Am I the Killer? - A Luca Mystery - Book 1

by Dan Petrosini

Vinny watched her shapely body sway away. He grinned like a kid before turning his attention to the color of the fluid draining through the tubes.

  Freed by Angela’s permission, Vinny bounced between the hospital, a FedEx office, and, refusing to stay in a free military dorm, a cheap hotel room. On the third day, Vinny pushed the door to Peter’s room open, got a whiff of flowers, and kept his head down.

  “How you doing?”

  Vinny looked up at the father of a tattooed soldier who’d lost a leg and a half. He smiled thinly, silently nodded, and proceeded to his brother’s bed.

  “How you doing today, Petey? It’s me, Vinny.” He patted his brother’s leg, noting the winch’s angle had been lowered. He checked the tubes, staring at the largest one coming from the crown of Peter’s head. The color seemed a shade lighter. He compared the color in the largest tube to the others, but couldn’t tell if it really was clearer or if he was imagining it.

  The man who had tried to engage him walked up.

  “Hiya, son. Name’s John, John Jeffries.” He turned and said, “That’s my boy, Jimmy.” He stuck out his hand, and Vinny hesitated before shaking it.

  “Um, I’m Vinny. This is my brother, Peter.”

  “Brave men, all of them.”

  “Brave? I don’t know about that. You ask me, maybe they were stupid for joining.”

  The father shook his head. “I know it’s tough, son, but there’s nothing more honorable than serving your country.”

  “Don’t try to sell me that honor bullshit. Open your eyes, man, look around this place.”

  “Mine are wide open, but don’t you go disrespecting our boys, sonny.”

  “Whatever.”

  The father paused before saying, “Well, you take care of your brother now, and if you need anything, I’m there for you.” He extended his hand and smiled. “Even if we don’t quite see eye to eye.”

  Vinny sat down and fumed until Angela made her rounds.

  “How’s my guy today?”

  Vinny pulled his shoulders back and smiled. “Pretty good.”

  “Very funny, wise guy.” She checked how full the IV bags were.

  “Oh, oh, Ang, check the fluid. I could be out of my mind, but it’s looking a little clearer.”

  She came to Vinny’s side of the bed.

  “Yeah!” Angela high-fived Vinny. “Good eyes. If he stays on schedule, it’ll be clear in a day, day and a half.”

  “When’s he gonna wake up?”

  She paused. “It’s been like, three days, so he could start coming out of it anytime now.”

  Vinny jumped up. “Really?”

  She held up a hand. “Just don’t expect much at first. No matter what, remember, it’s gonna take time. Every situation is different. I’ll check back later.”

  Angela left, and Vinny shifted his attention to the tubes, staring at the fluids for over two hours straight. Eyes bleary and unable to discern any improvement, he left to get fresh air and something more than the vending machines offered to eat.

  Offering a quick wave to the nurse’s station, Vinny’s eyes scanned unsuccessfully for Angela. He pushed through the door, relieved there were no visitors in his brother’s shared room. An amputee with an eye patch caught Vinny’s eye, and he smiled. Quickening his pace, he was sure he saw Peter’s eyes flutter open and shut.

  “Hiya, pal. Come on now, wake up for me. You can do it, man.”

  Vinny put his hand on Peter’s cheek and gently patted. He lifted his brother’s hand a few inches and dropped it, repeated it a bit higher and sat down, questioning what he thought he’d seen. He sat for a minute before bolting up to check the fluid stream. It had cleared significantly, putting a broad smile on his face. He sat, took his hand, and began praying the Hail Mary. When the second verse came up, he heard the amputee chiming in. Vinny burst into tears, burying his face in his hands.

  Regaining his composure, Vinny turned toward the amputee and gave him a thumbs–up. When he turned back to the bed, Peter’s eyes were open.

  Vinny got in his brother’s face. “Peter, Peter, it’s me, Vinny. You’re gonna be all right, man. You gotta fight.”

  Vinny stared into Peter’s unfocused eyes. Then his brother’s head lolled a bit and his eyes closed.

  “Come on, man, wake up, buddy.”

