Hysterical with fear, Callahan cried, “Denny, Denny, somebody jumped me, and they’ve cut me! I need a doctor, real fast. I’m bleeding down here, Denny, look—oh, God!” He screamed out his terror as he reached for his only friend.
“Okay, okay, Fred—my God, you’re bleeding, sure as hell. Let’s get you to the hospital. Can you walk?” He inched a few steps closer, peered down at the man on the ground, but held no comforting hand out to him.
“Hell, no, I can’t even stand up.” Callahan’s voice quickly reached a high pitched whine. “Call 911, I need an ambulance here, right now. I’m dying Denny, I know it.” He searched his friend’s face for answers.
“Okay, okay. Hold your horses. Looks like you’re not bleeding enough to die.” Denny whipped out his cell and punched in 911. “Man’s been attacked right here in the running park. No I don’t know what happened, but he’s bleeding,” he said. “Yeah, he’s awake and shaking like a leaf from lying on the ground. It’s cold as hell out here!” He gave the needed information, then, turned back to the man on the ground. Okay, they’re on the way, be here in a few.” Taking another look, he asked, “So what the hell happened, Callahan?”
“I don’t know for sure. Didn’t see anybody else out here. You know I don’t like to miss my training, even on a bitchin’, colder’n hell day like this. I’ve been trying to lose some weight, you know, keepin’ in shape. Maybe there was somebody...I can’t think straight right now.” Callahan held his head in his hands, leaving a wide smear of blood across his forehead. “Oh God, Denny, I’m bleeding to death. You sure they’re coming?”
“Yeah, I’m sure.” His slender, dark companion peered closer. “Your crotch is bleeding all right, that’s for damned sure.” He reached out but failed to touch Callahan.
“Tell me about it,” Callahan sobbed. “Somebody’s tried to do me in, that’s what. I’m real scared, Denny, scared what they’ve done to me.” His muscles tightened with fear and pain as he contorted his body in misery and writhed about on the frozen ground.
Denny’s scalp felt like ice, looking at the bloody mess congealing on his friend’s jogging pants. “Better call the cops, huh, Callahan?” He clutched his belly. “God, I feel sick! Who’d have done a thing like this, Fred?”
“I don’t know, but yeah, we’d better call ‘em.” Callahan let out another whine. “After all that’s happened lately, they won’t give a shit what’s happened to me, you damned well know they won’t.” He shook his head, “I’ve been assaulted. A crime’s been done to me. They’ll have to take care of it, won’t they?”
The doubtful tone in his voice gave notice. After his own brush with the law, he had little faith in his own protection, especially from officers who knew him. “I got rights too, don’t I?” To his pleading query, Denny shrugged.
Both men lifted their heads as the scream of an ambulance neared the park. “They’re coming, Denny.” Callahan breathed a sigh of relief. “About damned time, maybe they can fix this.” Deep within himself, he knew they couldn’t put him back together, but in his horror and disbelief, he couldn’t say it. Hearing the words spoken aloud might make this nightmare real.
At the sound of heavy, running feet, Denny stepped out to meet the approaching EMT personnel and wave them into the grove. “This man’s been attacked and he’s bleeding.” He pointed to Callahan’s crotch. “Look at that! Look what some dirty bastard’s done!”
The EMT leader, a big, brawny, crew-cut type, introduced himself. “I’m Jack Larson. We’re here, we’ll handle it.” Gently, but firmly, he pulled Callahan’s knit joggers down and shivered visibly while assessing his condition. “My holy God, man, what the hell happened here?” he questioned as he knelt down to the area, opened his red emergency case and, donning gloves, cleaned and dressed the wounded area with fresh, sterile dressings, before pulling the soiled knit pants up.
“How’d that purple stuff and the damned snow get in there? It’s melted in the wound and made one hell of a mess,” he continued. “So how’d this happen?”
Callahan cried out in terror and frustration. “I didn’t see the guy. Bastard must have hidden in these bushes right here and whacked me over the head by the way it aches. I’m bleeding bad—real bad, man. Whoever did this cut me something awful. I need a doctor, and right away.” His sobbing cries cut into the icy air along with his panting breath.
