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CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO MIKEY

St Anne's Memorial Hospital was a sprawling, modernist building, mostly glass and steel, with the hospital's name spelled out in large red letters. Mikey had been there a few times before, but only so far as the parking lot; never had he set foot inside.

He couldn't exactly recall why it was that just going near a hospital sent his fur on end and left him trying not to shiver, forcing his tail not to go sliding between his legs in dread. Somehow the atmosphere of a hospital, seeing nurses and surgeons in scrubs, while his nose wrinkled with the scents of antiseptic and of miscellaneous illnesses, sparked a fear in him that he couldn't explain....something from Before, maybe. Vaguely he remembered being in a hospital once, for a long time, although the memory had faded now so it was just a blur of endless days in a white-sheeted bed, having nurses and doctors talking over him in hushed tones. There'd also been some black-suited guys too - one of them had been a bear, although he could not remember the faces of the others, or more importantly, why they were there.

It might have had something to do with the odd scars that covered most of his torso and thighs. The fur hid them for the most part, but if he pulled it back in the right places the little round scars were visible, along with a crisscross of others in the same area. Mikey couldn't understand why he of all people had come to possess so many scars - football had been violent, occasionally, but never such to leave wounds like these. He'd asked his brother about it on one of the occasions when he'd appeared, but Bradly had seemed not to understand him.

He had parked the car in the main parking lot, next to a small tree of the sort that are planted in supermarket parking lots for shade on sunny days, although it was not particularly sunny today. Walking past the other cars, he couldn't help feeling the sense of dread that hung around the place, an aura of sickness and death, even if, unlike the hospital's other visitors, he was not going there for medical reasons.

Joey had called earlier that day, giddy with excitement after he'd been allowed to perform an appendectomy without the assistance of an older surgeon. "You should meet me for lunch" he'd said. "I can't leave the hospital, but you could come here....the cafeteria is open to visitors."

Normally Mikey would have argued with that, but he'd been wondering if the lack of contact with people he cared about - or wanted to care about - was beginning to have an effect on him, so he'd agreed. "I'll be there" he told the collie with as much enthusiasm as he could muster, reminding himself to dig out one of the easily-forgettable outfits he wore when he was Michael Ross in public; when he did not want to be recognised by anyone who might know his real name.

"Terrific! I don't know, I'm just so high I need to talk to someone" the canine enthused, his excitement practically bubbling out of the phone. "Someone like my boyfriend, specifically."

"You sound pretty high" Mikey pointed out. "Maybe we should just go for a run? Hit the tennis courts?" Joey was such a high-energy guy, but then again maybe that helped when he had to go for long periods without sleep.

"Sorry babe, no can do. There's some bigwig CEO having a benign tumour removed from his brain this afternoon and I'm going to observe. Don't want to miss that."

"You're going in for peds" Mikey said. "Can't you skip?"

"Kids get tumours too, Mike."

And that had been the end of it. No matter, though; this wasn't really any different than any of the other times he and Mikey had been out together. The risk was the same. He'd be wearing uninteresting clothes and ran a paw through the short mane of his neck and head fur to make himself look untidy, and no one would realise who he was.

He knew it had worked when the marten receptionist gave him barely a second glance before pointing him in the direction of the cafeteria. She wouldn't likely have known who he was anyway, but it still meant he looked ordinary.

Joey was sitting by himself in the middle of the cafeteria, an uninspiring room of plain white walls and assorted plastic and stainless steel tables and chairs, munching on a BLT. Mikey smiled as he raised a paw. "Joey!"

Did the emotion sound real? Anymore, he was never quite sure. Always he was restless with apprehension that someone, whether Joey or someone at work, would discover the truth, that he was empty inside, incapable, it seemed, of real emotion, of feeling.

And it was even worse now that he'd been working for The Cause. He'd been concerned after killing Marvin Feeley, remembering the surge of elation that had filled him after shooting the weasel, but that was nothing compared to chopping up Carlos Sanchez. He'd grabbed the fox outside a liquor store, late in the evening, and had driven Sanchez's Volvo to a particular car lot where, he knew from work, it would not likely be discovered for a few days, at least. He'd felt excited then, as he had grown to feel before a kill, but the passion with which he executed the fox...he'd made Sanchez kneel in front of the alter like a repentant sinner, holding the machete high, imagining himself as some kind of medieval knight, despatching an enemy. Actually, Sanchez wasn't an enemy; he was merely a sacrifice, so that a greater enemy could be defeated.

