The Traveler's Quest (The Traveler Series 2)

by L. Eira

  “Doug,” said William. “Hello? Are you there?”

  Silence.

  “He hung up,” said Brent.

  “How the hell did he get this address?” said William.

  Ellie took the iPhone from William. “There are apps on smart-phones that are designed to locate phones. And people.”

  “This guy’s not quite right in the head,” said Brent. “We have to go to the police and explain the situation.”

  “I liked it better when he was trying to kill himself. Now he’s going to try and kill me,” said William.

  “I agree with Brent,” said Ellie. “Let’s go to the police.”

  The teenagers began to unlock their bike chains when they heard the squeal and skids of vehicles stopping suddenly. Three police cruisers and one unmarked car faced the teens. The cops exited their vehicles hurriedly and approached the group.

  “So we meet again,” said a man wearing a cheap gray suit. “And so soon! I knew you had to have something to do with this.”

  “You know us, officers?” asked Brent.

  “We’ve never met,” said William. “Have we?”

  “You don’t remember me?” said the detective. “I remember you three very well. I arrested your asses just a couple of days ago.”

  “We were never arrested,” said Ellie.

  “You have us mixed up with some other people,” said Brent.

  “You kids are joking, right?” said the detective. “I want you to come down to headquarters and tell me your side of the story.”

  “What side of what story?” said Brent.

  “It looks to me that you caused the death of your friend, Miss Valerie Rovine,” said the cop.

  “Friend?” said Ellie. “We don’t know her. You’re mistaken, Officer.”

  “Yeah, right,” said the detective. “Somehow I knew you were involved. And I promise I’ll prove it. I have half a mind to arrest you right now for murder and let the judge sort it out later. Get them in the car, men. We’re going to finish this conversation at headquarters.”

  CHAPTER FIVE

  A nurse and an orderly pushed the stretcher down the hall, en route to the cath lab, where Police Officer Tomlinson was to undergo a cardiac catheterization to minimize his ongoing heart attack and to receive Enoxadin, a new and experimental drug with the potential to save millions from cardiovascular disease. The medication, he had learned, would be injected directly into his coronary artery, the vessel that had become occluded, causing his heart attack in progress. The drug would also be expected to cover and protect the walls of all the major blood vessels from future damage and prevent heart attacks and strokes in the future.

  “We’re almost there,” said the orderly who was pushing the bed that transported Tomlinson. “Dr. Rovine is the best. He’ll get you on your feet pronto.”

  “Great!” said Tomlinson. “But you know, this silly cold bothers me more than the heart attack.”

  “Some heart attacks cause a lot of pain,” said the nurse. “Others don’t. Some cause no pain at all.”

  They took Tomlinson into the cath lab suite, transferred him over to the bed, and readied him for the procedure.

  In no time, Tomlinson’s heart procedure was on its way. “The right coronary artery is closed off,” said Dr. Rovine. “That’s the source of the heart attack. Let’s begin the Enoxadin drip. If your response is the same as I’ve seen in lab animals, Officer Tomlinson, you’ll be as good as new in a few minutes.”

  And so it was done. As the clear medicine dripped into the tube into the artery in his groin en route to his coronary artery, Tomlinson felt honored. He was the first human ever to receive such a promising drug that was destined to save millions of lives. And his would be the first. He smiled and took a deep breath, an awareness of well-being comforting him.

  Suddenly, Tomlinson a warm sensation spread all over his body, beginning in his chest and spreading up to his head and down toward his feet.

  “How are we doing, Officer Tomlinson?” asked Dr. Rovine. “Enoxadin is entering your right coronary artery. Let me know if you feel anything different. Anything at all.”

  “I feel hot all over,” said Tomlinson. “Like I’m drinking scalding beer. Or tequila.”

  “I think that’s the Enoxadin dilating your arteries all over your body. That’s to be expected. Keep me informed. It’ll take about ten minutes to give you the whole bag.”