“We’re takin’ you in right now. You can answer questions on the way. You’re stable enough right now—could go shocky if you lose much more blood. We’ll keep an eye out.” Jack exuded confidence to the patient, but as the rest of his crew pulled a stretcher up close, he queried Callahan, “I don’t find any cuts or bruise marks on your head. Sure you were hit there?”
“How the hell do I know? Knocked me out colder’n a mackerel,” Callahan whined out the words. Yet even with mental shock from the sudden attack, he’d gotten a very fearful idea of the seriousness of his wounds, and their permanence. “Think the docs can fix me?” he ventured, not sure he wanted an answer.
“Dunno, mister, looks kinda mutilated down there, but we’ll see what the doctors have to say.” Jack tried to sound upbeat, but Callahan easily read the EMT guy’s real thoughts in what he hadn’t said. He already knew what had been done to him, though his mind tried to refuse the knowledge.
Jack grabbed his phone and called the ER Department at Mercy Hospital, identified his unit, and said, “Man’s genitalia’s slashed and mutilated.” He listened a minute. “He’s stable but needs to see a doctor and soon. ETA’s about ten minutes.” After a moment, “Okay, yeah, we’re on our way.”
Several brawny EMT’s loaded him on the stretcher and rolled it down the running path toward the ambulance. Once loaded, an attendant sat with him as they revved the engines, turned on the flashing lights and, with sirens blaring, sped away. Callahan caught a glimpse of Denny, hurrying to his old green sedan, and felt relief, knowing his friend would follow.
CHAPTER 3
Henry Graves, MD, completed his treatment, stitched the wounds, and stopped the bleeding. Callahan already knew what the surgeon would tell him, but he had to hear it spelled out. “Okay, let’s have it, Doc. Am I gonna be all right?”
“Mr. Callahan, you’ll be fine, but you must realize that an injury such as you have sustained, renders you completely sterile and impotent as well. Hormone replacement might be a possibility if that is your wish.” He added, his face stern, “You were savagely attacked by someone and may still be in danger from that person. Your personal doctor will follow up with you on this injury, along with the Police Department, as far as criminality is concerned. They’ve been called on the case, as they are on any case of assault.”
Dr. Graves shook his head. He’d seen about everything, but this extensive, totally incapacitating, genital mutilation was a first. He found it shocking enough as a doctor, even more so as a man. He shivered involuntarily.
“The police?” Heart hammering in his chest, sick, and horrified from the doctor’s confirmation regarding the severity of his wounds, Callahan now faced the realization he’d have to deal with the police department—again.
After the doctor left his side, he muttered to Denny, who sat patiently nearby in a hard bottomed metal chair. “The police don’t like me much, probably hate my guts.” He sank down on the ER gurney and pulled up the blanket. “In fact, those bastards’ll be happy as hell and dancing in the streets over this. You know they will, don’t you, Denny? You damn well know it.”
The doctor and nursing staff, busy attending other patients, gave them privacy. Denny stayed beside him. “Fred, you’ll have to deal with them. A crime’s been committed against you. They’ll have to find out who did this. That’s their job, isn’t it?” He sighed and added, “I know how they might see this, but, God almighty, Fred, what else can you do? This whole damned thing’s a nightmare, just when everything had settled down.” With a twist of fear in his own gut, he mumbled, his breath escaping through tight lips. “Shit.”
“Yeah—sure, sure, but let’s see how it goes. Maybe they’ll know who did this,” Denny replied. His voice completely lacked conviction, but that fact nearly escaped Callahan’s worry-filled mind as his friend moved away several feet and sat quietly in the background.
When a shadow crossed Callahan’s gurney, he looked up to see a big, sandy-haired, nicely-dressed, man wearing an open-necked, stripped shirt and slightly-wrinkled jacket. He held out a hand. “Good morning, I’m Detective Alan Harris. I’ll be investigating this incident.”
“Incident? This wasn’t no God damned incident, officer.” Callahan’s voice reached a higher note in his panic as he shook the officer’s hand. “Some asshole tried to kill me!”
