Savage Heart

by M. G Scott

  “Nice to meet you. Mr. Batton mentioned you would be meeting me.”

  “Of course,” Mona replied with a curt smile. “I’ll help you get back to the lobby and on your way.” She then turned and said, “Please follow me.”

  As they walked back to the lobby, Sabrina was still burning from the confrontation with Batton. “Are all the men here like that here?” she blurted out.

  Mona stole a glance at Sabrina and then laughed nervously.

  “Are you referring to Joe Batton’s coarse personality?”

  Sabrina smiled back. “I like you already. You get right to the point.”

  “Yes, well, don’t worry about him. He’s not very important here. He’s what we call a program manager. They don’t do anything except push paper and make asses out of themselves. Everybody knows it’s the researchers that drive the company.”

  Sabrina smiled. “I don’t suppose that’s much different than a lot of companies. Let the program managers think they’re in charge.”

  “Seriously … but we know who’s really in charge.” Mona reached the bottom of the grand staircase and then headed toward the glass atrium. “The admins.”

  Sabrina giggled. “Now I really like you.”

  They reached the revolving doors. Mona turned to Sabrina. “You were discussing Mr. Sanchez, is that right?” she asked. Her voice seemed more serious.

  Sabrina captured Mona’s blue eyes darting from side to side, as if she wanted to keep the conversation going. “I was.”

  “And the breast cancer research Eric was doing?”

  A nod. “Seems like a noble cause.”

  “Let me guess … he didn’t tell you anything.”

  A small laugh. “How did you guess? I must be wearing my disappointment on my sleeve.”

  “I’m not surprised.”

  “How so?”

  “Because about three months ago, Batton moved him off the project to focus on a confidential priority one project.”

  “Something more important than breast cancer. What could—”

  “Let’s just say it was for the benefit of the company and certainly not for the women’s lives that would be saved.”

  “How do you know?”

  “Because Eric told me. He was absolutely beside himself. He wanted to tell his wife but he couldn’t because of the shroud of secrecy the company placed on it. It absolutely ate him alive inside.”

  “Then why do it?”

  “Because they told him it would be only temporary and he was their top researcher. Three months tops, they kept saying, and then they were going to increase the funding for the cancer research. It was an offer he felt worth taking.”

  “What was so urgent?”

  She hesitated and then replied, “I shouldn’t tell you this but it had something to do with stem cells. And it wasn’t any coincidence that once his three months were done, he ended up at the bottom of the ocean.”

  “Really?” Sabrina reached into her backpack for her notebook and jotted a few things down.

  “Yes. They also abruptly canceled the breast cancer research.”

  “Which was around the time he drowned?”

  “Within two weeks.”

  “Is there any proof of a connection? I mean … if what you’re telling me is true it seems too much of a coincidence.”

  “That’s what I think too.”

  “Is there any proof?” Sabrina pleaded.

  Mona eyed her and then looked away. “There is something,” she finally said.

  “Like what?”

  Mona shook her head. “I’ve already said too much.” She took Sabrina’s arm. “You must go.”

  Sabrina bit her lip. There was something there and she had to find out what it was. “Wait a minute. Can we talk later?”

  Mona looked into her eyes. She nodded quickly.

  “Here’s my number.” Sabrina quickly jotted her number on a piece of paper and handed it to her. “Please call me.”

  “I will.” Mona crumpled the paper and jammed it into a pocket. “Enjoy the afternoon,” she said and then turned toward the staircase.

  Sabrina pushed through the revolving doors, excited at the turn of events. She slipped her sunglasses over her eyes and headed back to the car, confident this could be a huge breakthrough.

  What she didn’t notice were the security cameras tracking her every move.

  Chapter 24

  As his partner finished scrubbing, Vua hunched over the unconscious body and looked into her eyes. What a beautiful woman, he thought. He was dressed in gray scrubs and matching black apron that tried to hide the stain of blood and other bodily fluids from previous surgeries but it failed miserably. “Are you about ready for the extraction, Marta?” he said out of the corner of his mouth.