Mikey had actually said that. "I'm sorry you must die," he had told the fennec sympathetically, "but know that the world remembers your sacrifice." Sanchez had spat some angry string of words, cursing him for killing Fincher, and then he'd swung the machete, his muzzle directed down to catch the scent of fresh blood - a scent he was learning to like. He'd watched as the machete took off the fox's head in one swing; saw the head tumble down the alter steps as the body feel hard in front of him.

Originally he'd only planned to decapitate Sanchez, then leave the rest of the body lying there, but so inspired had he been by the beheading, that he was worked into a frenzy, chopping here and there until the fennec was entirely dismembered, blood everywhere, including all over Mikey, who'd had the good sense to don a protective suit beforehand. Only when the fox was laying in over half-a-dozen pieces - nine, to be exact - had Mikey paused, panting heavily, and reviewed his work.

He felt wonderful. Inspired, thrilled, alive. The way that ordinary life never felt for him anymore.

And in that he had seen the heart of his problem - if it was one, anyway. I can only feel when I am taking a life, he had admitted. But was that bad? Mikey knew his victims had to die; they were sacrifices for the cause, and his family had set him to this cause in the first place, so it had to be a noble one. But did Mikey really like who he was becoming? He was becoming a killer, someone who enjoyed killing, and who was only at peace when killing.

So that was why he had decided he needed to spend more time with Joey. If he was going to get himself back to a point where he could feel from being with someone, with someone he loved - or wanted to love - then he needed Joey.

"Hey, babe" the dog greeted him, getting to his feet. He wants a hug, Mikey realised. But what the heck. They hugged, and he felt the affection in Joey's grasp.

They both sat. "So you're watching a brain surgery" Mikey said. Joey was wearing ordinary blue scrubs, but they had a stain on the arm that looked suspiciously like blood.

"Yes!" Joey's tail was wiggling against the back of the chair. He took a bite of BLT. "He's a CEO, but the cool thing is, Dr DuBois, the guy I'm learning under; he thinks our patient is a psychopath."

Psychopath. Mikey felt a shiver run down his spine. That wasn't a word he wanted to discuss, not when he might be possibly one himself. "Oh, that's interesting" he murmured absently, hoping Joey would take the hint. "Hey, are you going to be free for a movie this week? I hear there's-"

Joey frowned. "Sorry, but no; crazy number of patients this week, and I'm low guy on the totem pole, remember? You know what it's like for interns."

Mikey did remember; how many nights had they been interrupted while in bed, sometimes occupied and sometimes just talking, when Joey's pager would start beeping and he'd give Mikey an apologetic look, dress, and leave?

He must have looked believably disappointed because Joey's tail stopped wagging. "Don't worry babe, I'll find time. Maybe one of the guys can cover for me..."

"It's ok" Mikey said, smiling on the outside but not inwardly. "I know what it's like dating a doctor. I have to share you with everyone else so you can heal people." That was why he needed to be with Joey, he realised. Joey wanted to heal people, to make them well again, and he was becoming someone who destroyed lives.

No, that wasn't true. He may have destroyed those he'd sacrificed for The Cause, but they'd died for a reason, and the happiness that others would feel as a result thereof was enough to overshadow the deaths of the victims.

"Oh babe, you are...just so understanding" Joey mumbled, grinning like someone's who's smitten. "I love you, Mike. More than anyone else ever will."

If they had been somewhere more private, Mikey would have kissed him, but this was not the place, so he said he did too and just settled for holding the collie's paw.

More than anyone else ever will.

But I can't do that for you, Mikey thought. I don't love anyone, except for maybe Brett, and my family.