Harris pulled a chair from an empty area and sat down, facing him. “So, what happened here? Take your time and tell me in your own words the best you can.” He whipped out a metal covered book to take notes.
Callahan saw the officer’s eyebrows rise slightly when he gave his name. Knowing the police wouldn’t be on his side in this case, his fear rose. He felt sick, and additional hopelessness filled his mind.
“It was hardly an incident!” Callahan shouted, believing the assault on his person had just been belittled. His indignation raised his voice a few more notches. “Somebody jumped me in the jogging park this morning, cut me real bad, and I never even seen him. Bastard sneaked up behind me like a goddamned coward and slammed me one right over the head.” His whimpering rose as he cried his tale of woe to the cool, hazel-eyed detective. “And now I’m ruined for life!”
Denny stayed out of it. In silent commiseration, he intently observed the official’s attitude. Does he remember Fred as the man they had arrested, but lost the case due to a new officer’s lack of experience? He smiled quietly to himself. Stupid-ass rookie forgot to read him the damned Miranda thing.
The detective scribbled his notes, asked several more questions, and took leave of Callahan with a short, “Thanks.” Then he left to question the attending physician regarding the severity of the injuries.
Finding Dr. Graves, he asked, “What’s your take on this? Any feelings about this sort of injury?”
The doctor replied with a shake of his head. “Plenty as a man, but on the medical side, whoever did this, used a bluish solution on the wounds. Looks like Gentian Violet or Gram’s Stain.” He paused then added, “I find it very unusual that someone thought to use an anti-infective if that was the intention. After all, he must have had one hell of a grudge against the guy. Why try to prevent sepsis? He shook his head again. “When we’re sure what the blue substance is we’ll let you know.”
Harris thanked the doctor. “Save that evidence if you will. We’ll have forensics on it right away. Might be our best clue since Callahan never saw his assailant.”
The detective returned to the patient. Callahan lay on his gurney moaning, warm blankets over him, and a bulky dressing fixed snugly between his legs. Approaching, he heard the man cry out from behind drawn privacy curtains, “Oh God, I’ll never be the same.”
Harris parted the privacy curtains, and returned to Callahan’s side. Beneath his blankets, the patient visibly trembled, pale from the shock of what had happened. He whined in despair as Harris said, “When you’re able, come down to the station. We’ll need to get a more detailed report from you. You’re pretty shook up at the moment, but time may improve your recall of events or anything we might have missed in your report today.” He closed his notebook with a snap and saw Callahan flinch from the sound. “We’ll expect to see you in a couple of days. The doc said you’d likely be up and around by then.”
Harris took his leave and both men watched intently as he walked through the wide double doors of the ER. Callahan wondered about Harris’s feeling toward him. He’d faced this man before in a totally different situation. Did they remember him? He dreaded having to see these authorities again for any reason, in any capacity.
“Thanks, officer, for nothing,” Callahan mumbled at the detective’s departing back. His friend, Denny, sat patiently on the hard brown metal chair. “It went okay, didn’t it? What’d you think?” Callahan asked his very quiet friend.
“Seemed to, but it’s hard to tell about those guys.” Denny frowned, remembering a certain light he’d seen flashing in the cop’s eye a time or two, and the twitching of a lip. Silently, more than certain the officer remembered Fred from prior arrests or court appearances, he didn’t want to douse cold water on his friend at the moment. He mumbled a bit under his breath, but voiced nothing further on the subject. Time will tell, won’t it?
The attending nurse, Helene, came to say, “Mr. Callahan, you can go home as long as you won’t be left alone. We could admit you but you might have to wait most of the night on this gurney because all our beds are full at the moment, might be one later.” She shrugged. “Sorry, it’ll be your choice. We’ve been crazy around here the past few days.” She went on to say, “I have your prescriptions and follow-up care ready when you decide.” With that, she left to attend someone else.