  “Just about there,” Marta replied. She snapped the latex over both hands and then placed the disposable drape over the patient’s abdomen. She eyed the laptop computer on a table just to her left and started reading aloud, “Gina Hyde. Age thirty-one. Beginning of second trimester … the fetus is seventeen weeks.” A pause and then she said, “I don’t know how you do it sometimes but you always seems to find the perfect patients.”

  Vua smiled. He loved always being right. “Is she dilated?”

  A nod. “Ten millimeters.”

  “Good,” Vua replied. He felt her abdomen. “We’ll need to roll her a bit to get the fetus in a better position … and then let the imaging take it from there.”

  “Yes. Of course.” Marta rotated the woman onto her side and placed the ultrasound on her abdomen.

  Vua yanked on his latex and then turned to his left, toward the surgical tray. He selected the smallest forceps available and moved them through the vagina into the dilated cervix.

  Marta stood over the monitor and eyed the ultrasound. “It looks like the head is tilted a little to the left, toward his momma’s hip.”

  Vua leaned in and nodded. “I’ll rotate the fetus a bit to the right … but I’ll need a bigger instrument. That should help line up the lower extremities with the vaginal opening.” He grabbed a larger set of forceps and worked his way into the uterus. “I think I’ve got it.” He pulled his hand back a bit, drawing the fetus from the uterus. “That’s as far as it’ll go.” Vua flipped the forceps onto the tray and reached in with his left hand, searching for the baby’s head. “I need a bit of pressure on the uterus.”

  Marta pushed lightly with both hands on the abdomen.

  “Now it’ll fit through.” He grabbed the suction and pulled the rest of the fetus through the vaginal opening.

  “It’s a boy,” Marta announced as she grabbed a new set of forceps. “I’ll take the placenta.”

  Vua walked the fetus over to another surgical table, this one half the size of the others. He paused as he looked at the dead fetus. “This is like finding a hundred thousand dollar diamond at the bottom of a mine,” he murmured. “And it’s the first of three today.” Reaching with one free hand, he selected a small scalpel and dug deep into the fetus’s chest and drew an incision vertically between the breastplates. Using both index fingers, he pulled at the breastbone, snapping it like a chicken leg. Vua gazed at the exposed heart in the underdeveloped body cavity. It’s a shame this child will never experience the joys of life, he thought. But then again, it wouldn’t have to experience the cruelties either. “Marta, I need the ice packs and cooler,” he hollered over his shoulder.

  She rushed over the supplies as Vua snipped the blood vessels that fed the tiny heart with his surgical scissors. He then reached in with a tool that looked like a small ice cream scoop and pulled the heart out of the cavity. Wrapping it in surgical plastic, he placed it in the tiny cooler.

  Marta delicately placed the ice packs around the newly harvested heart and then screwed the cap on the cooler. She pulled off her gloves and threw them on the table. Looking at her watch, she said, “Not bad. Twenty minutes start to finish.”

  Vua’s cellphone buzzed in his pocket. Yes,
of course. A new customer had arrived.

  It was time to give them his best sales pitch.

  Chapter 25

  It was just before daybreak as the paid assassin made his way to the farmhouse set deep in rural Tillamook County. Mannheim casually glanced at the white exterior and wondered why they picked this particular house but then his thoughts quickly moved to his objective—the murder that was about to take place.

  He walked quietly across the front yard and placed a small package at the base of a shrub. The reporter should enjoy the contents, he mused. He then slipped around back, toward a gray porch that acted as a gateway to the house’s backdoor. Stopping, he scanned the yard, as any good assassin did, looking for anything out of the ordinary.

  He didn’t want any surprises.

  Mannheim again went through the details. Every plan needed to be meticulously analyzed from every what if angle. If something were to go wrong, he wanted to be quick with a resolution, especially given the high stakes. When he was satisfied everything had been thought through, the adrenaline buzz kicked in—the same high he always felt when the fate of another human rested with him.

  Such power he felt.

