by Ronnie Allen
“Looks like a DOA, guys, and we can’t get to the exit.”
They sat frustrated and restless. What were they going to do now? Shipman got on the phone to find out if there was another team close to the situation. He cursed the Lenco for not sprouting wings.
***
John approached at a run, less than two minutes after the page.
Bill, Hal’s attendant, rubbed his sweaty palms on his white uniform. “He’s tearing the place apart, Doc. He locked himself in.”
John peered through the plexi-glass windows on the closed swinging doors and confirmed the HT was his patient. He saw Hal wave the large blade through the air as if he was leading an orchestra and dancing to music. It had to be that he heard music again. John couldn’t see the hostages. It was safe, for the moment.
Damn! Another setback Hal didn’t need.
John’s gaze remained on Hal. “Bill, he should have been in rec room now, so how did he get downstairs?” His tone conveyed he intended to nail someone for this. “Why didn’t the alarm sound when the door was opened?”
“Repair techs were working on the system. It was down less than three minutes. I’m sorry, Doc, I just turned my back for a second.”
“All right, I’m trying to find out what I’m up against here, Bill. Who’s he with?”
Bill hesitated.
“Come on, Bill! This is not going to fly!”
“Stan.”
John was distraught that Stan was in such a volatile situation. Stan was his friend, who made him sandwiches, prepared meals for him to order, and had done so for the past ten years. Stan couldn’t handle this stress, not with his newly diagnosed heart condition.
“We’ll talk later.”
Bill got the message. “Sure, Doc, and the new kid, Bobby, is in there with him.”
While Bill spoke, John didn’t take his gaze off the situation in the kitchen. “Yeah, knew he was coming in today, but they were late sending his file. Stan’s usually good with these kids. I had an intern interview him and bring him down here.”
A female attendant Debbie, who was in her thirties, ran up and stood directly in front of John. He wanted all of the facts, fast and counted on his staff to have them on demand. He thought he was going to get more information, but instead, she zoned out, looking into his eyes.
John watched her in amazement. Obviously, she didn’t perceive the people around her who stared at her, hiding their laughter. She let out a lustful sigh. It did break some tension of the situation, but that was the last thing John wanted.
He smirked, at first, at her approach, then his expression changed to an emotionless stare. He knew his effect on women. He’d had that effect on them since he was a teenager. They all swooned. He’d learned to live with it.
The clang of metal pots thrown onto the floor inside the kitchen startled Debbie. She shook her head and blurted it out. “He attacked Bobby with a knife.”
John didn’t stir. He watched Hal throw the pots toward the cabinets, but John responded to her comment. “How bad?”
The petite brunette didn’t impress him. His heart belonged to Vicki. Not getting an answer to his question, he stared at her. He met her stagnant gaze, as he glared her down into a humiliated sweat.
He pressed the intercom button on the wall so he could hear all the conversation and ruckus inside the kitchen. He’d demand answers later.
“Everyone back please.” John glared for a moment, until the staff followed his directives, then he returned his focus to his knife-wielding patient. “Hal, you hear me?” Silence. “Hal, answer me.”
“Yeah.”
“Hal, you know who I am, right?” The first step he wanted to take was to make sure his patient knew who he was talking to.
“Yeah, Doc Trenton.”
“Good, Hal, that’s right. I’m Dr. Trenton.” He stressed “doctor” to show his patient how to address him in a formal manner. His attitude and austere presence commanded respect. Unfortunately, this worked against him at times, too. He was the go-to guy in all crises in this facility, even if they weren’t his own patients. He would never say “No” to any request to assist.
“Get me outta here,” Bobby screamed at the top of his lungs. “I’m bleedin’ to death!”
Bill shook his head. “That’s Bobby.”
“The baby’s not bleedin,’ but he will if he don’t shut up!”
“Hal, I can’t hear you with Bobby screaming in there. Can you tell me what’s going on? You need to clear things up for me, Hal.” John glanced at Bill. “Did he have his med and supplements this morning?”
