Although she tried to watch TV, she couldn’t stop thinking about Mr. Stoops. She lay on her couch feeling complete despair and a swelling desire to strangle the man with the Nixon mask. Mr. Stoops trusted and depended on her, and she chose her sister over him. She recalled her last encounter with the patient at the office, only a few weeks earlier. He was funny and happy as always, a dear man who deserved better than this. Her thoughts then flip-flopped to her sister Amelia. How lonely and scared she must be right now, she mused. She’s just an innocent, sweet young girl.
Wide-eyed, she daydreamed of the moment she could take revenge on the nefarious, abominable beast. She envisioned ways of torturing him, horrific techniques unparalleled by any in all the horror movies she had ever seen.
Her bedside alarm clock ticked ever so slowly. It was now 2:17 in the morning. Kate’s contemplations of Mr. Stoops, Amelia, and the mysterious man persisted, and she had remained without a moment of sleep. This is nuts! With a determined look in her eye, she got out of bed, dressed, walked to her car, and drove to the Stoop residence.
Even from several blocks away, Kate realized the horror she was about to witness. A lump choked her throat, making it hard for her to breathe. Her lips tingled, and she felt dizzy and sick to her stomach. As she approached the home, she saw two police cars parked haphazardly, one partially on the lawn. A third vehicle was an ambulance. Kate stopped her car a block away and walked to the area. Several neighbors stood in small groups here and there, mostly in silence. The anticipation was palpable.
“What happened here?” asked Kate as she approached one of the small groups of people.
“Bill collapsed,” said an elderly woman dressed in a dark blue robe. “Mildred called us. We called nine-one-one.” She pointed to the Stoops residence. “My husband’s in there with them. They’ve been working on him for almost thirty minutes.”
“Why aren’t they rushing to the hospital?” asked another older woman.
“They’re working on him,” said the first woman. “They have all the equipment and medications, just like the hospital.”
“Tony’s walking back now. Let’s see what he knows,” said another woman. Kate knew exactly what was happening. The only reason the paramedics had not rushed the patient to the hospital was that they arrived too late.
As the elderly neighbor slowly shuffled toward the group, all stood in silence, waiting for the verdict. The man’s face remained hidden by the darkness of night as he continued to approach them. Now thirty feet away, the man’s features were intermittently illuminated by the flashing red-and-white lights on top of the emergency vehicles. The other scattered groups of neighbors had converged, hungry, too, with anticipation. When he finally arrived, the man somberly and reverently shook his head at the group and bowed his head. Instantaneously, sniffles began. Those who came prepared passed around tissues. The monumental feelings of sorrow blanketed the group of bystanders. In silence, people hugged each other. Slowly, the group gravitated toward the Stoopses’ home, hoping to comfort the widow.
With disgust and rage all over her face, Kate walked to her car, unnoticed by the others. When inside, she broke down, her emotions boiling. Erupting. She wept and cried aloud. She hammered the steering wheel with her fists. “You will pay. I will make you pay.” She wept aloud. “You will pay!”
Her cell phone rang. She knew who it was. “What do you want?” she asked firmly and angrily of her worst nightmare on the other end of the line.
CHAPTER 17
Many miles north of Kate, in a dilapidated, long-forgotten barn, Amelia labored diligently to free herself up. She worked the nail embedded in the wooden beam. Severing her tethering chain would provide her more movement inside the barn and allow her to explore all corners and look for an escape. Despite her efforts for two hours, the large protruding nail remained firmly stuck. Standing on it had allowed the spike to move downward a smidgen. She then used her shoe as a hammer to force the pin upward. Repeating this motion multiple times had enlarged the attachment point of the nail into the post, loosening it a tad. She worked this action over and over, each time more easily, increasing her confidence that she would succeed.
Breathless, she sat back on the hay floor heavily. The air in the barn was stale and sticky, making it easy to sweat with little effort.
