Two uniformed police were waiting for him as the elevator doors dinged open on the ground floor. They stared at him with the slightly annoyed, expectant expression he knew so well. The other passengers in the elevator filed around him into the lobby, parting around the two officers like water around a boat. Wayne didn't move. He stood in the middle of the car holding the handles of a wheelchair with a plastic bag in the seat.

One of the police grabbed the elevator door to keep it from closing. "Are you coming out or not?" the officer asked.

It was time to pay the piper. He pushed his wheelchair into the lobby, ready to be handcuffed and read his rights, but the two officers brushed past him.

"Four," one of them said as the metal doors slid together.

He wondered, as he usually did, what had happened in the minutes he'd lost. He'd probably never know more than he could piece together with the evidence around him.

He ditched the chair and ducked into a handicap restroom with the plastic bag.

"What the..." Assorted denominations of wadded up cash and at least a dozen wallets mocked him from inside the take-out bag. What had he done? He fished around in the bag for anything that might jog his memory, knowing that nothing would, and swore. He found a nine millimeter pistol buried beneath the cash. It was identical to the weapons hospital security issues their plain-clothes security officers.

Dmitri! He had Dmitri's gun. "Please tell me I didn't kill him," he begged the face in the mirror. The clip was full, with one in the chamber. If he had killed Dmitri, it wasn't with this weapon. He splashed cold water in face and frantically tried to make a plan. Whatever had happened during his blackout, it would certainly mean going back to prison. The hospital security cameras would have captured it all. If he was blacking out again, though, wouldn't prison be the best place for him?

"Not before I see Sarah and Nathan," he said.

He tucked the pistol into one of his maintenance uniform's deep pockets and headed for the emergency entrance. The horseshoe driveway was busy as usual for an early Friday evening. Two ambulances, and EMT truck, and a police cruiser were parked outside. The crisp October evening air helped him focus, but even with the help of his rushing adrenaline, he could still feel the sand, waiting to smother him again. Waiting to steal his life away in seconds, or minutes at a time. He had gone months with no attacks. Why was he suddenly beset by several in one day?

The sack of money and stolen wallets weighed heavier on his conscience than in his hand. He had been a cop for twenty two years; a good one, too. He had never taken anything from anyone, or even accepted a single questionable gift. He had no intention of stealing some poor Schmo's hard earned wages, especially in this economy. He had to make sure every one of the wallets and every dollar from the till made it back to to its rightful owner.

Another police cruiser pulled into the driveway. A sign? The driver got out with a clipboard in hand and waved at a paramedic from one of the ambulances.

His options played through his head at different speeds and angles, but no matter how he twisted them or held them up to the light, he couldn't make any of them shiny or appealing. The right thing wasn't always the most pleasant option, though. In fact, it seldom was. That's why doing the right thing was always such a difficult decision. He had no real doubt what he should do. He had broken the law. He had violated his probation.

He accepted his fate and decided he would turn himself in, but first hehe needed to apologize to his daughter and make sure she and Nathan were alright.

"I hope you're one of the good guys," Wayne muttered as he strolled past the police car. The cop with the clipboard was taking notes from a paramedic by the front bumper. He was sort of facing Wayne, but his attention was completely on his clipboard. He didn't look up at all, even when Wayne tossed his bag of stolen loot through the open front door of his car. He fished his cell-phone from his pocket as he walked, and dialed a number.

"Yeah," the voice on the phone said.

"Shit, Garret. I wanted your voice mail. Since when do you bigwigs answer your phones?" Wayne asked.

"Yeah, sure. Just give me a second," Garret said slightly too loud. "You're in a heap of trouble," he whispered a moment later. "What the hell happened to those people in the cafeteria? Did you see something? What did you see? Did you have anything to do with it?"

All those people? That doesn't sound good. "I can't talk right now. I just wanted to say thanks for sticking your neck out for me. I hope it doesn't get chopped off on my account."

"Are you listening to me? Over a hundred people on the fourth floor went catatonic, all at the same time. I'm going to have to quarantine this place if I can't find out what happened in the next few seconds! You were there. You were the only one who walked out. I'm not blaming you, but if you know something, you damned well better tell me."

"I'm sorry," Wayne said, "but I don't know anything about that. Look, I know I'm off your Christmas card list after this mess, but I have to ask a favor. Can you check in on Sarah and Nathan? I think she might be in some kind of trouble."

"You have major problems, Wayne. I'll do whatever I can to help you, but you have to work with me. Elaine will be here any minute, if she isn't already sitting in my office. Go there. Wait for me. Let us help you. If you don't, every cop in the city will be hunting you down in ten minutes."

"Do what you have to do, just promise me you'll check on Sarah. And don't trust Dmitri! I don't know how he did it yet, but he's responsible the mess I'm in. He's done something to the security footage to make it look like me. You know I wouldn't steal anybody's damned wallet."

"Come on, Wayne!" Garret said. "Enough with Dmitri. Leave the poor guy alone. Tell me where you are. I'll send someone I trust to get you. You can still turn yourself in before this gets out of hand."

"I'm half-way to my way to my mother's house. I want some real food and long, hot shower before they lock me up again. If you can manage it, would you give me ten minutes before you tell anyone? And please check on Sarah."

He hung up and walked around the corner towards the bus stop. With any luck Sarah might still be there. He didn't like lying to Garret, but he had to buy a little time before he went back.

His phone beeped before he could put it back in his pocket, showing a message from a blocked number. It opened a You Tube video of a screaming man tied to a chair. Someone out of the camera's view struck him with a hammer again and again, hitting his arms, shoulders, chest, and legs. The victim stopped his pitiful weeping and begging to vomit, while his attacker laughed.

The camera zoomed out, and Wayne's heart jumped. The man in the chair was Dmitri. Three hundred pounds of hulk-like muscle quivered and bled as the attacks began anew. From the new angle, he could see more of the attacker. He was dressed in a formal police uniform.

The attacker stopped and leaned close to camera, slowly revealing his smiling face.

"Shit. Holy shit!"

Wayne's own face smiled at him through the camera. He moved back behind the chair so that both he and Dmitri were in the shot and raised the hammer over his head. "Dmitri Douche-bag Chekov, I charge you with and find you guilty of fucking up my life with malice. I sentence you to have your fucking brains splattered across my wall."

Dmitri begged as killer Wayne raised the hammer. With a yell, he swung downward, and pulled back at the last moment. "I grant you a fifteen minute stay of execution, in case anyone wants to come try to save you. Better hurry," he added leaning closer to the camera.

Wayne looked at the young policeman with his clipboard. It would take more than fifteen minutes to convince anyone to go check it out. He would have to do it. The video had been filmed in his apartment, but how long ago had it been uploaded? He had to hurry.

He ran to the delivery entrance between the bus stop and emergency entrance, and thanked whatever gods were looking out for him. An Audi A4 had just parked, and a young woman in a business dress was fishing a heavy looking bag from the trunk.

"Excuse me," Wayne said, jogging up behind her. He pulled Dmitri's pistol from his pocket as he approached. "Scream, and it will be last fucking sound you make. Give me your keys. NOW!"

People were boarding a bus about thirty yards away, and a couple turned to look at them.

"Take the car. Here's my purse. Just let me go." She said more calmly than he expected.

"I don't want your purse. You can either get in the passenger seat of your car, and drive off once I get where I'm going, or run over and get on that bus. If you make a scene or talk to anyone, I swear I'll start shooting people. It won't be you, but it'll be your fault. Decide now."

She ran to bus without looking back, and Wayne drove her stolen car nine blocks to his shitty halfway-house apartment in Baltimore's charming, historic crack-town.