Paramedic Killer

by Patterson, Pat

  “Will you be joining us for dinner?” a smiling hostess asked.

  “Yes, and give us a quiet booth if you have one, please,” Jim responded.

  “I don’t know how quiet it will be. The band should be back out any minute.” She led them to a booth near the back and handed them two menus. “Molly will be with you in a moment.”

  “Thanks. Oh hey, miss. Is the owner here?”

  “Mac? Yes sir, he’s in the kitchen. I’ll go see if I can find him.”

  “Thank you. Tell him Evan sent me.”

  The hostess shrugged and walked through the doors leading into the kitchen. Jim glanced at Sadie. “So your publisher dumped you? Contract and all?”

  “We disagreed on the plot.”

  “The plot? Sadie, bend a little. Twenty thousand dollars is a lot of money.”

  “It’s not that simple. The plot is everything.”

  “Sadie, ‘everything’ won’t pay for your boat. Can’t you meet her halfway?”

  Sadie considered telling him the truth, but she knew that Jim would only blame himself if he knew the real reason she had lost her publisher. She decided he would never know. Fortunately, he seemed to understand she didn’t want to talk about it and he glanced away. She watched his eyes move about the room, and then without warning he stood up frowning and walked to a wall covered with sports memorabilia and photographs. He stopped in front of a pair of 8x10 pictures. “What is it?” she said walking over and taking his arm. “Jim?” Sadie studied the first, a color photograph of two young men dressed in army fatigues. They looked like identical twins, with reddish buzz-cut hair and bright blue eyes. A teenager stood beside them with an admiring look on his face and an arm draped over one of the men’s shoulders. He had the same blue eyes—in fact they could have been family—but his hair was black as coal. Small freckles covered his face. She turned to the other picture and gasped. “Jim, that’s Evan.” The other two characters made her shiver. Both wore masks—one a white hockey mask riddled with symmetrical holes … the other a horrifying, plain white death mask that made her hair begin to rise.

  “Come on,” he demanded grabbing her by the arm. “We need to get out of here.”

  “But—”

  Jim pulled her across the room and through the front door. Once outside, Sadie jerked her arm free. “Jim, you’re hurting me!”

  “Sadie—” He grabbed her by the shoulders. “You were looking at the killers! Don’t you see? Evan’s in on this!”

  “Evan?”

  “I need to get you out of here.”

  * * *

  Jim programmed her GPS for East Beach and set it on her dashboard. “Listen, the Durham Freeway is just across the railroad tracks there. This GPS will get you to I-40. Follow that around Raleigh to highway 70 East. You’ll take that all the way home. Now look, Sadie, don’t you stop ’til you get there. I mean it, don’t stop.”

  “Jim, I’m so scared. Please let me stay with you!”

  “No, go.”

  Sadie climbed in and started the car. Jim saw her sobbing as she hit the gas pedal and sped from the parking lot onto Ninth Street. He watched her until she was out of sight, then felt for his pistol and turned back toward McCee’s. He was through with sneaking around. Bobby Canaday was nearby, and he intended to find him. And Evan? He had no idea, but he knew his answer lay inside. He opened the front door and walked back into the pub.

  CHAPTER

  47

  SUNDAY—20:16—MCCEE’S IRISH PUB: Jim’s temples throbbed. The medication enhanced, endorphin-induced mania that had become such a powerful enemy had suddenly become his ally. He relished the sense of omnipotence he felt, but he also realized the dangers before him. He took a deep breath to steady himself and walked up to the hostess. “I need to see the owner right now. Where is he?”

  “Sir?”

  “The owner! Mac! Where is he?”

  “Sir, Mr. Canaday is standing right behind you.”

  “Canaday?” Jim spun around to face a bear of a man—a serious looking guy with neat dark hair and clear blue eyes. A spattering of freckles decorated a hard face wrinkled by the years and pitted by a pair of dimples that seemed strangely out of place. His teeth were just a little too white as if recently bleached with Crest Whitening strips. He wore sharp gray trousers, a starched white dress shirt, and a maroon tie. Jim felt his face flush. “Wait a minute. Are you—”

  Canaday chuckled and turned to the hostess. “It’s okay Maggie. I’ll take it from here.” The hostess walked away. Canaday turned back to Jim. “I suppose you’re looking for answers.”