“I can’t give up. I can’t give up,” Amelia told herself continually as she worked the metal stake up and down, occasionally pulling on it. “Come on; come on,” she said, yanking on the nail. It would not budge. Not yet. Perhaps never. After all, today was her third day working at it countless hours each day.
Frustrated, Amelia got on her feet and walked to the refrigerator. She removed a water bottle and drank from it. Refreshing liquid soothed her insides, quenching her thirst and lessening her misery. The truth was that the project had been a much-needed distraction from the somberness of her situation. It gave Amelia a sense of purpose and direction. As she worked the nail, she felt some of the hopelessness melt away. Focusing on the job ahead, Amelia had not had a chance to ponder the next step. What would she do once the nail was free from the wooden post? What if she couldn’t accomplish the task? What if she would not be rescued? What if—no, it was definitely more productive to keep her mind on extruding the nail.
Refreshed and rejuvenated, Amelia walked toward the nail and resumed the task of removing it. Up and down. Up and down. Once in a while, a twist and a pull. Up and down. Up and down. I can’t give up. I can’t give up. Pull it up, push it down. Pull it up, push it down. Up and down. A strong pull. Unrelenting, the nail remained embedded in the wood. Irritated, Amelia pounded the post, her fists clenched, her eyes scintillating with tears. I won’t give up, she thought, returning to work on the nail.
Her hands were smarting, aching from holding the metal pin. Looking at her bleeding palms, Amelia walked around, looking for a solution to the obstacle. She spied a towel near the microwave unit. She wrapped it around the nail and held it firmly with both hands, her resolve fortified once again.
CHAPTER 18
Frank heard a knock on his door. He took a deep breath, anticipating this visit.
“What’s wrong, Kate?” asked Frank, as he opened the door.
Kate gave a wan smile. “Nothing. I’m OK.”
“Come on, Kate. I know you better than that. Something is bothering you. You’ve been avoiding me for the last two weeks. Will you please talk to me? I want to help.”
“I can’t do this,” she said, her eyes welling up with tears. “I just can’t do it!”
“Let’s talk about it.” His index finger under her chin gently guided it, hoping to meet her eyes.
“I can’t do this anymore,” she repeated, crying. She briskly turned around and ran out of his apartment.
“Are you breaking off our engagement?” he managed to ask as she departed.
“Yes!” she exclaimed as the door closed behind her.
Frank stood there, breathless, dumbfounded. What on earth did I do to upset her so terribly? he thought. He had never seen Kate like this before. His instinct was to pursue her, but he felt it would be best to let the smoke clear and reapproach her after a while.
He was assigned to ward rounds and was expected on 2 West in about an hour. He had some journal articles to review prior to the meeting, and he couldn’t be late. He sat at the table, multiple books and medical journals strewn on the floor and chairs. Kate’s words still generated sadness as they ricocheted deep in his brain. What could be bothering her so much? he contemplated. Everything started shortly after he proposed to her. Was the engagement too much for her?
• • •
As Kate arrived at the outpatient clinic, she contemplated the events of the last hour when she visited her fiancé. She wished she could speak with Frank and explain the whole situation. How she wished she could, but she certainly didn’t want to drag the love of her life into this ongoing mes
s. She couldn’t bring him down, too. Furthermore, she wondered if Frank could love her anymore after knowing what she had done to all those innocent patients. She knew she had to speak with Dr. Jack Norris. This whole process had been designed to hurt him. The son of a bitch who now had her sister in captivity was targeting Dr. Norris’s patients by switching them to the wrong medicines. This had to be revenge for Dr. Norris having thwarted the Rat Poison project.
Kate knew the mysterious man had cameras and spyware all over her. Maybe even accomplices. She could not trust anyone. There was nowhere she felt safe from him.
“Ms. Fanning? Ms. Kathryn Fanning?” rhetorically asked a well-dressed man who had approached from behind, surprising her. She gasped, her nerves frayed. Kate turned to see a well-built man in his early thirties with dark brown hair. Behind him was a man she recognized, Mr. Nai Trepur.