  Beep, beep, beep, proclaimed the heart monitor. Tomlinson glanced at the monitors overhead. Heart rate was seventy-eight beats per minute. Steady. Blood pressure, 110/60. Stable. His gaze shifted from the monitor to the Enoxadin IV bag as it slowly emptied its clear liquid into the tubing hooked up to his catheter.

  Unexpectedly, a deep pressure sensation overwhelmed Tomlinson followed by intense nausea.

  “I’m getting bad chest pain,” he moaned. “I need to throw up.”

  “He’s diaphoretic and blue,” said one of the nurses.

  All the alarms began to collude to loudly heighten the level of tension in the room.

  “BP is dropping fast,” a nurse hollered. The concern in her voice was obvious. “ST elevation everywhere. The heart attack is extending through the whole heart.”

  “What’s happening, Dr. Rovine?” groaned Tomlinson. This can’t be good! he thought. The pressure in his chest was now unbearable. “I think I’m going to die. Oh my God, this pain is horrible.” Tomlinson’s words were slow and burst with agony.

  “Stop the infusion of Enoxadin,” commanded Dr. Rovine.

  “Flatline,” someone yelled out as Tomlinson’s world went black.

  As Tomlinson begged as loudly as he could for help, he became painfully aware that his words did not form and remained unheard.

  “Start CPR and call a code blue,” roared Dr. Rovine, his voice in the distance. “Enoxadin blocked off all his arteries instead of opening them up.”

  These were the last words Police Officer Scott Tomlinson ever heard.

  CHAPTER SIX

  The seniors at Mullen High School received the news with much sadness. Classes today were optional, and the students were encouraged to gather in the gym instead and talk among each other or to counselors about the grave tragedy that was Valerie’s untimely death. Even for those who opted to attend classes, the subject of discussion was not the previously assigned material but their fallen classmate. The main objective for today was clearly grief counseling.

  “I still can’t believe Valerie died,” said Olivia, closing her locker door.

  “Life’s too damned short,” said Jessica as she dried her eyes with a tissue.

  “A frigging peanut allergy though,” said Olivia, tears again streaming down her face. “I can’t believe she’s gone.”

  The girls blew their noses. They walked slowly together down the long hall leading to the gym. Juniors and seniors gathered in small groups throughout the main corridor.

  “I’m glad the school organized this all-day ceremony in her memory,” said Jessica.

  “Do you want to talk to a counselor?”

  “Not yet,” said Jessica. “Maybe later.”

  They wiped their eyes again and sniffled.

  “How’s Doug taking the news?” Jessica asked. “I know he’s been having a lot of trouble after his football injury. Valerie was helping him through the issues. She told me he was suicidal, at times even delusional.”

  “I don’t know, but I expect he’ll have a hard time with her loss,” said Olivia.

  Here and there students hugged, all eyes sparkly with tears. Olivia and Jessica and an increasing mass of high schoolers moved slowly past the enormous doors and into the area right outside the gymnasium. Posters, ribbons, and trophies, celebrating Mullen High’s many past athletic triumphs were displayed on either side of the main foyer. But today, all these were ignored.

  “There must be hundreds of people in here already,” said Olivia.

  The two teenagers meandered between classmates, hoping to get to the op
posite wall of the gym, where most people were gathered around a table. Around Valerie’s smiling face.

  “She looked beautiful in that picture,” said Jessica, wiping her tears. Olivia nodded. On the wall was a poster-sized photo of Valerie, her beam radiant, her beauty glowing. There were multiple candles on the table, surrounded by small pictures of Valerie with other students. Despite the infectious smile in Valerie’s photos, the atmosphere was gloomy.

  “Olivia, Jessica,” said a tall and muscular boy.

  “Hi, Matt,” said Olivia. “Is the whole football team here?”

  “All but Doug,” he said. “I’m looking for him now. Have you seen him?”

  “No,” said Jessica.

  Olivia shook her head.

  “But you know these quarterbacks are always late. Want to make an appearance.” Jessica forced a smile.

  “Doug’s not taking Valerie’s death well at all,” said Matt. “He’s become even more depressed than before, if that’s possible. Even more suicidal.”

