped inside, a short passage led to a flight of stairs going up; the walls on each side of the passage adorned with posters and advertisements for various clinics and treatments. Shaun walked past these and ascended the stairs coming to a double set of plain wooden doors. Shaun put his ear to the door but he heard no sounds. He pulled open the door and stepped into a fluorescent-lit corridor with various doors leading off. Shit! He thought. Which door to choose, he had assumed it was a psychiatrist but it looked as if several other offices inhabited the building, any of which could have been his quarry’s destination. The answer came to him in the form of raised voices from behind a door to his right, a voice demanding to see his doctor, a voice that was pleading and angry at the same time.

Shaun braced himself before crashing through the door. He took in the scene quickly, the assassin was leaning on the reception desk, and the girl behind the desk looked terrified, even more so when she saw Shaun, who launched himself at the man kicking him behind the knee and grabbing him round the neck with a muscular forearm.

“Do not fight me or I will break your spine boy,” he said.

He looked at the receptionist but before he could say anything he felt himself lifted off the floor and slammed into the wall behind him with enough force to knock the breath from him, Shaun felt as if he had taken a smack with a sledgehammer to his solar plexus.

The receptionist, who had been having a pleasant day until the events of the last few seconds, could not understand what she had witnessed. Jason Cutter was a wiry guy who had always spoken politely to her when he attended Dr Dansons’ clinic, and the man who had attacked Jason was a full foot taller and had the build of a Chicago Bull linebacker. One minute he had Jason in a headlock and the next moment he was flying through the air and smashing into the wall. She watched Jason rise to his feet. He turned to look at her, his face devoid of any expression and his eyes held a dead appearance but also seemed to be able to burrow into her very soul, a shiver ran down her spine, Jason’s eyes reminded her of the eyes of a Shark hunting its prey. He nonchalantly walked over and grabbed the man by the throat and lifted him up the wall then drew his hand back, which formed, into a blade, just as the karate men held their hands, she thought. The door to the Doctors office opened, and Dr Danson came out, he saw Jason holding up the man and his hand drew back for the killing blow.

“Hunters moon” he shouted, the effect was immediate on Jason who dropped the man and lowered his hand, and then stood there as if waiting for further instructions, like a robot, she thought.

Shaun shook his head trying to clear the fuzziness in his brain and the black blobs floating before his eyes-What is wrong with this picture, he thought. Trying to make sense of what had happened was like swimming without arms. One moment he had a hold of the man and next he was smashing into the office wall with all the wind knocked out of him, it just was not possible. The realisation that he had been close to death hit him with as much power as smashing into the wall had and his legs gave way.

Dr Danson crossed the room and helped Shaun to his feet.

“Are you ok?” he asked.

“I think so” Shaun smiled weakly and looked at Jason. He was about to speak, but the Dr held up his hand.

“In my office, both of you” he turned to the receptionist-“It’s OK Shauna, cancel my appointments for the rest of the day…and tomorrow, take the rest of today off and tomorrow with pay of course”

“Will you be ok Dr, you want me to call the police or anything?”

“No, that is not necessary,” he smiled reassuringly, before entering his office and closing the door.

Shaun had been pacing up and down the office while never taking his eyes off Jason who was standing in the middle of the room staring into space. He was trying to work out what had happened. Jason had barely touched him, and he had gone flying backwards as if pulled by an invisible force, it was all crazy, made no sense. During his time in the Rangers, he received training in unarmed combat, and though rusty, he should have been able to take Jason without effort. He stopped pacing as the Dr entered the room and sat behind his large walnut desk.

“Jason?” he spoke with a rich, deep voice, “Sit down please”

Jason did not look at the Dr; he shuffled over to the chair in front of the desk and sat down.

“Dr ah…” Shaun began.

“Danson, George Danson, and you are?”

“Shaun Kane, I’m a reporter with Angel Fire…this is the guy that killed the President, you need to call the police”

Dr Dansons expression never changed, except maybe he looked a little sad.

He sighed