Mikey had had mixed feelings about love, or romantic love, at least. He remembered clearly the year Bradly had started college, off with his basketball scholarship in Pittsburgh; watching their parents hug Bradly goodbye, Mom trying not to cry; feeling Bradly pat him on the shoulder and tell him to not to forget his cell number. Afterwards the house had seemed emptier, without Bradly's loud rock music or the way he and his friends would come stomping noisily into the house after basketball practice, a bunch of smelly jocks looking for beer or soda or free snacks. Amy had been very young then - she had just started kindergarten, and for the first week she'd kept asking "When is Bradly coming back?" over and over, until their dad sat her down and explained that Bradly was grown up now and would not be home until Thanksgiving.

Barely a week had passed before Bradly had called home announcing that he'd met the girl he was going to marry.

Not surprisingly, Mom and Dad had chuckled good-naturedly and told Bradly they'd wait a bit before taking that too seriously, but when Thanksgiving came and Bradly showed up with spirited, passionate Francesca, complete with her accent and her endless opinions, Mikey's parents had realised that this was more than just a passing infatuation. Francesca played strange Italian folk music, carried a miniature bust of Caesar in her purse, and was practically an anarchist, but she was the Arwen to Bradly's Aragorn, and no one had been surprised when, almost two years later, they'd become engaged. And when Francesca announced a month after the engagement that she was pregnant; well, that just made things even better.

That first Thanksgiving Mikey had thought Bradly was a fool; why go wasting your time on something as silly as love when there was a life to live, he'd thought. But that was back in 1996, when Mikey himself was still a boy, before the day he'd looked at Brett and realised with startling clarity that his affection for the husky went beyond mere friendship.

And still did, even if Mikey was now with another.

Joey's ears had perked and he was looking over Mikey's shoulder, towards the other end of the cafeteria, so Mikey turned to see a Lycaon in surgeon's attire, holding a clipboard and an iPad and looking towards Joey. "Dr Rath" the Lycaon barked. "Something I'd like you to see, here." He eyed Mikey. "If you aren't busy."

Joey leapt to his feet, bolting the last of the BLT. "No, sir, just hanging out with..." he glanced back at Mikey. "...my boyfriend."

Mikey got to his feet, thankful that he at least possessed the talent to be charming when he needed to. "Mike Ross" he introduced himself, following Joey over to the other doctor. "A friend of Joey's from college. Sorry if I'm keeping him."

The African canine shook his head, flicking his big rounded ears. He looked exhausted, Mikey thought; the way his ears drooped and the eyes seemed reddish. "No, you're fine. This is technically his lunch break, I just wanted to share something with him."

"Dr Edmund DuBois, the guy I belong to when I'm here" Joey said. He must have instantly realised the sexual innuendo in that because his eyes widened just for a second, but DuBois did not seem to catch the implication.

"Nice to meet you, Doctor" Mikey said smoothly, and sat at the table nearest the two surgeons.

"The same" DuBois muttered distractedly, holding the iPad front of him and Joey. "This is a recording of the scans of Zimmerman's brain. Tell me what we're seeing."

"Well, there's the tumour-" Joey begin, starting to point at something on the iPad.

DuBois shook his head impatiently. "No, not that. Notice the lack of brain activity in the ventromedial prefrontal cortex." He cocked his head to eye Joey. "Which is associated with what?"

"Ability to feel empathy" Joey breathed, sounding fascinated. "So he is a psychopath."

"Well, this doesn't confirm it" the Lycaon said uncertainly. "But it's another sign in that direction. Psychopaths cannot feel empathy...along with remorse or shame or...you know that."

"So what they say about business leaders being psychopaths is true" Joey said, and then he and DuBois went on talking about the patient or something, but Mikey had felt his ears flatten, sucking in deep breaths and swallowing nervously. _Did I feel any empathy for my victims?_He wondered, briefly. Yes, he'd apologised to Sanchez and to Mrs Wittmore before he'd killed them, but that had been mainly because it seemed appropriate under the circumstances, not because he actually felt sorry for them.

I can't feel anything, I don't sympathise with people, and I'm a killer, Mikey thought miserably. I'm a lost cause.

He had to find Brett. Brett could help him; Brett was the dog he loved more than anyone else in the world. His family was unreliable; they only appeared on certain occasions, and often when they spoke it was in riddles and rhymes, answering none of his questions. Only Brett could save him.

But Brett was from Before, and remembering was so incredibly hard...