“The place looks like a damned nut house, kids crying and people in wheelchairs, moaning and groaning,” Callahan muttered. “But dammit all to hell, I’ve got complaints, too.” He tried to understand that the staff did their best, triaging the worst of those seeking care according to the severity of their complaint. But in his mind, his immediate, personal worries took precedence over any of the others. He’d been severely injured and these other creeps sitting around meant nothing to him.
“What do you want to do, Fred? I’ll stay with you if you want to go home,” Denny offered.
“I want to go home. This damned cart is hard as a rock and I hurt like hell. If there’s something good and strong for pain in one of those prescriptions, let’s get it on the way home. I want to pass out and forget this fucking nightmare. I can’t believe this! I just can’t!” Callahan felt tears sliding from his eyes as he struggled to sit up. At the sudden onset of fresh pain, he cried out, “Son of a bitch, my ass hurts!” He slumped back onto the gurney, remaining on his side, tears sliding down onto the pillow.
“I’ll tell the nurse we’ll be leaving and go bring the car around,” Denny said. “Maybe the nurse will know how to get you on your feet.”
She returned in a few moments with his paperwork and, placing a sturdy four-legged stool close, instructed him gently, “Just stay on your hip and slide off the gurney,” She said, steadying him as he moved carefully to the side.
Whimpering in renewed pain, he gingerly edged his way off the miserable hospital gurney and, finally, onto unsteady feet.
“Your jogging pants are not useable,” the nurse said. “They were very soiled.” She handed him a blue-striped, hospital issue robe to wear over his hospital gown. “You can wear this home.” She held his shoulder to steady him, helped him into the garment, and carried his soiled clothes in a bag.
Callahan felt dizzy and hung tightly onto the gurney to stay upright until Denny came for him. “I hope I don’t pass out,” he gasped through clench teeth.
The nurse said, “I’ll steady you a bit.” She indicated a wheel chair. “Here, Mr. Callahan, sit in this if you can.”
Callahan refused the appliance. “Hell no, I can’t sit in that damned thing or anything else,” he moaned loudly. “Oh God, I’ll never be all right!”
Fear and misery were permanently etched on his features as Denny came up to him. “Car’s right outside, Fred,” he said frowning. He’d already had a belly full of Callahan’s endless whining and moaning.
Together, they walked out of the hospital. Denny held Callahan’s arm on the right and the nurse took his left. They assisted him onto his side in the back seat of Denny’s old green
Pontiac. The nurse handed him his soiled clothing and hospital paperwork. The two men drove away.
***
The attending doctor sat at his desk. The nurse, Helene, moved close to him as he wrote his notes. “What do you suppose that man did that someone would mutilate him in that way?”
“I don’t know,” he replied. “But someone had him in their sights. It’d take a fiend or somebody with a damn big grudge to do that to a man. My God! I’ve never seen anything like that.” He shuddered. “Fred Callahan sure made someone mad as a hornet. Hell of an enemy!” Somewhere in his mind he had the feeling of familiarity regarding the man, or his name—something rang a bell. He wasn’t sure enough to speak of it, though it nagged the far reaches of his consciousness as he turned to the onrush of other patients.
CHAPTER 4
Martha Lavery heard the phone jangling, loud, insistent, and irritating. Her senses struggled against the depths of a drugged-like slumber. Fumbling about, she reached for the phone, lifted the receiver, and mumbled, “Hullo?”
“Mom, where were you? You were supposed to come for dinner today. It’s Sunday or don’t you remember?” Martha heard her daughter’s insistent voice on the other end of the line. She worked her mind upward from a heavy, fatigue-induced fog, trying to regain her senses.
“Oh, what time is it then?” The encroaching darkness outside her window brought her awake with rising alarm—she’d slept the day away? “Jeannie, I must have been really tired. I think I was up earlier and fell back into bed. Slept too long I guess. How’s Will doing?” she added as memory of her grandson’s plight reached her consciousness.
“About the same—listless, doesn’t play, or want his friends over. No change there.” The pain and tenseness in Jeannie’s voice revealed a mother’s deep pain regarding her emotionally damaged son. “You don’t know if you were up earlier or not? Mom, are you okay—you’re not working too much, are you?”
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