The plain green hospital gown looked too large on Lily’s thin shoulders, the stiff cotton fabric bunching around her collarbone like a shroud.
I sat in the brown vinyl chair by the bedside, holding a heavy blue knit blanket in my lap to keep my fingers from twitching.
Every four seconds, the hospital heart monitor gave a low, green-tinged hum that vibrated in my teeth.
A plastic cup of lukewarm black coffee sat on the bedside table, bought from the lobby machine for three dollars.
The coffee had a thin skin of dust on the top, and I had not touched it.
Lily’s hair was damp, sticking to her forehead in dark, sweat-matted strands.
I used a paper tissue to wipe a smear of dried blood from the shell of her ear, my hands as steady as they had been in the desert.
Her fingers twitched on the white sheet, her knuckles scraped raw and painted with yellow antiseptic.
At ten past midnight, her eyelids finally fluttered.
She looked at me, her eyes clouded with the heavy dose of morphine they had given her at ten.
She tried to open her mouth to speak, but her jaw was wired shut with silver metal brackets that caught the light.
A muffled, wet sound escaped her throat.
I leaned closer, resting my hand on the mattress near her arm.
“Do not try to move, Lily,” I said. “The doctor is coming back.”
She fidgeted with the silver medical wristband on her left wrist, her fingers scraping against the plastic tag.
Her eyes held a sudden, sharp panic that I had only seen in men behind enemy lines.
I reached into my trousers pocket and let my thumb rub over the silver skull coin I always kept there when the world went loud.
The cold metal always helped me think.
Lily closed her eyes again, her breathing slowing as the medication pulled her under.
I stood up and pulled the blue knit blanket over her chest, tucking the edges under the mattress.
Her small leather backpack was resting on the floor by the bedside chair.
The strap was torn, and the zipper was jammed with dry gray dirt from the plaza floor.
I picked it up and set it on the table next to the cold coffee.
Doctor Avery was waiting near the nurses’ station, his white coat stained with a drop of blue ink near the pocket.
He was looking at the glowing X-ray board, where six distinct white cracks showed on the gray film of Lily’s skull.
He tapped the middle crack with the tip of a cheap blue ballpoint pen.
“Three fractures on the left, three on the right,” Avery said, his voice flat.
“Are they clean?” I asked.
“Clean enough for a surgeon, not for a father,” he said, turning to look at me. “She is nineteen, Mr. Walker. Her bones are resilient, but this took a great deal of force.”
“What kind of force?”
“The impact came from a heavy object, Walker. Or a steel-toed boot. Multiple strikes while she was on the ground.”
“Any other injuries?”
“Bruises on her shoulders and ribs,” Avery said. “Defensive wounds on her forearms. She fought them.”
He tapped the pen against the plastic frame of the light board.
“This was not a random campus fight, Colonel Walker,” Doctor Avery said.
I did not blink.
“I am a security consultant, Doctor,” I said.
“I was at Bragg in ninety-eight,” Avery said, adjusting his glasses. “I saw what your boys did in the valley. I know the signature of a professional strike.”
“She is nineteen,” I said again, my voice flat.
“And she was carrying something they wanted,” Avery said. “This was not a robbery, Walker. Her purse was still on her shoulder when they brought her in. Her phone was in her pocket.”
“What are you saying?”
“They did not want her money,” Avery said, turning off the light board. “Get her out of this town when she can walk.”
I left the hospital through the side doors, where the autumn air smelled of wet asphalt and rotting leaves.
I drove the three blocks to the university campus in my old sedan.
The tires did not make a sound on the wet asphalt, which was littered with damp yellow leaves.
I parked near the library and walked toward the science building plaza where the freshman had found her.
The autumn wind was cold, carrying the smell of damp earth and river water from the valley.
The concrete plaza was dark.
Every single safety light on the high poles was dead, their black glass bulbs reflecting nothing but the gray clouds above.
I walked to the center of the plaza, my boots clicking softly on the paving stones.
I found the spot near the concrete planter.
The university maintenance crew had tried to wash the stone, but a dark, star-shaped stain remained near the edge of the concrete.
I knelt down on one knee, my trousers soaking up the cold moisture from the pavement.
There was a small, torn corner of green paper caught in the drain cover three feet away, but I left it.
I stood up and walked to the brick wall of the science building.
I looked up at the dome camera mounted fifteen feet above the plaza entrance.
The camera was a gray model, its serial number printed in small white letters on the casing: TX-four-eight-zero.
The small red LED light at the base of the camera was completely dark.
I followed the black conduit pipe down the wall to the main power junction box.
The heavy iron latch of the junction box was hanging open, its brass padlock gone.
Inside, the three heavy copper switches had been pulled down into the off position.
The black challenge coin I had carried since my days with Task Force Specter sat in my left pocket, heavy and solid.
I pulled it out and held it against the cold metal of the box.
The switches had been wiped clean of grease, but there were fresh silver scratches on the brass terminals where a tool had been used to short the secondary circuit.
Someone had known exactly which breaker to pull to blind the cameras on the east wall.
The campus security office was located in the basement of the administration hall.
The air inside smelled of stale popcorn and floor wax.
