Nothing Sacred (FBI Agent Dan Hammer Series Book 1)

by Douglas Wickard

  He pulled her up from the chair, positioned her arms around his waist and gave her a loving hug. The door opened. A male nurse, tall and good looking, dressed in all white entered.

  “Oooops, sorry. Am I disturbing something?” he asked. He carried a mischievous glint in his eye.

  Sarah and Donald pulled themselves apart. Snagged. Like when they were caught making out in the back seat of his old Dodge Dart. Flashback of them in that damn relic. He smiled sheepishly, concealing a blush while Sarah tugged once again at her sweater. She made a quick attempt to find a lost hairdo. He stretched his back and tucked his shirt into his chinos.

  “Change of shift. Just checking to make sure everything is A-OK with Miss Angie, here.” The male nurse was young, slim and attractive. Very put together. His hair was military short, a crew cut and he talked with exaggerated kindness.

  “She hasn’t moved at all. Nothing,” Sarah said.

  “It will take some time.” The nurse continued speaking as he emptied bloody, pink urine from Angie’s catheter bag into a plastic measuring cup. He walked with purpose into the bathroom, measured the urine and then flushed it down the toilet. Rinsing out the container in the sink, he returned to the bed and recorded his findings in Angie’s chart. “Her urine is looking much better this evening.”

  “That’s good?” Donald asked, scratching his head. “What in the hell is that supposed to mean? Her…”

  “Donald.” Sarah interrupted him. “Shhh.”

  “I know how concerned you both are, but you need to rest. Why don’t you take a little break? Just an hour or so. There’s a waiting room right outside the ICU. It has some lounge chairs and sofas. You can relax. Take a nap. If anything changes, I’ll come and get you. Right away.”

  “Exactly honey.” He spoke up. “That’s what I keep telling her.”

  “I just want to be here when she does wake up. That’s all.” Sarah turned her back to the bed and grabbed hold of Angie’s limp hand.

  “Totally understandable,” the nurse walked to the door. “Angie’s pretty well sedated. Dr. Garrison wants her to sleep. She needs a lot of that right now. Just don’t forget to take care of yourselves.”

  “Thank you.” Donald was relieved as hell and liking this guy more and more. Now, maybe he could have that cigarette.

  Sarah leaned over the metal railing and kissed Angie on the cheek before they all left the room and entered into the hallway.

  “Just for a few minutes, Donald.” Sarah said, looking back one last time.

  “Yes, dear. We’ll just be a few minutes.” He could already taste black coffee and that first delicious inhale of his cigarette. Donald guided Sarah down the corridor, searching frantically for matches hiding somewhere in his pants pockets.

  * * *

  Please.

  Don’t leave me.

  Please don’t leave me.

  It’s dark in here...

  She could sense the loss. Feel their absence.

  Pause.

  Oh, thank God, You’re back.

  Company.

  She could sense it. Somebody was present.

  Thank you for not leaving...

  Movement. Beyond and around her. She tried raising her eyelids to see who it was.

  Who is it?

  Mommy? Daddy?

  Is that you?

  She wanted to use her hands to help free her, but they felt waterlogged. Like they were lying on the bottom of an enormous blue ocean. The water was warm though, like flannel sheets on a cold Winter’s night, when it’s far too chilly for just a thin cotton blanket.

  “Our time is the very shadow that passeth away…”

  Voices.

  Soft.

  Melodic.

  Yes, voices. Please, sing to me.

  “Let us crown ourselves with rosebuds, before they be withered…”

  It must be the voices of angels.

  Angels.

  “For God created man to be immortal, and made him to be an image of his own eternity. Nevertheless, through envy of the devil came death into the world…”

  Oh, Angel from Heaven anoint me. Use your Holy water. Save me, and protect me, and heal me.

  Oh, Angel, sent from God, help me fight.

  Help me fight for my life.

  “The souls of the righteous are in the hand of God, and there shall no torment touch them. In the sight of the unwise they seemed to die, and their departure is taken for misery, and their going from us to be utter destruction, but they are at peace.”

  Yes, yes…

  I am in Divine peace.

  At church.

  The retreat.

  Remember, Mommy?

  All of us positioned up on the hill, waiting, standing there, the wind blowing, anticipating Jesus to enter us. The sun shining on our faces. The smell of freshly cut grass and magnolias, I think. Sweet. Intoxicating. I remember the day smelled so, so sweet. And Reverend Jason standing with us at the top of the hill, his hands held high above him reaching out toward the radiant sky, taking us all in and showing us the way home to Jesus. I had to scrunch my eyes, the sun was so bright. Reverend Jason looked like a large white sheet, billowing in the afternoon breeze.

  Save us, Jesus. Save us.

  Mommy and Daddy watching their little girl accept the Lord Jesus into her life.

  Hallelujah! Hallelujah!

  Can you see me?

  Are you watching your little Angie now?