  “Should he be back in the hospital?” asked Olivia.

  “We all think so,” said Matt. “But his parents think he’ll be fine without it. I have my doubts. I tried to give him a ride to school today. I didn’t think he should be alone, but he hung up on me. He’s confused and angry at the world.”

  “Do you think he could commit suicide?” asked Olivia.

  Harvey, a scrawny boy with red hair, thick-rimmed glasses, and a face full of pocks, entered the gym. He looked around until his gaze landed on Matt. He rushed to his side.

  “Doug was sitting in his car in the parking lot,” he said breathlessly. “Alone.”

  “Yeah, so?” said Matt, an air of arrogance upon him. “Is he coming in?”

  “No, he was just sitting there, crying.” Harvey took several deep breaths. “He was looking at Valerie’s picture. Then, he made a phone call, and, all of a sudden, he drove off like a maniac.”

  “How do you know all this?” asked Matt.

  “I saw him with my new binoculars and—”

  “You pervert,” said Jessica. “You were checking out the girls again, weren’t you?”

  Harvey shook his head. “No, I wasn’t!” He took more deep breaths. “Doug had a briefcase in the car. He opened it up, and I swear to you, he’s carrying a machine gun!”

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Brent, Ellie, and William were placed in an interrogation room, given a Coke each, and told to wait while their parents were contacted.

  After what seemed to be an eternity, Detective Sparks came in with a laptop computer and set it on the table.

  “You have to believe us, Detective Sparks,” said William. “Why would we lie to the police?”

  “We don’t know this girl,” said Ellie. “We’re sorry she’s dead but…”

  Ellie’s words dissipated into silence as the video on the computer came alive. In total dismay, the teens watched as the footage labeled “Memorial Hospital” unfolded, clearly showing the three of them standing in some hall they didn’t recognize. A girl arrived into view—a girl they had never seen before in person, but whose face they recognized immediately from the home screen of the mysterious iPhone that had somehow materialized in William’s pocket.

  “You have to admit that it’s hard to believe your story,” said Sparks. “As you can plainly see, this footage is labeled with a time stamp.” He adjusted his bifocals. “This occurred a couple of days ago. Do you still say you never saw her before?”

  “This video has been tampered with,” said Brent. “I never saw this girl before.”

  Ellie and William shook their heads.

  “Us either,” said William.

  “We swear to you, Officer,” said Ellie.

  “In that case, I’ll show you more,” said Sparks. He fiddled with the laptop then turned it so the teens could see. The video now showed the four kids, Ellie, William, Brent, and the enigmatic Valerie, entering the very room they were in now. The police detective and three other cops came in after them. Sparks pushed the pause button.

  “The three of you were here,” said Sparks. “In this very room.” He pointed at the still screen. “With the now-dead girl, Valerie Rovine.” Sparks’s eyes roved the teens’ gazes, one by one, his finger pointing to the mystifying deceased teen on the screen. “The four of you spent some time in my jail.” He looked intently at the teenagers. “Now, don’t tell me my own video was altered. I know damn well it wasn’t. You say you don’t remember being here with her. Well, I most certainly do!”

  “How is it possible that…” began Brent. His words faded into utter silence.

  “Let me show you one more thing.” Sparks fidgeted with the computer once more. “For this one, I only have audio. It’s a nine one one recording.” He pressed a button and sat back in his chair, his hands behind his head. “Listen.”

  “Nine one one operator. State your emergency,” a woman said, sounding professional and calm.

  What they heard next made their skin crawl. They heard the unequivocal recording of Brent’s agitated voice. “I have an unconscious girl in my car. She had a severe peanut allergy reaction. I’m driving south on Route Forty-one. We’re headed to the ambulance headquarters on Meridian and Southport. Will you have them ready to help us? Please! She’s dying. She may be dead already.”

  “OK sir,” said the operator, her voice serene. “What’s your ETA?”

  “I don’t know.” The background of the recording indicated that a vehicle was proceeding fast. The speaker’s breathing rate was also fast, the tension of the situation clearly represented. “I’m at Southport and Wisconsin now.”