  After repeated pleas went unanswered, Vinny pried open his brother’s left then right eye. Emptiness stared back, and Vinny slumped into his chair.

  ***

  “Wake up and make yourself useful.”

  “Uh, must’ve dozed off.”

  Angela smiled and handed him a cup and lollipop-like swab “His lips are getting dried out. Swab ’em every now and then, but don’t get any in his mouth. He could aspirate.”

  “His eyes were open for a second.”

  “Good, that’s real good.”

  Vinny shrugged.

  “Don’t get down now. You see how clear this fluid is?”

  He leapt up. “Wow, it really cleared up!”

  “That’s because the bleeding’s done, and it’s stable. I’ll inform the doctor. I’m sure he’ll run some scans tomorrow.”

  “Hey, thanks, I really appreciate it.”

  As she turned to leave, Vinny said, “Wait, look, his eyes are open! Peter, how you doing, man?”

  “Hello, Peter. You’re gonna be fine.” Angela patted his forearm.

  Peter’s eyes shut.

  “Oh come on, man. Look at me.”

  “It’s okay. It’s gonna take time.”

  “I guess . . .”

  “He’s got brown eyes. I would’ve bet he had the same as you.”

  Vinny smiled. “Whose you like better?”

  “See ya later.”

  ***

  Peter had been up periodically before being taken for the scans. When he was rolled back in, he was out cold.

  Vinny asked, “He’s out again? It’s the middle of the day.”

  “The tests knocked him out. He’ll be up later.”

  “How soon will we get the results?”

  “Immediately, it’s digital. Maggie told me the doctor and the head neuro guy were going over them now and will have an assessment for you.”

  Vinny frowned.

  “Stay positive. I’ve got a good feeling about it.”

  “I, I just, you know, oh forget it.”

  “Forget nothing. What’s going on?”

  “You mean besides my brother laying here like a vegetable in Germany?”

  It was her turn to frown. “I mean with you.”

  “I don’t know what to do. I live down in Texas, and if he’s going to need, I don’t know, like a ton of care . . .” He shook his head. “We ain’t got nobody. Parents dead. No brothers, sisters, nobody to help out.”

  “Whoa, take it one step at a time. First, let’s get a handle on his condition and then take it from there. Okay?”

  “Guess so, no other choice, it just that—yeah, you’re probably right.”

  Angela smiled. “Oh, by the way, that girl Mary Rourke called again. Said you never called her back.”

  “Okay, I’ll call her. And just so you know, she’s a friend of Pete’s, not mine.”

  “It’s none of my business.”

  “I know, but . . .”

  “Look, here comes Dr. Molanari.”

  He turned and saw the doctor beckoning. Vinny flashed crossed fingers to Angela and followed the doctor out of the room. Vinny and the doctor huddled in the busy corridor.

  “Look, we were able to capture some really high-quality scans today. The resolution was outstanding. Now, we’ve got some good news and some not so good.”

  Chapter 3

  The doctor leaned a shoulder into the wall as a stream of nurses passed by.

  “Peter’s taken a bit of a beating. It’s early in the game, but it could’ve been worse. That said, you should be prepared for the possibility of some long-term or permanent impairment in his cognitive ability and memory.”

 
Peter shook his head, asking, “What d’ya mean? Is he going be, like uh, slow or something?”

  The doctor slipped a foot out of his clog.

  “We really don’t know at this stage. Let’s concentrate on the positives. He’s lost most of his motor skills from the shock to the cranium, but it appears temporary and recoverable.”

  “Okay, okay.”

  The physician waved at a passing colleague before turning his attention back to Vinny.

  “Look, in a day or so, he’ll be fully awake, most times, and though communication will be challenging, we think it’s best to get him into intensive rehab as fast as possible. If we don’t have any setbacks, we’re looking at flying him to Walter Reed in five, six days, max.”

  “Walter Reed in America?”

  “Yeah, DC.”

  Peter felt a surge of hope at the mention of getting back to the States and nodded.

  “I’m sorry, but I’ve got to run.” The doctor put his hand on Vinny’s shoulder. “You hang in there, and take care of yourself. He’s gonna need your support.”

