by Mark Stone
I grimaced, grabbing hold of my firearm. If the person responsible for all of this wanted to meet me right here and right now, then I was just fine with that. In fact, I was kind of hoping for it.
As I neared the entrance to the intensive care unit though, I saw that the door had not opened at all. Instead a square glowed green near the handle. A clocked ticked down across it, reading four seconds.
It moved to three and I realized I was going to have to move quickly. There was no keypad on this door. If I missed my chance, I would have to go back to one of the first doors, and I didn’t have time for that. For all I knew, someone was shooting up this place as we spoke.
I slammed hard against the door, grabbing the handle with one second left and twisting and pulling hard. I wasn’t sure I’d gotten to it in time, but the door opened smoothly, giving way as I spilled out into the intensive care unity.
I held tight to my gun as I stumbled forward, bracing myself against a near wall.
It was a good thing I did too, because the first thing I heard upon entering the floor level was a round of gunfire.
Chapter 15
As shots rang out through the floor of the intensive care unit, my training kicked in again. It’s standard human behavior to drop or look for cover when there’s any sort of danger afoot. When you’re a cop, they teach you how to do that in a productive manner.
The first thing you do is search for the exits. Since, in this case, there was only one working entrance or exit, that didn’t take long. The second thing you’re taught to do is to find cover that might serve to give you a shot at the attacker. Though you have to keep safe, you also have a duty to the people around you. Your job is to preserve the peace and keep them from harms way. If you can do that without throwing yourself directly into harm’s way, you’re obligated to.
This was a much more intense case than that for me personally though. Innocent people might have been in the line of fire, but some of those people were very dear to my heart. I thought about Boomer, who was undoubtedly on the front lines of this thing, seeing as how he took his duties every bit as seriously as me. Then there was Rebecca. She had been in the Armed Forces, so she was definitely no slouch, but she wasn’t prepared for something like this. Not at the moment. There was also Father Jameson to worry about. He was almost certainly the target of this horrendous act and, as he was, he lay helpless to defend himself or others.
I would have to pick up that slack. I was going to have to make sure that whoever was unleashing gunfire in this wing of the hospital, where the weakest and frailest of patients took up residence, didn’t succeed.
Of course, I’d have to get eyes on the person first.
I hit the ground, sliding behind the nurses’ station and gathering myself. Looking around, I saw a pair of nurses huddled in a crawl space under the desk. One of them was crying and the other one held her tightly, a pair of rosary beads clutched in the calmer woman’s right hand.
The crying one caught sight of me and my gun. A little yelp escaped her lips before I lifted my finger over my mouth in an effort to get her to quiet down. The element of surprise was the biggest thing I had going for me right now and, assuming the gunman hadn’t seen the door open upon my entrance, I was going to use it.
Realizing she likely had no idea why I was holding a gun or if I was with the gunman, I quickly and quietly showed her my badge. She nodded firmly, wiping her eyes. The other one, mouthing a prayer under her breath, did the same.
Moving closer to them, I slowly lifted my head above the desk. I took in the scene. A man with a shaved head wearing a black coat, blue jeans and a pair of black gloves slowly walked the hallway. The gun in his right hand was pointed to the floor almost cockily. It was then I realized that, not only did he not know I was here, but he likely didn’t know Boomer was here either. Over a decade on the job had taught me that a suspect was never so calm with his weapon if he knew an officer was nearby. That left me two questions though. Where was Boomer? And what was the gunman shooting at?
“You don’t need to do this,” A familiar voice said from the other side of the hall, setting my heart to sinking.
Rebecca—scrubs, surgical cap, and all—walked toward the gunman with her hands in the air. If she was afraid, you couldn’t tell it by her face. The woman was as stoic and calm as I had ever seen a person. Her own training must have been kicking in now, years of overseas conflict that must have made this look like a walk in the park.
It didn’t stop my jaw from locking up or my heart racing though. She might not have been afraid, but I was sure as hell afraid for her.
“Whatever you’re after, you don’t need all these people to get it,” she said, her hands still raised and her voice steady. “These people are sick, and many of them can’t be moved. So please, whatever it is that you want or need, use me to get it.”
“Oh, God,” I muttered, my mouth dropping along with my stomach. She was offering herself up as a hostage, a sacrifice. That wouldn’t work for this person though. If I was right and he was here to end Father Jameson, then he would only see Rebecca was an obstacle to that. This wasn’t a hostage situation. It wouldn’t end with a negotiator. It would either end with a dead priest or this man in handcuffs. Rebecca could only serve to turn herself into collateral damage like this.
“Where is the priest?” the gunman asked, his voice low pitched and cracking.
Rebecca took a deep breath. I could see a slight shift behind her eyes as she realized what was going on here and what it meant. Her features darkened. She knew she couldn’t stop this with some act of selflessness and, if I knew even a little about her, it also seemed like she knew she wouldn’t allow Father Jameson to meet his end at the hands of this man.
“He’s very ill,” she said. “Near dead, actually.” She shook her head. “The chances of him waking up are slim to none.”
“That’s not what I heard,” the gunman said. “I heard he’ll be awake soon.” He licked his lips in a disgusting manner. “So I think you’re lying to me.”