  Jim’s skin began to crawl. “You’re Evan’s father.”

  “Mac Canaday.”

  “Are you telling me Evan is a Canaday?”

  Canaday chuckled and tilted his head toward the kitchen. “Come on, Jim. Let’s talk.”

  Jim followed Canaday through the swinging doors, across a warm kitchen, and into a small office behind a silver walk-in freezer. Canaday took a seat behind a wooden desk and motioned for Jim to sit. Jim remained standing.

  “Jim—” Canaday sighed and rubbed his eyes. He looked exhausted. “Evan is my son. He and I were there, six years ago to the day. Five a.m. on a dark, rainy, fateful Sunday morning.”

  The picture of a rusty mailbox flashed into Jim’s mind, along with the name painted in crude white letters—Canaday. “Then Bobby and Billy? They’re your…”

  “Nephews. Evan’s cousins.”

  Jim reached for his pistol, but before he could pull it Canaday had a red- tipped shotgun at his nose. “I believe you’ve already seen what one of these will do, Mr. Stockbridge. Very slowly now … left hand … remove the gun.”

  Jim removed the pistol and set it on the desk. “So Evan is a Canaday. I should’ve known.”

  “Actually, he adopted his mother’s maiden name … Keyes. But yes, Evan is very much a Canaday.”

  “The only other person on the scene that morning was a crazy teenager climbing on the wreck. You called him Knave. Are you telling me that was Evan?”

  “Evan-K. Spelled backwards, K-N-A-V-E.”

  Jim felt his knees go weak. “I don’t believe you.”

  “That’s because Evan is a true knave … a tricky, deceitful fellow. Ain’t that right, son?” Mac Canaday nodded toward the doorway. Jim turned, astonished to see his partner Evan Keyes step into the doorway with a devious grin on his face. “You know what they say, doc … blood’s thicker than water.”

  Jim felt the blood drain from his cheeks. “Evan?”

  “He always carries a knife, Dad.” Evan removed the knife from Jim’s pocket and set it on the desk beside the pistol. “Now—” Evan unbuttoned his uniform shirt and slowly removed it. Jim cringed at the massive scars covering his chest and left side. Evan turned slowly to reveal even more scars on his back. “Satisfied?” he said buttoning the shirt. “Like Dad said, doc. I’m a tricky, deceitful fellow. We pleaded with you to help that morning, but you backed away.”

  The sheer weight of the moment sucked the wind from Jim’s lungs. He found it hard to breathe, much less to speak. “Evan, we did all we—”

  “Poor Adam. Screaming for help. And then the terrible explosion that followed. That night ruined our family. You, doc. You ruined our family.”

  “You know that’s not what happened!”

  “Eye for an eye, doc. Or better still, seven for seven.”

  “Seven?”

  “We lost seven family members that night. You’ve lost … well, let’s see … your supervisor and his wife, your old partner Devon and his grandmother, that beautiful little kid sister … now that was a waste. That leaves you and one other, Jim. And since Dr. Vick is out of your life now, that cute little sailor girl will have to do.”

  The white cloud surrounded Jim, and for a moment he felt as if his feet were being lifted off the ground … then a sudden mind-blowing awareness hit him—it wasn’t the cloud at all. A coarse white fabric had been pulled over his head. A draws
tring tightened around his neck. He struggled to breathe and tried to fight back, but the effort was pointless. Something like a human machine had wrapped its arms around him and squeezed the air from his lungs. He fought to breathe, struggled and kicked to free himself from the vise, but it was like trying to fight hardened steel.

  “Angus,” Evan said. “Not too tight old boy. He has a party to attend.”

  The pressure eased.

  “So doc,” Evan said with a chuckle. “Hear what the executioner said just before raising the axe? ‘This won’t hurt a bit.’ Not for long anyway.”

  Jim felt a needle pierce his skin. His vein grew cold as an unknown drug inched up his arm. A strange sensation encircled his head. His arms became heavy. He could feel himself going limp. The coarse white sheet over his eyes became a hazy gray fog, and then with a single blink, the lights went out.

