Remo Went Rogue by Mike McCrary

He shushes her with a soft, caring tone. Reassuring her that he will not harm her, he just needs a few things and some information.
            He speaks to her in a warm, friendly voice, barely above a whisper. “Blink once for yes, twice for no. Is there someone guarding outside?”
            She blinks her green eyes once.
            “Is he armed?”
            One blink.
            He moves her to the window so he can get a look outside. The windows are sealed shut—he can work around that—it’s more about the height. His room appears to be a few stories up. Nothing crazy, but still a long way down. Lester takes note of the ledge along the side of the building and a dumpster farther down the way, delivery trucks passing by. At least there are a couple of options. He won’t know what will work best until he gets out there, but thank the Maker there are options.
            Neatly folded in the closet is a pair of sweats and a nondescript white t-shirt. They must be there for when he wakes up and needs to go down to physical therapy.   He takes a moment for personal inventory. Doesn’t feel great, but he’s felt worse.
            He scans the tray the nurse brought in. It contains gauze, tape and some syringes.
            Again he addresses her in a kindly tone as he instructs, “Please take everything off that tray, and whatever you have on your person, and place it all in the trash bag from the bathroom. I have no intention of hurting you, but I will not hesitate snapping your pretty little neck if you prevent me from completing the Lord’s work.”
            The nurse’s heart pounds, reaching a level of fear she’s only seen on TV.
            Lester continues, “I also need you to assist me in changing into those clothes and dress my wounds for travel.”
            She’s frozen. Terrified. Can’t even muster a nod.
    Lester recognizes the symptoms. He’s caused this response in men and women many times before. That was in the old days, of course. Perhaps he should have left out the snapping her pretty little neck bit. He’s still learning to maneuver within his newfound faith.   But, damn, it was easier in the old days. In those days he would simply resolve the situation with some violence. It would be quick and painless, for Lester at least.
    No. While following his current path, the righteous path, he must stop and seek to understand what the other person is feeling. Seeking to understand is slow and somewhat painful at times, but it does keep a man in step with the Lord. This, for better or worse, is the path Lester has chosen.
    Damn, it’s hard work.
    Lester takes a breath, forces himself back into his calming mode, and addresses her again. “Everything is going to be fine as long as we work together on this. Can you help me? Please blink once for yes, twice for no.”
    She starts to calm down. There’s something in his eyes. She believes him.
    Lester gives her the slightest of nods, as if he’s willing her, leading her to the correct answer.
            She blinks once.
            Lester hides his shock. That actually worked? Perhaps this isn’t as hard as he thought. One last thing before they get started. He asks, “I had a bible with me. Do you know where it is?”
            She blinks once.
            Good girl.

18
     

    As if in slow motion, Remo drags his troubled bones through the streets.
    The rest of New York City moves at its normal, infamous energetic pace, paying no attention to this guy who can’t get out of first gear. They pass him by, moving around him like water rolling around a rock in its path.
    It’s all lost on Remo.
    He walks down block after block, trying to piece together some plan of action. Aimlessly stares into shop windows. With glassy eyes he watches as street performers and homeless do their thing. He doesn’t even bother scanning for Chicken Wing.
    Knows he’s out there