“Not at all,” Rebecca said, standing her ground like the trooper she used to be and I guess, in one way or another, always would be. “I just don’t want you getting yourself in more trouble than you have to be for any reason whatsoever.” She shook her head. “Right now, you’ve caused some property damage, discharged a firearm in a public place, and disturbed the peace. Murder is a lot bigger deal than any of that. Do you really want to give the rest of your life away to kill a man who’s already dying?”
It was a genius move as far as negotiating goes. She was trying to convince him that the juice wouldn’t be worth the squeeze in this particular situation, and she was doing a damned good job of it. Hell, if I wasn’t so afraid for her safety, I’d have been proud of her right now.
“The rest of my life is kind of a moot point,” he said, scoffing. “I walked in here knowing I was never coming out and, if you want to look for someone to blame for that, blame people like you.” He slammed a fist hard against the nearby wall, causing Rebecca to shudder in response. “Now tell me where the damned priest is or I’ll put a bullet in your skull. Something tells me, once I do that, I won’t have any trouble getting the next person to talk.”
“That’s enough,” I said, standing and pointing my gun at the man.
I heard the breath catch in Rebecca’s throat as she caught sight of me. The gunman wasn’t nearly as surprised. He looked me up and down, gun still trained on his chest, as though he was sizing me up.
“You’re thinner than I expected,” he said.
Thinner? What the hell was that supposed to mean? Why was he expecting anything? I didn’t let those questions derail me. I kept my eyes focused and my gun steady.
“Put the weapon down and kick it over to me,” I said, taking a deep breath. “Slowly.”
“I could,” he answered almost coyly. “Or I could do this.” He lifted his right arm and pointed his gun at Rebecca, smiling at me as the barrel of his weapon settle
d over her heart. “Let me ask you a question, Chief Anderson. You think you can put me on the ground before I fire a shot or two into her chest? Because I think we both know that’s pretty impossible.”
I knew two things at that moment. Number one: he thought I was Boomer, which explained the thinner comment, and number two; he had me dead to rights. If I fired at him, he would still have time to get one off at Rebecca. She was so damned close to him now there was no way he would miss. He’d hit her directly in the heart.
“I’m not letting you kill Father Jameson,” I said, my mind racing as I tried to think of a way out of this.
“Then you’ll sacrifice the doctor,” he answered. “Which is kind of poetic, seeing as how she was all ready to martyr herself anyway. And hey...” He shrugged. “I’d rather kill a doctor than a priest anyway. Just a personal preference. Either way, it all gets done.” He smiled again. “Though something tells me your friend isn’t going to like this turn of events.”
My heart jumped. He was going to do it. He was going to shoot her.
“You’re probably right,” a familiar voice said. Looking over, I saw Boomer walking out of a room, his gun already pointed at the gunman’s head. “His friend is kind of a pain in the ass.”
Now the gunman’s eyes widened. He hadn’t expected both of us. This was the surprise I had been after before, the one that caught him off guard.
“Well, isn’t that just perfect?” the gunman scowled. “Whatever.” He turned back to Rebecca. “I still get to kill you.”
“No!” I screamed. Before I had even made the conscious decision, my trigger finger had reacted. I pulled and the gun fired. I had enough foresight to aim low though. I hit the man in the leg. He stumbled forward to his knees, yelping in pain and lowering the gun.
“Go!” I said, looking to Rebecca. I hopped over the nurses’ station and rushed toward the man in an attempt to tackle him while he was gathering himself.
I wasn’t quick enough though. He raised his gun to me, his teeth bared and gnarling.
I stopped, training my own at him, but I wouldn’t need to. Two shots fired in quick succession from Boomer’s gun, taking the man out. He fell with a thud against the hospital tile, blood pouring out from his still body.
“Are you okay?” I asked, turning to Rebecca.
“I’m good,” she answered, rushing toward, and then past me. “How about you?”
“Fine,” I answered as she knelt at the bleeding man, pushing his gun away and flipping him over.
“What are you doing?” I asked.
“My job,” she answered, checking his pulse. “I need a crash cart,” she said, shaking her head and looking up at the people around her. “Stat! His pulse is fading.”
“He was going to kill you,” I muttered, looking at her as though that mattered. “He was going to shoot you in the heart.”
“He was, and now he’s not,” she answered.
“You...”
“I took a vow,” she said as people surrounded her with what I could only imagine was a crash cart. “Just like you,” she continued. “You catch the bad guys, no matter who they are. I save people, no matter who they are. Do your job, Dillon. I’ll do mine.” She spared me one more glance. “And thank you. Thank you for saving me.”
“Okay,” I said, blinking and in complete awe of this woman.
“Dil,” Boomer said, walking over to me and pulling me from my thoughts. “You good?”
“Good. You?” I asked.
“Good,” he answered. “That was too close.”
“He knew things, Boom,” I said, putting what had just happened together in my head. “He knew you would be here. He knew what you looked like, and he knew I was dating Rebecca and that we were friends.”
“He has someone feeding him information,” Boomer answered.
“So why didn’t he know the important part?” I asked.
