Michael was woken by a gentle tap to the shoulder. He found his arm wrapped into a makeshift sling made with straps from Thor's torn shirt.
"Here, something to hold you for now." Christine pulled open a small bag of granola and set it on his stomach so he could use his left hand to eat. It was bland, but after the first bite, Michael devoured the rest of the bag. He hadn't realized how hungry he'd become. He was still slightly nauseous, but he needed food in his system.
She handed him a small glass of water, which he drank entirely without setting the glass down. The water tasted slightly bitter, but he didn't care.
"It's time to go," she said, "How're you feeling today?"
"Like I was shot yesterday," he replied.
The three made their way to the car, Michael slept the entire ride through the woods. When he woke, he found they'd made their way to a small grass field that's only entrance was a small dirt road to their rear. A golf cart took them down a narrow ravine, which opened up to a second field surrounded by large trees. A helicopter was waiting in the center of the green. Stuart said something about a victory ride that slipped by Michael. The helicopter landed at the abandoned airstrip where they'd arrived, and before long, the jet was on it's way back to California; to freedom.
Michael was surprised that the hospital was indeed a standard hospital. It wasn't a back alley room. It wasn't a makeshift operating room attached to a side room at The Company's central support. It was an actual hospital that they drove to without him placing a bag over his head.
"So, none of this goes on my medical record?" Michael asked from his hospital bed. His arm had been restitched by the nurse earlier in the afternoon and was elevated by a pillow.
"Some of it will, just not the gunshot wound." Christine answered, "We can't hide everything, but they'd have to report the wound, which is why we couldn't go to a hospital in Alaska."
"The Company runs hospitals?" Michael said in disbelief.
"Oh no, we just have a few pocket professionals." She stated, "Don't worry, everything's covered by us. None of this will cost you a penny. What you did the past forty-eight hours was far more than we expected."
Michael watched as the liquid flowed through the tube into his arm. It was a cold feeling he oddly enjoyed. The nurse had mentioned he was highly dehydrated when he'd arrived. With a bag of clear liquid mixed with the heavenly pain killers, Michael felt almost back to normal. At least he thought he did. It was hard to gauge what normal should feel like. After the past few weeks, he was unsure whether he could get back to his absolute ignorant normal. He'd learned, seen, and been physically punished too much to return to his old boring normal.
"I'd like to thank you again for everything," Christine stated. "I'm sure you have several questions. In our last few moments together, I'll do my best to answer whatever you want to know."
Michael closed his eyes for a moment, trying to think, "Why am I involved?" He managed. "It makes no sense."
"Good question," Christine answered, "The Company held a competition. There were names added to a list—"
"I already know about the list and the competition," Michael blurted.
Christine shot Stuart a questioning glare.
"I wasn't instructed not to tell," Stuart stated.
"Why were you following me before Malibu?" He asked.
Christine looked back to Michael, "I don't know the complete answer to that."
"Well, what do you know?" He pushed.
"The competition was fake. It was only sent to a few of our contractors, several of which have been inactive for quite some time."
Stuart spoke, "So Harvey Sinclair was supposed to win?"
"Yes. The reasoning why, I don't know. Since our trackers are anonymous, we don't know who Harvey Sinclair actually is."
"Why didn't you just track the device?" Stuart said, "Unless—"
"He's working with the older version. Never upgraded to the most recent one with the tracking. He's been using the same device for years, I don't know how that thing still works." Christine explained.
"So they thought I've been doing this since high school?" Michael asked again, having still not gotten the answer he'd been waiting for.
"Devices change hands. It's not uncommon, but it happens. I don't know why Harvey Sinclair is such a high priority. He must have done something, or he knows something that the top people found out about. If you didn't notice, this whole week was rather expensive. everything I had to orchestrate to get it to work." She paused to think over Michael's original question. "If I had to guess, they had you followed because they had reason to believe you were the one doing the hits."
"Great explanation," Stuart scoffed.
"Which means," Christine rolled her eyes, "Whoever Harvey Sinclair is probably has been framing you for his most recent hits. I don't know if they found your fingerprints, your hair, but I'd guess they found something linking you to the hits after he did whatever it was to harness The Company's attention." She let the statement simmer. She watched as Michael processed the information. "Do you have anyone close to you that has an excessive amount of money for no apparent reason? Whoever this Harvey Sinclair is has made quite a ridiculous amount over the years. It may be blind luck, but he seemed to land all the most lucrative jobs when he was first starting out."