  I am allowing him in. Yes, into my life. Again. Yes, yes… enter me. Your Holy water bathes me in peace. I want to speak. I want to sing. I want to yell out. I want to pray. I feel so saved…

  “For though they be punished in the sight of men, yet is their hope full of immortality.”

  Your Holy water is cold. It stings.

  It smells different from what Reverend Jason used.

  This Holy water makes my throat feel tight. And icy. Like the ice I fell through when we were visiting Grandma’s house in New Jersey. Remember? I was little then and wearing the new ice skates Santa brought me for Christmas.

  A tinge of panic.

  Like then, when the crack began to split and the freezing water began seeping up through the jagged edges.

  When the earth opened up and swallowed me…

  Icy cold.

  Why should I be scared? Everything is fine. Relax. Rest.

  She tried reaching out for something. Anything. She needed to feel reality. A hard surface to hold onto, to center her. A few times after she drank Jack Daniels with Daryl, and she got drunk dizzy, she would grip onto her bedside table. It helped. But everything seemed different now. Her hands were heavy. Dense. It was getting difficult for her to breathe.

  Mommy?

  “And having been a little chastised, they shall be greatly rewarded: For God proved them, and found them worthy for himself.”

  God?

  Why can’t I breathe?

  Why do I smell fumes? Like gasoline.

  Whose hand is that?

  Mommy?

  Daddy?

  Is that your hand, Mom?

  Mom?

  MOM!

  She tried screaming, but her voice was lost at sea…

  * * *

  “Richard?”

  Richard stood behind her, in front of the medicine cabinet, logging narcotics, a change of shift function he didn’t mind doing.

  “Yes?” He answered.

  Rebecca just loved the way he talked. Richard could say “yeah” or “uh-huh,” but when Richard said “yes,” so correctly, so perfectly, so succinctly, you could even hear the “s” trail off at the end.

  “Do you smell smoke or is that just me?” She scrunched up her nose and sniffed at the air. She sat straight up in her swivel back chair, laboriously transcribing what seemed like a thousand doctor’s orders into patient’s charts.

  “I told that guy he couldn’t smoke on the floor. Fool.”

  “What guy?” She asked, looking at her nice new French manicure, adjusting
her wedding ring so the two carat diamond stood straight up at attention like a big old hard-on.

  “Angie’s father. Mr. Kessler. Room 401. He could barely wait to light up that damn cigarette.”

  “Richard, can I tell you something?”

  “Sure.”

  She swiveled her chair around in his direction. “I just love your accent.” And she did, too. Rebecca playfully circled back around. She also thought Richard had a hot ass. His butt hugged those pressed white pants like spandex. All tight and toned from all those hours lifting weights. Squats. She tried not to pay any attention, but it did get her thoughts ticking. Rebecca went about her business. She realized Richard was probably gay anyway. The elevator doors opened with that familiar ding. Rebecca watched Angie’s parents edge their way out into the corridor. “Speak of the devil,” she said, standing up from her chair, ready to receive them. She noticed Richard turn around as well. In fact, Rebecca gave her most professional smile as Mr. and Mrs. Kessler walked down the short hallway, past the Waiting Room and opened the glass doors to the Unit.

  It was only when Mrs. Kessler -- Rebecca thought her name was Sarah -- turned in the direction of Angie’s room that she realized what her eyes had taken in, just two seconds earlier.

  In the doorway of Room 401 was Angie’s bed, completely engulfed in flames. A fireball of sparks and smoke. A raging fire flared up to the ceiling, licking at the hospital curtains hanging from the window.

  Rebecca didn’t know if they all stood there perplexed by the sight or frozen in pure shock, but they all just stared for a second in disbelief, gawking at that bed, watching a curly wave of gray smoke roll out toward them. And then, the most blood-curdling cry Rebecca had ever heard in her entire life as Mrs. Kessler screamed, what sounded like “Angieeeeee,” and ran right into that inferno and threw herself head first onto that bed and into that fire.

  Friday

  4:07 PM

  20

  “Yeah?”

  Afternoon light bled through closed bedroom blinds. Dan rolled over and answered the call. It was an instinctive gesture, almost as natural as…sleeping. In the process, he turned the alarm clock out of view, avoiding the automatic response to calculate how little zzz’s he’d actually gotten.

  Chief Abram’s voice was about as welcome as an earthquake. “Get your ass to MUSC. I’ll meet you there.”

  “What?” Dan’s voice wasn’t much better. He cleared his throat with a swig of leftover, flat Pepsi sitting on the floor by his bed. “What happened?”

  “Just get your ass up, Hammer, and stop asking so many damn questions.”

  “But, that’s my job, boss. That’s why you pay me the big bucks!”

  The Chief was not amused. He didn’t respond.

  Dan’s cell phone went dead.

  Bastard!