“Yes. That’s me,” she replied, trying to pretend it was all routine as usual.
“I’m Detective Brad Mills from the Evansville Police Department. You already know Mr. Trepur. He’s the chief of security here at Newton Memorial. Can we talk for a few minutes?”
“Sure. About what?” she asked.
“About your sister’s disappearance.” He looked perplexed. “A bit of a strange question, don’t you think?”
“What do you mean?”
“If my sister disappeared and a police detective came to talk to me, I think I’d know immediately what it was about.”
“Yeah, I realize that now. I’m just nervous and upset. I don’t know what I’m saying anymore. I don’t know anything about Amelia’s disappearance, Officer.”
“I see. Let’s go somewhere private and chat a bit, can we?”
“Sure.” Kate led the men to an unoccupied patient-exam room, as far from the main office area as was possible. She closed the door, and the three sat down.
“Meez Kate,” said Trepur. “You must tell us all you know. We want to help get your seester back. You must help us, no?”
“Yes. I want to help. Of course, I will cooperate.”
“So what do you know?” asked Mills.
“I know she disappeared from the mall here in town. That’s all.”
“You seem to be taking it exceptionally well,” said the detective.
“I’m not. I’m worried sick. I’m trying to not let it interfere with my job here at the clinic.”
“Have you been in contact with Amelia?” asked Nai Trepur.
“No,” she lied.
“See, I think you have,” said the detective after a long moment of staring into her eyes. “Did she run away? Is she with you?”
“No, sir,” Kate said. She felt petrified.
“You know, if she did run away to be with you, it isn’t a police matter. It’s a family thing. It’s not a crime. But if you’re lying to us now…”—he paused for effect—“that would be a crime. So just tell me everything you know, and we’ll make all this go away.”
“I really don’t know where she is. I’d tell you if I did.” The men looked intently at her for what seemed to be an eternity. She didn’t flinch.
“OK, Ms. Fanning. Here’s my card. If you think of anything, call me right away,” said Mills. He and Trepur stood and slowly exited the small room. When the men were out of sight, Kate walked back to the main area where the patients, doctors, and other nurses were busy with the chores of everyday life at the outpatient clinic.
“What happened? Was that a detective with Nai?” asked Jack.
“Yes. My sister Amelia was abducted at the mall a few days ago,” said Kate, sniffling and then searching for a tissue.
“A few days ago? Don’t you know exactly how many?” Jack was intrigued.
“Yes, six days ago,” she said, wiping her tears again with a tissue.
“Are they suspecting you?”
“Yes. I think they suspect I know something.”
“Do you?”
“No. I don’t know anything.” Kate appeared increasingly more irritated with the questions.
Jack noticed it and retreated. “Kate, please let me know if I can be of any help. Or if you just want to talk, OK? Do you want to take the day off?”
“Yes. That would help. I’m a big mess today. I’m very upset.”
“I’ll take care of everything. You just go and call me if you need anything.”
“Thank you. Excuse me.” Kate rapidly retreated to the women’s locker room, still grieving, and soon departed the clinic area.
• • •
Down the hall, a man inconspicuously entered a small janitorial closet. He dialed a number on his cell phone.
“It’s Cesar. The police were here. They talked to the nurse for a little while,” he whispered into the device. “The head of security was also here. She left the clinic, and he’s back to work.” He felt his forehead furrow. “The police didn’t talk to Norris, but—” He heard footsteps approach. After a short moment, the same footfalls marched by his closet hideaway and then went away. “We’ll follow the plan as scheduled.” He terminated the call and exited his hideout. He looked side to side and then returned to pushing his bucket and mop. Noticing he remained overlooked by the other staff members, he smirked. Now, where did you go, Dr. Jack Norris?