Michael's stomach churned. He knew someone.
"But it's Gary, though?" he stated.
"A lot of the time, people work together under one name," Christine said. "That may not be the case here, though. Gary could've been following you the past year without your knowledge. We'll find out soon enough. The good news is, we know for certain it's not you. So there's nothing for you to worry about."
"And what happens next?" Michael asked.
"Once you're released this afternoon, you'll be free to go. It'll be back to your normal life as if none of this ever happened." She smiled gently, "You'll never see any of us again. And don't worry, there's no strings attached. At this point, you can tell whomever you like."
"He can?" Stuart chimed in.
"There was a murdered officer in Alaska, a house burned down with a family he spent the night with. I don't think it'd be in his best interest to talk, but if you'd like." Christine shrugged her shoulders, "It's up to you." She glanced at her phone, "Me and Stuart need to step outside. We'll be back in a bit, just rest up."
Michael laid in the bed and stared at the ceiling, contemplating what life would be like when he got back. Mr. Bissett and his lessons seemed so irrelevant, so meaningless that he almost laughed at the thought of the notebook. If he was instructed to fire Mrs. Garverdink again, he wouldn't hesitate.
What if Mr. Bissett was Harvey Sinclair? What if he really had been framing him? How would he know? He could’ve been working with Gary somehow. Michael decided he'd know if Mr. Bissett suddenly disappeared. If he disappeared, then they'd gotten Gary to talk, and he had a feeling The Company had pretty good means of extracting information from individuals when they wanted it.
He thought back to the photo again. Gary, without the mask, looked much different than he'd imagined. He wasn't intimidating at all, just an average person. The mask had been a bit excessive and out of place. It was crazy that the man in the photo was the man that had put him through all of this, possibly on Mr. Bissett's instructions.
The door to the room clicked closed, snapping Michael from his daydream. Christine, Stuart, and the nurse stood at the bedside.
"Good news. You only suffered a minor fracture." The doctor started, pulling an X-ray for Michael to examine. "There were no fragments in your body, which is rare. You should be grateful. A lot of times, a splintered bullet can lodge itself into tissue resulting in a lifetime of pain. This will heal. Just keep the sling on for the next eight weeks, and the bone will mend itself." The nurse flipped a page on the clipboard, "We can schedule a follow up here to make sure it healed correctly."
"That works for me," Michael noted.
"If for whatever reason, you decide to go with another hospital, I want to let you know, your file says you fell on a steel rod." She took a moment to make sure Michael was following, "A steel rod. You need to remember that and keep your story consistent."
"Understood," Michael answered.
"I'm also prescribing you these an anti-parasitic." She handed Michael a pill bottle. "You have a slight Crypto infection that would heal on its own, but these should help you until it's out of your system. For your own sake, don't drink any more lake water." The nurse took a step back, "Do any of you have any questions? No? Ok, no rush, but you're free to go whenever you feel fit." The nurse turned and left the room.
Michael rolled his legs off the bed, "I'm ready."
"We've got a ride for you," Christine said, "We'll walk you out."
The three walked through the hospital without saying a word. There wasn't much to say that could be said out in the open. They walked through the sliding door at the front of the emergency care, where two cars were parked by the curb. Christine turned to Michael, "Thank you again. This car will take you home." She gave him a slight nod and climbed into the second car.
Stuart reached out his right hand to Michael, then retracted it when he remembered the sling. He reached out his left and shook Michael's good hand. "Well, this is it, huh?" He said, "Told you I wouldn't die for you," he laughed. "Came pretty close, though. Be honest, would you of shot Claude? I mean I was on my knees with a gun at my forehead, would you of shot him?"
"Not until he shot first," Michael cracked a smile. He wasn't sure if it was Stockholm syndrome kicking in, but he knew he was going to miss having Stuart around.
"That's what I assumed," Stuart laughed again. "Well, the time has come. If you ever see me out somewhere, don't blow my cover." He shook Michael's hand a second time, "Have a great wedding."
Michael watched as their car pulled from the curb. He took a breath and opened the rear door of his own ride. Back to normal. Back to safety. Back home. For whatever reason, he was not looking forward to it.