  He also knew there was no alternative. The Sanchez widow had become a nuisance in the last few days, providing help and details that only fueled the reporter’s quest for an answer. It had to be dealt with quickly and harshly. To him, the blame for the widow’s pending death squarely fell on the reporter. She had been given ample warning to stop pursuing Sanchez but refused. And now the bitch would pay a heavy price—something he was convinced would end her pursuit of the truth.

  He eyed his watch. Now was the time. It was almost daybreak, meaning the moon was at its dimmest and the sun had not reached the horizon. Mannheim tugged on his black leather gloves and pulled his black cap low across his forehead, matching perfectly the black shirt, pants, and shoes he chose to complete the camouflage.

  Carrying a bag of tools over his back, Mannheim made his away up the porch toward the back door. He peered in through the door’s glass insert, and scanned the room before him. It was the kitchen and the dim light above the stove provided just enough glow for him to get his bearings: Straight ahead was a hallway that led to the second floor, and the widow’s bedroom.

  Peering down, his eyes stopped at the doormat covering the kitchen floor. Excellent, he thought. That will help deaden the sound of glass breaking.

  He wrapped his right fist in a small towel and smashed one of the glass panels, creating a muffled shatter as the glass sprinkled on the mat below. Reaching in with his good hand, he unbolted the door and pushed himself carefully in. Grabbing his flashlight, he scanned the room for any alarms or sensors, but there were none. He then waited for footsteps in case the break-in had been heard.

  After a minute, he smiled. Nothing.

  Moving forward, he found the staircase and walked up gingerly, taking care in case of a floor groan. When he reached the second floor, he spun his flashlight low on the floor, in a circle, and counted the number of doors. There were four. That meant two bedrooms, a closet, and a bathroom. He knew from experience the master bedroom was always the farthest from the hall bath given it usually had its own.

  After finding his target, he walked quietly up to the closed door and turned the handle slowly. Good, he thought. No squeaks. Now that the sun was starting to rise above the horizon, it provided just enough light to make out the contents of the room. The bed was straight ahead, underneath a high window. To the left was a simple white dresser. To the right, a matching nightstand. Peering ahead, he saw the still figure of the widow crumpled into a ball under several blankets.

  Everything was going to plan.

  He removed the lighter fluid from his toolkit and started soaking the floor around the bed. When he came to the window near the foot of her bed, he doused the last few inches of the curtain in the fluid as well. Then, without hesitating, he grabbed his lighter and lit the bottom of the curtain. Within seconds, fire shot upward. Quickly retracing his steps, he locked the bedroom door and closed it from the hall. Mannheim glided down the steps and pushed his way into the kitchen and through the back door. Once off the porch, he ran straight for woods. For a second, he turned and admired his work. Already, flames were shooting from the bedroom window as smoke billowed into the air.

  He then turned and hit the trail that would guide him back to his Jeep.

  Chapter 26

  “Let me get this straight,” Blogg’s voice boomed from Sabrina’s phone. “You think Sanchez was murdered after seeing an E.R. doctor? And his company has something to do with it?”

  She was sitting on the couch in a motel in Oceanside. On her lap was perched her laptop with a pile of unorganized notes spread around her. “That’s right. I’m going to prove it too.”

  “What the hell you still doing in Oceanside, anyway? I said one story … that’s it.”

  “I know … I know. I stayed over because of Carla Sanchez. She finally agreed to meet with me. And not only that, she helped me get an interview at BioHumanity—you know, where Eric Sanchez worked.” She took a breath, excited about what she was able to accomplish. “That was a huge coup. It’s all because of Carla.” A pause. “I’m sorry Mr. Blogg, but I just couldn’t let the opportunity slip away.” She bit her lip, expecting the blowup.

  “You’ve got to be kidding me, Sabrina.” His voice was full of irritation. “I want—” He was interrupted by another call coming in. “I’ve got to go … but you need to promise me one thing.”

  “What’s that?”