“What do you mean?” Boomer replied.
“He knew what Father Jameson’s condition was down to when he was going to wake up.” I narrowed my eyes. “If he knew all those things, wouldn’t it make sense for him to know what room the man was in?”
“It would,” Boomer answered, running a hand through his hair. “Unless this wasn’t ever about getting to Father J’s room.” His hands clenched into fists at his side. “What if it was about—”
“Getting you away from it!” I gasped. “They thought I was trapped outside. They thought you were the only officer in here.”
“And they knew if I heard shots being fired, I’d have no choice but to come running,” Boomer said.
“Leaving Father Jameson all alone and unprotected,” I said, my mouth going dry. “Boomer, we have to get to him!”
Chapter 16
My heart pumped hard as I rushed toward Father Jameson’s room. I felt like a fool as my feet pounded against the hospital floor. We had been played, thrown in one direction just to keep our attention from what might really be going on in the other one.
The gunman’s words echoed through my head as I ran. He said he always knew he was never going to walk out of this hospital. While that might not have been true (Rebecca was certainly working hard to ensure it wasn’t the case), the fact that he was ready, willing, and even expecting to die was clear.
But how could that be? What kind of person would knowingly give their life just to kill a man to keep him quiet? It didn’t make any sense.
I heard Boomer behind me, running along as he brought up the rear. He had never been as fast as me and, given the fact that he had maybe forty pounds on me these days only served to exacerbate that.
Things had been moving so quickly that I hadn’t even had a chance to fill him on all that had happened, most notably about the hanging body I’d found in the basement. I would, of course, but right now my intentions were laser focused on getting to Father Jameson before anything could happen to him.
I knew that might have been a foolishly optimistic thing to hope for. This had been a plan, one that went off almost without a hitch. I could only hope that having both Boomer and myself there sped up the inevitable outcome enough for us to have time to save the priest.
I rounded the corner and ran right into an orderly. Moving much faster than the shorter man, I threw him forward, toppling over him as both of us went winding to the floor below.
I tucked and rolled, hitting my shoulder hard as I tried not to land on the poor guy.
“I’m sorry,” I muttered, grabbing my shoulder and looking at the man.
He sat up, a short man with spiky dark hair and a ring in his nose. His scrubs were wrinkled, like he had been sleeping, and the tag on his chest read the name “Carter”.
A spark of recognition ran through me. This had been the person Rebecca had been looking for before everything went down, the resident she couldn’t find who was supposed to assist her in surgery.
“It’s alright,” he answered, his tone lazy and his almost “surfer-esque”. “Just watch where you’re going, bro.”
Boomer came up on us.
“Go,” I said, nodding toward the priest’s room. “Make sure he’s…”
Boomer was gone before I could finish that sentence, and it was a good thing too, because I saw something that stole the words right out of my mouth.
As he pushed himself off the floor, I saw Carter’s hand. There, on his palm, was the same strange tattoo I saw on the kid who had “kidnapped” the butcher’s daughter.
I narrowed my eyes looking at it, trying to piece everything together. This guy was supposed to help Rebecca with surgery, but I expressly remember Rebecca telling me how she’d have to remove her earrings, bracelets and other accessories before surgery. So how could Carter go into the procedure with a nose ring in? I thought about that, and about the body I saw hanging in the basement, the one that was roughly the same size as the man standing before me right now.
“You killed him for his clothes?” I asked, narrowing my eyes ever further as I pointed my gun at th
e man, the truth of all of this clicking into place for me. This wasn’t Carter. At this very moment, Carter’s body was hanging from a noose in the basement, and this was the person responsible, which meant he was also very likely the person responsible for Archer’s death and Father Jameson’s hit and run.
The man acted quickly, kicking my hand hard and knocking the gun away. It flew from my hand, hitting against the wall. I would have lunged toward it, but the man was already on me. He kicked my gut hard. His damned shoe was steel toed and the tip sent spasms of pain through me as the man attacked me again and again.
Pushing past the pain, I grabbed the man’s foot and pulled it forward hard. It wasn’t enough to knock him down, but it did cause him to stumble backward a little.
Taking a deep and very painful breath, I pushed myself upright. My head was spinning and my stomach was in knots. My breakfast was in danger of coming back up, but I couldn’t afford to see my French toast again quite so soon. I had someone to take care of. Rebecca said I caught the bad guys, and there was one right in front of me. Time to do some catching.
My head pounding and my midsection aching, I lunged toward the man. He was quick, much quicker than I thought he would be. He moved to the side, grabbed my shoulder, and pushed me forward. Using my own momentum, he drove me into the wall. My head smacked hard against it, sending stars through my vision.
I spun as quickly as I could to find the man charging at me. His cannon of a leg drove into my gut again. I jutted forward, bowling over in pain. The man punched me in the face, a right hook that put me on my ass again.
I tasted blood, metal filling my mouth. I was face down, laying against the tile. A foot pushed at my midsection, rolling me over. I looked up, unable to move much more than to squirm there on the floor.
Looking the man over, I took stock of him, of the nose ring, of the facial features. I would need to remember them if he got away.