“Yes, he did.”
“I’m gonna kill them!” Hal jumped up and down then ran toward Stan and Bobby, thrusting the blade a couple of inches in front of them, but not making contact.
That’s not good. Man, this doesn’t get any easier.
“Can you come closer to the door, I still can’t hear you.”
“I can hear ya just fine, Dr. Trenton,” Hal said in a mocking tone.
“This is good,” John told Bill. “He’s responding. We can do this. Good, Hal, I just want to make sure everyone is okay. Hal, how did you get blood on yourself?”
Before Hal could respond, Bobby yelled from inside. “He cut himself across his chest and he cut me, too!”
“Shut up or I’ll stab ya for real this time, asshole.”
“I need you to talk to me, Hal, and no one else.”
Damn! His mind still isn’t off the others. But he’s giving good, rational responses.
“What about you Hal? Are you still bleeding?”
“It stopped already.”
John realized this was not a psychotic or schizophrenic episode. This was very deliberate and thought out, or Bobby would have been another one of Hal’s kills.
Now I just have to figure out what he wants.
“All right, I want you to talk to me, Hal. You’re the important one.”
Bobby jumped up in his own tantrum. “No, he’s not, what about us, you prick?”
John was taken aback and he almost laughed. He swallowed hard in an attempt to regain composure. He whispered to Bill, “Was prick meant for me?” He hadn’t gotten back talk in years and now regretted having an intern interview Bobby, instead of himself.
“Oh, man, I think so.”
“John got a glimpse of Stan grabbing onto his chest. “Bobby shut up!” Stan said.
“Up yours, old man.”
“How are you doing, Stan?” John asked.
“My breathing’s a little tight. But I’ll be okay.”
“Hal, why don’t you be the good guy and let Stan out for his medication? You know what it’s like when you need your meds, right?”
“No! He ain’t leaving!”
Two hostage negotiator NYPD officers from Manhattan North, Larry Sutton and Jeff Wallace, pushed their way through the staff. Sutton covered the intercom speaker with his hand. “How’s it going, Dr. Trenton? We can take over from here. ESU’s on their way.”
“What are you doing?” John demanded. “Wallace, Sutton, thanks, but I’ve got it. You can stay here and listen. Just don’t get in my way.” John received competitive glares from both of them. “Hey,” he growled. “You know the drill. I start. I finish. If you guys remember, I taught the certification course on this. Look, I can’t waste time debating with you. One of the hostages isn’t well. Hands off.”
Sutton grimaced but nodded.
“All right, Hal,” John said. “What do you want me to do to help you?”
“I can’t take anymore. I’m stuck in this place. I got no visitors for three years--three fuckin’ years. Everybody in rec room was getting visitors today. And I get no fuckin’ nuttin, no pictures, no nuttin.”
“I know how you feel, Hal.” John took a moment. “My parents left me alone and moved to Florida, and I don’t have any brothers or sisters, either. So, help me understand, Hal, who do you want to visit you?”
“He killed everyone in his family! Wh
o’d he expect to visit?”
“Bobby, be quiet when Dr. Trenton is talking,” Stan ordered.
How does Bobby know that Hal killed his family?
John heard the raspy quality of Stan’s voice. He needed to get in there. He rubbed his forehead. “Pull up Bobby’s file, please. It has to be here by now,” he told Debbie. “Fast. He’s adding time Stan doesn’t have.”
Hal lunged at Bobby and grabbed him by the arm. “I’ve been killing since I’ve been fourteen, a few more won’t make a difference.”
John saw Bobby swing at Hal with his clenched fists. Hal let him go and pushed him away, hard and fast.
I only know about the five murders when he was twenty-one.
“Hal, don’t do that. I know it isn’t your fault. You didn’t mean to cut Bobby. He provoked you. No one else needs to get hurt, so tell me what you want.”
“Go away.”