  “That your ass is going to back here in Neskowin by tomorrow.” She shook her head. It wasn’t enough time. But if she didn’t, he’d cut her from the paper. That was the unspoken truth. “Fine,” she replied meekly.

  “Don’t make me regret this,” Blogg replied. And then the line went dead.

  Sabrina threw the phone on the couch and sighed. He was such … a male.

  She eyed her watch. Her date! Brieman was going to be by at seven. He had called yesterday and she said yes without any hesitation.

  Could her life finally be on track?

  Her cellphone buzzed. She eyed the caller ID and rolled her eyes. What did he want now?

  She picked it up. “Yes, Mr. Blogg?”

  “Sabrina.” His voice seemed rattled. “You’ve got to get over to Carla Sanchez’s. It’s … her house.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “It’s her damn house. That’s all I know.”

  “What about her house?”

  “I don’t know. I don’t know. Just get there. I’m gonna drive up right now.”

  Shaking, Sabrina bolted for the door. Carla was being targeted because she was helping her. She was sure of it. She hurried into her car and started the engine. The tires screeched against the soft pavement as she gunned the car forward. She found the highway and pushed the car as fast as it would go. Tears flowed down but she quickly wiped them away. More tears came. This time, she didn’t bother. She found her way to Baughman Creek and sped across the bridge to the farmhouse she had seen only days ago. As she approached, flashing reds flooded the road, easily illuminating the normally dark countryside.

  Sabrina gasped at the destruction before her.

  Carla’s house was awash in a fiery blaze that had already lopped off the roof. The fire was now working its way down the front like a baby crawling on all fours. Three ladder trucks were there, battling the sickening blaze as much as their strength allowed. Two squad cars and an ambulance sat on the front lawn, but with nothing to do. Sabrina pushed her way past the web of fire hoses and the growing crowd. She stopped and put a hand over her mouth as she tried to contain the emotion spilling out. Her eyes welled with tears as she watched the house burn into obliteration—a house seemingly so peaceful just days before.

  The sound of shattering glass ricocheted through the yard as the firefighters were losing miserably in the fight to save any part of the house. More glass di
sintegrated as a once-beautiful bay window became another exit for the angry flames. Fire hissed everywhere, as if beckoning with a fiery finger to join the party. The crew captain screamed at his men to step back as the brittle wood started cracking under the weight of trauma. Firefighters continued dousing the flames with high arcs of water—but their actions seemed frustratingly pointless. The captain brushed passed her, talking animatedly on his walkie-talkie. “The woman is embedded deep inside—looks like her bedroom,” he spat at the black plastic.

  Sabrina froze in terror. Up to this point, she had just assumed that they were treating Carla in the ambulance, maybe even for minor burns. She had never once thought that she might still be inside the house. She looked toward the driveway as a new set of car headlights distracted her.

  It better be Blogg.

  It was. He jumped out of the car and headed toward a paramedic pacing back and forth near a grove of pines. As a red light passed Blogg, she caught the horror plastered on his face. Sabrina ran up to him. Grabbing his arm, she shrieked, “What do you know?”

  He turned toward her, quickly looking into her eyes before shying away. “She’s trapped inside.”

  She spun back toward the fire but he grabbed her arm before she could move. “Don’t even think about going in there—you’ll cook yourself in a second.”

  “But she’s the key to everything,” Sabrina screamed. She peeled his fingers away and bolted toward the torrent flames.

  “Sabrina!” Blogg yelled after her.

  She got within twenty feet of the house before a firefighter grabbed her and pulled her over to one of the squad cars. Sabrina crumbled into the man’s arms before sitting her down in the backseat.

  The captain screamed for his crew to move back again. A moment later, the complete second floor collapsed onto the first.

  “No!” Sabrina yelled.

  It would be a miracle if Carla survived.

  Chapter 27

  A little before ten in the morning, four emergency workers exited the charred two-story house with a stretcher. On it, a white sheet was draped over the remains. An onlooker turned away, sickened by the ghastly sight. Carla Sanchez had been reduced to a charred, lifeless body and it was more than any person could handle.