CHAPTER 19
The dinner dishes were in the dishwasher, and Kate lay down on the couch. While fixing a pillow under her head, she spied Nixon’s tiny eyes in between the two teddy bears, the monster’s window into her apartment. Her life. How would she get out of this predicament? As long as the bastard held Amelia captive, she would have to follow every command he dished out, however despicable. She had to either rescue Amelia or find the identity of the mysterious criminal. But how would she accomplish one of these tasks without jeopardizing her younger sister’s safety? Her cell phone rang.
“Hi, Mom.”
“How have you been doing, Katie?” asked Barbara.
“I’m OK. I guess.”
“Have you heard from Amelia?”
“No. Nothing.”
Kate heard her mother take a deep breath. “The police have a theory that she ran away and is with you.”
“They’re wrong,” said Kate. “Amelia is not with me.”
“I told Detective Mills you wouldn’t lie about that, not when we’re all so worried.”
“I wouldn’t lie, Mom.” Kate’s muscles began to tighten as they had so often in the last several days. She swallowed hard.
“Even if Amelia made you promise you wouldn’t tell?”
“If Amelia was with me, I would bring her home!”
“OK, Kate. I believe you.”
Kate felt the suffering in her mother’s heart, which paralleled her own anguish. She shut her eyes and rubbed her own temples. It was then the other cell phone, the mobile she wished she never had, chimed.
“Mom, I have another call. I have to take it. I’ll call you later.” Kate hung up the phone with her mother, put her phone down, and answered the other call.
“Kate, this is George Curry.” His voice was cheerless and heartrending. “My wife, Janice, died in her sleep last night. I found—” a short moment ensued during which Kate could hear the man crying softly and wiping his tears. “I found her this morning. She was cold and gray colored. I just wanted to let Dr. Norris and you know.”
“I’m so sorry, Mr. Curry.”
“She was so well,” said Curry. “Dr. Norris had found the right combination of medications. I don’t understand why he wanted to change everything so drastically. Are you sure you didn’t come see the wrong patient when you came to see Janice?”
The question choked Kate, and she remained unable to utter a word for several beats. “No, Mr. Curry. I didn’t have the wrong patient,” she finally said. “Was she feeling poorly yesterday?”
“No. She didn’t complain of anyt
hing. She went to bed but died in her sleep. Dr. Norris told us that almost always means a dangerous heart rhythm.”
“Yes, ventricular fibrillation,” said Kate. “I’m very sorry for your loss. I’ll let Dr. Norris know.”
Kate hung up. Her heart ached, her eyes sparkled with tears, and her soul anguished in misery. She broke down again, sobbing in inconsolable despair. This situation wasn’t going away soon. She had been commanded to see thirteen patients thus far over the last week. Several of these patients were already suffering, some paying with their lives. These heart patients were fragile. It had taken several office visits to optimize their medical therapy. What she was now doing was undermining these efforts and offsetting the delicate balance of the right mix of drugs—stopping helpful meds and adding dangerous ones.
Wait a minute! Kate’s eyes flew open, and she sat up straight on her couch. This is a clue! This bastard has to have enough knowledge of medicine to accomplish these med changes. This narrows the field of possible suspects considerably. This realization challenged Kate. What else can I use to identify Nixon before more people have to die? She sat up and grabbed her laptop computer and began typing. She suddenly stooped. Can he see my search? She decided that was highly unlikely. But it would be important for her demeanor to appear nonchalant, while her brain churned at the speed of light.
The next day, she went to work. She smiled and carried out her chores as back to normal as she could muster. And it was working out. Now that she had a plan of attack and was working at it, she felt less like a victim and more like a doer.
At the end of the workday, when everybody left the clinic area, Kate grabbed a few patient charts and made the necessary clandestine documentation entries, as Nixon had prespecified. From the corner of her eye, Kate spied the janitor, who seemed to be standing by the janitorial closet watching her. When he realized she turned toward him, he scurried away, pushing a large broom. He entered the men’s bathroom. Intrigued, Kate tiptoed to just outside the door. Straining to hear, she could hear the janitor speaking softly into what she assumed was a cell phone. She couldn’t make out any of the words.
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