  CHAPTER

  48

  SUNDAY—20:44—PINEWOOD FOREST (EAST Durham County) Consciousness returned with an odd orange glow flickering somewhere to his left. He heard a crackling, popping sound. He tasted burlap. The material drew up closely to his nose with each breath. He struggled to make some sense of it. He recalled a needle, and the strange cold sensation that had crept up his arm. He recalled a rushing sound in his brain. He tried to move and realized one hand was bound. His wrist ached. His hand felt numb. He detected the presence of another human. He stood on wobbly legs and yanked at his chain-like bindings. Something hard and metallic bit into his wrist.

  “Who’s there?” he shouted. “Let me go.”

  A white light hit him in the face. The canvas hood was yanked from his head. He stood for a moment bewildered, blinking against the light until his eyes adjusted and he began to comprehend the odd mix of smells and flickering colors. He felt as if he had stepped into a scene from a John Grisham novel. A wooden cross stood in the center of a clearing thirty yards away. Twenty or more men in pointed white hoods and robes stood in a wide semi-circle around it. Jim glanced to his right—woods. He looked to his left—more woods. A pair of silver handcuffs bound one wrist to the grill of a wrecked vehicle of some kind. The engine compartment looked smashed in as if recently struck by a speeding truck. He felt himself panic.

  He felt the presence again. He heard movement and glanced over his right shoulder. He felt his eyes widen with panic. Licked by the orange flames of the burning cross, the featureless white death mask of Michael Myers had never looked so sinister. Tufts of red hair protruded from each side of the mask. A pair of bright blue eyes stared at him through the holes.

  Jim had never felt such fear. Adrenalin filled his body with power, his mind with animal-like rage. He felt the white cloud begin to surround him. He decided to unleash it. The cloud blinded him. He lost all sense of direction. He felt his knees buckle, and for a moment thought he might die, but then the cloud slowly lifted and reality came back like a knife. Bobby Canaday raised a gloved hand and peeled off the frightening mask. Jim had expected scars, but what he saw made him shudder. Canaday’s face, pale and scarred, looked horrific beneath the orange glow of the fire, patchy and tight as if having been melted by a blue flame and left to heal on its own. One ear was missing, the nose badly deformed. The hair had been burned backward on the scalp, never to grow again. Bushy tufts grew long on one side. In all the man was a hideous sight. Jim suddenly understood the purpose of the mask. He even felt a small degree of compassion, but only for an instant.

  “So, Stockbridge. Behold your handiwork.”

  “I saved your life that night.”

  “You ruined our bloody lives.”

  “Valerie was right … I should’ve shot you when I had the chance.”

  “Should’ve.”

  “Where’s Sadie?”

  “Oh yeah—” Canaday motioned to the Klansmen. One of the men stepped toward the van. Jim heard the sound of tearing tape, followed by a sharp female squeal.

  “Your girlfriend.”

  “Sadie?”

  “Jim, help me!”

  “Let her go,” Jim shouted. “Kill me, just let her go!”

  Canaday nodded and a second Klansman stepped forward with a red can and began dousing the van’s interior with gasoline.

  “Bobby! No! Please!”

  Sadie screamed and cried. Jim yanked at the handcuffs. The hooded biker moved to the engine compartment, poured out the last few ounces of gasoline, and then dropped the can and removed his hood. “Hi, doc.”

  “Evan!” Jim jerked and yanked at the cold steel bindings, kicking and pulling until the cuffs cut into his thumb. Blood began to flow. “Let her go, Evan. Don’t do this!”

  “All that fighting for nothing.” Bobby pulled a cigarette lighter from his pocket and thumbed the flint wheel. “Jim Stockbridge, I’ll see you in hell.”

  An unexpected sound echoed through the woods. Not a loud noise, just a strange muffled…

  Pummmph.

  Bobby Canaday’s face imploded.

  Jim watched in horror as the backside of Bobby’s head opened and sprayed its contents over the nearby trees. The headless body collapsed, but the lighter was still alive. It flipped and tumbled, fell back to the gas-soaked earth, and with a flash erupted in a bursting ball of flame.

  CHAPTER

  49

  SUNDAY—20:51—PINEWOOD FOREST: FINE wet droplets and chunks of something gooey sprayed Sadie in the face. She heard Jim shouting and coughing. “Jesus,” she cried. “Save us!” She heard the sound again. The strange swooshing Pummmph repeated itself, only this time she heard a loud metallic CLANK. She felt a bullet ricochet past her head. She heard Jim shriek with pain.