  Dan secured his hands behind his head and stared at the dingy, off-white ceiling. A large crack dominated a huge section, to the extent it resembled the entire coastline of Florida. Years ago, when he first noticed the plaster breaking, back in its infancy, back when he cared about what the ceiling looked like, it reminded him of Italy, that boot like projection with the pointy end. Greece, maybe. Now, in its current stage of maturity, Florida seemed more appropriate. Even though Dan’s preference was still and always would be… Italy. When he started thinking, which happened a lot lately, he wished he had a hobby. An interest. Something.

  He turned the clock back around. The time read precisely 4:21 PM. That would mean he got exactly… he counted on his fingers… two hours and fourteen minutes of sleep. Thanks, Chief!

  Dan had always admired and respected him. He held a soft spot. The Chief had been a mentor to Dan in many ways. He could be rude, cruel and oftentimes difficult to handle, but he’d always been honest. Fair. From the old school. The old South. The quiet, calm and sleepy South. Hell, the most exciting thing they ever witnessed down here was domestic squabbles and Hurricane Hugo. But this? This was way out of the ordinary. Out of everybody’s league, out of their comfort zone. A blood bath involving two teenage girls was not the norm in Charleston, let alone the possibility of a freaking serial killer. Hell, that was reserved for things like the Movie of the Week, or HBO. This was major shit that just blew in, and Dan would bet a pretty penny that Police Chief Abrams was feeling the Mayor’s heat tight around the collar right about now. Particularly with the Post and Courier hitting the stands this morning.

  Dan pulled himself to the side of the bed and sat up. He barely missed upsetting a can of flat Pepsi. A slight, humid breeze blew in through the open window. The dusty Venetian blinds rattled. It practically hypnotized him. He fought the urge to lie back down and decided instead to jump up. Like a lunatic. To get the blood circulating. Left in a heap on the floor were the clothes he wore earlier. Guess he wouldn’t be wearing that suit. He stepped over the mound of shoes and week-old dirty laundry before heading to the bathroom through a tiny adjoining hallway. In the living room, sun was pouring in through the open window. He felt guilty. He could barely see the outside, the glass was so dirty. It was on his list of things to do, if he ever got around to doing it. If he could even find the freakin’ list. He chuckled and shook his head.

  He was a mess.

  He passed by Alexandra’s picture hanging on the wall in the hallway. Gina had it taken by an expensive professional photographer up in Columbia for Alexandra’s fourth birthday. Cost him an arm and a leg, but it was worth it. Alexandra wore her favorite pink dress for the session, the one Dan had picked out. And Gina, against his better judgment, had put one of those stupid elastic, lacy bands around her head. It didn’t matter. Alexandra looked adorable.

  He kissed his finger and put it to the glass holding her tiny face captive. “Love you, baby girl.” He whispered as he entered the bathroom. His stomach made a hearty growl as he relieved himself. Looking into the frothy toilet reminded him of his earlier drive to the Isle of Palms. The emptiness he felt in his gut driving back to Charleston.

  Love you, baby girl…

  He checked himself out in the mirror. “Hello, you handsome devil.” Then, he realized he was staring at himself. “You look like pure shit, Hammer.” He began the hot water and opened the medicine cabinet for his razor. If there was one thing he must do, was shave. Shaving always made him feel like a new man.

  Well, he could dream, couldn’t he?

  Forty five minutes later, showered and shaved, he locked the front door to his beautiful, spacious North Charleston apartment. He glanced across the busy intersection toward the Naval Regional Medical Center. A giant concrete aircraft carrier marooned on a still tarmac sea. The sun was a fiery orange peg, perched like a huge egg on the flat roof of the Hospital.

  He secured his .38 pistol into his leather holster, buttoned up his two week old, navy blue suit, and walked down the two flights of stairs to his car. At the bottom, by the carport were kids, barefoot with runny noses, playing jump rope.

  “‘Yo mista,” one of them called out. “‘Ya gotta quarta?”

  Dan reached into the bottom of his pocket and felt the jingle of a few leftover coins. Probably from the last time he wore the jacket. He pulled out the change, picked out two quarters and handed it to the wiry black kid with the bent glasses. The boy held onto the metal handrail, one foot propped on top of the other and swayed back and forth.

  “Here ya go.” Dan placed the quarters in his small, dirty hands.

  “Thanks, bro.” The kid cried out, jumped from off the lattice and raced back to the safety of his brothers and sisters.

  Dan was happy.

  Clean.

  He’d taken a shower. Shaved. A quick pit stop at Mickey D’s drive through for a Quarter Pounder with Cheese to arrest his growling stomach and, hell, he’d be good as new!

  Friday

  4:15 PM

  21

  Dr. Garrison’s apartment was located about ten minutes from downtown Charleston in a small seaside community known as Folly Beach.

  F
ollowing Louis’s lead and, with the help of an acquaintance-friend Janice had met through Donny (who just so happened to work at MUSC), she decided to take a quick jaunt to the historic island and see if Dr. Garrison wouldn’t mind having a little heart to heart, girlfriend to girlfriend bonding session. It wasn’t everyday a girl received a story of a lifetime. Right?