  “OK sir,” the woman said in her calm voice. “I can tell you’re speeding, which is understandable. But I don’t want you getting in an accident. How about you slow down a bit? My computer indicates you’re only about twelve minutes away, at most. My coworker has alerted the EMS station at Meridian and Southport, and they’re waiting for you. So please slow down, OK?”

  “I’m putting the phone on speaker so I can place it down on the passenger’s seat,” said Brent.

  “That’s a good idea,” said the woman. “I can hear you just fine, and you need to concentrate on the drive. And slow down some more. I can tell you’re still speeding by quite a lot. You won’t be doing her any favors if you crash up the car.”

  “I think she’s even bluer around the lips now,” said a voice in the background, a voice unquestionably belonging to William.

  “We’re almost there,” yelled Brent. “Less than ten minutes.”

  “Come on, Valerie,” sobbed William, his words embedded in sorrow. “Don’t you die on me! Don’t even think about it.”

  “Sir,” said the operator, “the medics are requesting an update on the victim’s status. Are you able to provide some information that I can pass on to them?”

  “Valerie is unconscious,” said William. “Before, she was struggling hard to breathe, an awful wheeze. But now, the wheezing is gone. I don’t think she’s breathing anymore.”

  The recording’s background was filled with sobbing and weeping.

  “Almost there,” Brent yelled. “A few more blocks.”

  “I see a blinking red light on the sidewalk,” said William. “Up on the left side of the road.”

  “It’s them,” said Brent. “The ambulance is out on the apron and ready.”

  A loud screeching noise as the car obviously came to a sudden halt.

  “I’m Wayne. I’m a medic. What happened to her?”

  “Peanut allergy,” said William.

  “Anaphylactic shock,” Wayne yelled out.

  “Sounds like it,” said another voice, presumably Wayne’s partner.

  In the background, doors opened and closed.

  “Step aside, guys,” said one of the paramedics. “We’ll take it from here.”

  “Do you have any ID on her?” asked the second man.

  “Her name is Valerie,” said Brent. “We don’t know much abou
t her, but here’s her purse. All her stuff is in there. I imagine her driver’s license is in there.”

  Within seconds, came the sounds of someone being placed on a stretcher and wheeled into the distance. And then loud sirens that quickly diminished in intensity.

  “Do you think she’ll survive?” asked William, his words drowning in grief.

  “It doesn’t look good,” said Brent.

  Sparks sat up, closed the laptop’s lid, and pushed the computer aside.

  “I don’t see any evidence of a crime,” said Brent. “All I heard is pretty good evidence that we tried to save the girl’s life.”

  “The three of you are very much in the middle of Valerie Rovine’s death,” said Sparks. “And I will prove it. And then I’ll arrest you for murder!”

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Harvey had never been more serious in all his life. “It was a real machine gun, like you see at the movies,” he yelled over the many voices in the gym.

  “With those thick glasses of yours, you can tell he had a machine gun with him?” said Matt.

  “You can’t possibly be right,” said Jessica.

  “Where would he get something like that?” asked Olivia. “There’s no way.”

  “I’ll give him a call right now,” said Matt. He fished his cell phone out of his pocket, all eyes on him. After a long moment he said, “Call went to voice message.”

  “You know, Harvey,” said Olivia, “if you’re lying about this, Doug can get into a lot of trouble with the school and the police. And you know he can’t handle that, not right now.”

  “If you’re lying about this, I will make you pay,” said Matt. “Pay for the rest of your miserable life.”

  “What if I’m right?” said Harvey.

  “Well,” said Jessica, “are you? Is there any doubt in your mind?”

  “I saw a machine gun and big bullets,” said Harvey. “I think I did, but…”

  Matt punched Harvey on the forehead, making the geek fall on his behind. “If you ever talk like this about Doug without being absolutely sure, I’ll—”

  Jessica and Olivia grabbed Matt by the arms and pulled him away, a look of disdain on their faces as they gazed back at Harvey.