  “I don’t want to die,” Sadie cried. “I don’t want to die!”

  Sadie thought she was seeing things when a black-clad apparition trotted from the pine trees. He resembled a special ops warrior, stealthy and smooth, a dark ghost in a black jumpsuit with black polish smeared across his face. He dashed up behind Jim and dropped his rifle. His eyes looked mean and intent. He pulled Jim away from the wreckage and then drew a long silver knife from a sheath and closed on Sadie. Sadie screamed and closed her eyes.

  “I’m Sergeant Barnes,” he said sawing the rope with his knife. Black smoke rolled in and encircled their heads. Sadie began to choke as the noxious smoke filled her lungs. She felt her throat begin to tighten. She tried to scream, but she couldn’t breathe. She knew she was going to die, but the ghost never stopped working. The knife cut her flesh, but the pain was like nothing compared to the building heat. Her skin began to scream. Blisters began to form.

  Sadie tried to scream. She tried to breathe, but nothing went in. Her chest became locked in spasm. Her airway closed. She heard a loud grunt and suddenly her body was yanked from the wreckage. She felt herself hoisted onto someone’s shoulder, and then they were running. And then she heard the loudest sound of the night, a sickening swooshing sound followed by a powerful deafening…

  BOOOOM!

  Sadie’s eardrums practically imploded. She felt herself flying through the air. She hit something hard, and then nothingness filled her brain. The Sadie Miller she knew simply ceased to exist.

  CHAPTER

  50

  SUNDAY—20:53— PINEWOOD FOREST: The bullet had struck with the force of ten sledgehammers, slicing the stainless steel chain in two and bending the heavy steel cuff. The blunt forces snapped the comparatively brittle bone of Jim’s thumb, leaving it bent at an odd angle and swollen like a fleshy balloon. Oddly it didn’t hurt … at first … then an agonizing pain hit. He tried to ignore it. He saw Sadie lying in a broken heap, one arm bent at an awkward angle, blood trickling from her scalp. The sniper lay beside her, panting and shaking his head. Jim’s ears rang and his eyes watered. Intense heat rained down upon them. He rose to his knees and gently slapped Sadie’s cheek. The sniper grunted and sat up.

  “Help me,” Jim shouted. “She inhaled too much smoke. Her throat’s closing.”

  “What do you need?”

  “Epi
nephrine! She needs epinephrine!”

  “Go get it—” Cough … cough. “I’ll stay with her.”

  “Get it where? And who are you?”

  “I’m Tony Barnes. I work with Rico. Wasn’t that your ambulance I saw?”

  “Ambulance? Where’d you see an ambulance?”

  “About a hundred yards—” Barnes said with a hard cough. “That way.”

  “Stay with her. I’ll be right back.”

  The raging inferno cast eerie shadows before Jim as he crashed through the underbrush. He dodged trees, tripped over fallen limbs, and crashed head first into a deep ravine. Finally, after nearly tearing his feet to shreds, he came to a small clearing. MC-7 sat on the other side bathed in moonlight. He dashed into the clearing, but before he was halfway across something hit him. It felt like a quarter horse running at full speed. The animal knocked him off his feet, driving his face into the dirt and jamming his broken thumb into the ground. Jim felt nauseated with pain, and then something heavy slammed him in the chest.

  “Where you going, doc?”

  Jim grabbed the leg that pinned him to Earth, but it felt like a tree trunk. The more he fought, the more the weight increased. He felt a rib crack, doubling his pain. He heard a grunt and felt the pressure ease. His watering eyes cleared, and he saw the looming form of a big fat redneck boy leaning over him. Angus. The pressure returned until Jim thought his chest wall would collapse. Then something hard and cold pressed against his forehead. He heard a hammer click. “Browning High-Power,” Evan said. “Nice weapon, doc. I’ll add it to my collection.”

  “It’s yours, Evan, just let me go. Sadie can’t breathe. She needs epi.”

  “She’ll never get that epi, doc. They’ll find her in rigor mortis with her mouth frozen open gasping for air, and you with a bullet in your brain, fired from your own gun. It’ll look like suicide, of course, distraught over your pretty girlfriend’s death.”