  Peter’s brown eyes, which increasingly were open, moved from a spaced-out look that couldn’t follow your finger to a look that seemed to evidence focus. On the third day, he was able to follow movements, and a day later was able to follow some instructions: blinking once for yes, and twice for no. Vinny was pleased at the progress but frustrated with the glacial pace. He estimated it would take two or three years till his brother would have any independence. If it kept to that pace, how was he ever going to get back to Texas and his life?

  On the day Peter was going to be moved, he kept mouthing the name Mary, sending a chill down Vinny’s back. Peter’s face strained from the effort, and Vinny told his brother to save his strength for the long flight to the States. In reaction to the news he was headed back to America, Peter’s head moved, and his eyes seemed to light up. Peter continued to struggle to speak what Vinny knew was Mary’s name. Vinny squeezed his hand and tried to calm him down. Finally, Pete had another coughing fit and collapsed into a deep sleep.

  Vinny unhooked his hand as Angie tended to the patient in the next bed.

  “Hey Ang, guess what? Petey reacted like crazy when I told him he was going home.”

  She frowned slightly.

  “I don’t know, Vin, it’s doubtful he knows where he is.”

  Vinny got up.

  “Nah, I swear, he like, moved his head, and his eyes seemed to light up.”

  “Well, you never know.”

  “I’ll wake him, okay?”

  She came to the bedside. “Leave him be. Hmm, his heart rate’s elevated.”

  “I saw it, but I thought it was his excitement.”

  “Could have been, but not when he’s sleeping.”

  Peter coughed, and Angie asked, “He been coughing regularly?”

  “Yeah, kinda, like every ten to fifteen minutes or so.”

  “Anything come up?”

  “What?”

  “When he coughed, any blood?”

  “Nah.”

  She opened his mouth, swabbed inside, and came up with what looked like a dab of blood. “Damn.”

  “What? What’s wrong?”

  She hit the call button and rushed out.

  “Hey, what’s going on?”

  She called out, “It may be nothing, but better to be safe.”

  Vinny watched his brother’s heart rate fluctuate around 120, and he coughed twice in the five minutes it took for a portable x-ray machine to be rolled in. A plate was slid under Peter’s back and three pictures taken. Vinny peppered them with questions, but the technicians were not in a position to offer information and left with their machine.

  A few minutes later, Dr. Molanari came into the room, trailed by Angela.

  Vinny asked, “What’s going on?”

  “Your brother has a pulmonary embolism.”

  Vinny tucked his chin in, and Angela explained, “A blood clot in his right lung.”

  “That serious?”

  “Can be deadly.”

  “You fucking kidding me?”

  “The doctor is going to give him something to help with this.”

  The doctor handed a syringe to Angie. “Here’s the TPA. In the left arm while I administer the Coumadin.”

  They were done in a flash, and Vinny questioned, “How the heck did he get this?”

  The doctor arrogantly spat out as he left, “Combo of trauma to the leg and immobilization.”

  Vinny mumbled, “Thanks, you prick.”

  “Tsk-tsk, be nice now.”

  Vinny wagged his head. “Now what?”

  “Well, he’ll be on blood thinners. It’s complicated by the TBI, and, by the way, I hate to break it to you, but he ain’t going anywhere.”

  Vinny shook his head, turned around and headed for the elevators.

  A nurse at the station called out, “Vinny, hey, Vinny!”

  “Yeah?”

  “Call for you, from New Jersey.”

  Knowing who it probably was, he frowned.

  “You want it here or in the lounge?”

  Vinny pointed and headed to the lounge.

  “Hi Vinny, how’s Peter?”

  “Well, right now, not so good.”

  Mary gasped, “What’s going on?”

  “Look, he’s hooked up to a bunch of machines, and now a new problem cropped up.”

  “Oh my God, I feel terrible,” she sobbed.

  “Look, save your tears. You got your life to live, and Pete’s—”

  “How dare you!”

  “How dare me? No, it’s how the fuck dare you!” Vinny slammed the phone down and stormed out.

  ***

  Peter was the recipient of even more leg massages and was now getting stuck with needles to check how thin his blood was. It was a delicate balance. The doctors were fearful that if his blood was too thin it could ignite bleeding in the brain. So every hour on the hour they monitored it. Vinny, who thought they were on their way to the States, was stir crazy and went to call his boss with the news about his delayed return.

  Vinny hung up and pinched the bridge of his nose with a thumb and forefinger. The call unsettled him as it didn’t jibe with the sympathetic accommodation he’d received to date. Vinny now got the vibe his boss was losing patience with his prolonged absence.

  Vinny took a deep breath and headed back to his brother’s room, carrying the additional worry about his job.

  Chapter 4

  It took five long days for the threatening clot to dissipate, but Peter was now ready to be moved out. The extra time revealed improvement in Peter’s alertness that was measurable and exciting. He even began to speak at times, though the words were muddled and disconnected. Though welcome, the speech progress was tempered by his repeated pleas for Mary.

  Vinny despised making the journey to Walter Reed Hospital on a military flight, but with Peter clearly frightened, he relented. The presence of thirty or so maimed warriors aboard made the six-hour flight seem endless, but the excitement of returning to the States rose considerably as they made their descent into Washington’s Reagan Airport.

  Walter Reed Military Medical Center was the size of a small city, with a staff of ten thousand, and six thousand rooms. It had been tending to America’s fighting forces for over a hundred years. Periodically expanded, the complex now covered scores of acres and specialized in treating the debilitating injuries suffered on today’s battlefields.

  The receiving operations at Reed were finely honed. As soon as they arrived, Peter was whisked away by a small army of medical personnel. Vinny waited with the other soldiers’ family members, wondering how long Peter would call this home.

  A talkative volunteer showed Vinny to the family housing complex and asked far too many questions. Vinny closed the door quickly and surveyed the surprising suite he’d bunk in for who knew how long. It was so nice that he started to question how much tax money was being spent on it. He unpacked and hit the sack to
get some rest to steel himself for what he knew would be a trying experience, but he kept himself up by fuming over the tax money spent to buy silence from the families of those hurt.

  Vinny checked in on Peter, who was sleeping in his new room, before a scheduled meeting to go over Peter’s case. The meeting was in a busy rehab room filled with equipment in use. The huge, sunny room was filled with patients and their therapists, who provided motivation, encouragement, and praise.

  Vinny was directed to a stocky man with horn-rimmed glasses standing beside a set of cubicles. He held a clipboard in one hand and offered the other.

  “John Clalia. I’m Peter’s lead physiatrist. You got to be Peter’s brother, Vinny, right?”

  Vinny nodded and said, “Psychiatrist?”

  Clalia laughed. “No, close, but its physiatrist. We’re trained in physical medicine and rehabilitation. I’m overseeing Peter’s case.”

  Vinny grinned sheepishly.

  “Let’s sit down and go over the plan.”

  The interior of the tiny cubicle was covered with photos of wounded soldiers in various stages of recovery. There were a lot of smiling faces on the torn-up bodies in the pictures, but they didn’t raise Vinny’s spirit.

  “I don’t know how you guys do all this, day in, day out.”

  Clalia said, “It’s extremely rewarding.”

  Vinny shook his head. “Frigging depressing is what it is.”

  “Okay, what we know is your brother sustained a traumatic injury to his brain. What we don’t know is how much function he’ll be able to recover or relearn. You know, a significant amount of progress in these types of cases comes from the hard work that helps, or more correctly, forces the brain to learn again.” Clalia pushed his glasses up and continued. “On a scale of one to ten, how would you rate Peter’s drive, his focus? What happens when the going gets tough and progress is small?”

  “Well, he’s not easily dissuaded. He’s going to do what he wants to do, no matter what. I remember as kids he was tormented by one of my friends on a football team, but he didn’t give up.”

  “Good, good. You mentioned he’ll do what he wants to do. What do you suggest we do to motivate him?”

  Vinny tugged his ear. “What more motivation does a guy need to get better?”