“Why do you want me to go away, Hal?”
“So I can kill ’em.”
Sutton put his hand over the intercom. “Look, Dr. Trenton, you’ve been at it awhile and it’s not working. Let us go in.”
“That’s not happening if I can help it. Move your hand, Sutton.”
Sutton opened his palm and pulled his hand away.
John turned his back on the negotiators. “Stan, how are you holding up?”
“I’m okay, Doc.”
John doubted Stan was telling him the truth but he was still able to talk. The doctor contemplated his next words before he responded, knowing he had to be very careful. “Hal, how long have we known each other?”
“Since I been fourteen.”
“That’s right, Hal, ten years now, and I’m the reason you’re here and not in prison, right?”
“Yeah.”
“So you know I can’t let you do that, right?”
“Yeah.”
“So how about you come out and we can talk in my office? Let’s end this now.”
“No, I ain’t comin’ out! I ain’’t comin’ out! You can’t make me!”
John put his own hand over the intercom, this time, addressing Bill and the negotiators. “It’s been over an hour. I’m not waiting anymore. I’m going in. Can’t afford to make Hal any angrier. And Stan needs medical attention.” He removed his hand from the mouthpiece. “Okay, Hal, okay, so let me come in and we can talk about it man to man.”
“I ain’t no man.”
“Yeah, he ain’t no man. He ain’t got no balls!”
“Bobby, you and I are going to get to know each other real well when this is over.”
“Yeah, yeah.”
John turned to Bill. “They both sound alike.” He could see there was be a very fine line for Bobby to cross over to being a patient here. “Yes, you are, Hal. You’re over eighteen. That’s why you’re here. How about I come in?”
“You alone?”
“Just me and the hospital people. You know them all.”
“No cops?” Hal whined.
The cardinal rule against lying to a patient took precedence so John modified his response. “No cops are coming in Hal, absolutely no cops. You sound disappointed.”
“Yeah, they’d come in with guns blasting and it would be over--one, two, three--just like on TV.”
John put his hand over the intercom and leaned toward Bill and the negotiators. “Now I know what he wants, suicide by cop, and that’s not happening, not on my watch.” He removed his hand and spoke directly into the intercom. “Hal, okay if I come in?”
Bill laid a hand on John’s arm. “But, Dr. Trenton, with all due respect, it’s against protocol.”
“Believe me, Bill, I know that, but I can’t risk it, not with Bobby in there. Got to make an executive decision.”
Sutton shook his head. “Dr. Trenton, the lieutenant will have your head on a platter.”
“I’ll let him have it if I can’t save Hal.”
“So let one of us go in. We’re armed.”
“Sutton, that’s exactly why you’re not going in.” John leaned toward the intercom mic. “Hal, may I come in?”
Hal clutched the knives to show his power, almost daring John to take him down. “Yeah.”
Hal, don’t make me have to get physical with you. Damn, I hate doing that.
Hal held one serrated butcher knife in each hand, ready to strike when John entered. He threatened the two huddled in a corner. “Try to warn him and you’ll get dead!”
Stan and Bobby remained squatted down by the counters while Hal stood in the middle of the room in an open area.
John opened the swinging door in slow motion, so as not to startle Hal. Bobby, crouched in the corner, finally saw Dr. Trenton for the first time. John’s eyes conveyed that he had zero tolerance for insubordination. Bobby keeled over, holding his stomach, and broke out into a sweat. John nodded at Bobby, satisfied that he’d gotten a reaction from him.
With dominance permeating from his inner core, John still approached Hal with caution, watching him hold the blades and getting ready to attack. “You know I’m not armed, right?”
As John’s adrenalin pumped, he felt the surge of energy in every cell in his body. The rushing blood through his veins made his temperature rise. His focus and determination increased. His stamina increased. He was in power mode. He’d trained himself that way, intending to save a life. His ego thrived on his self-made energy. He’d sleep well tonight.
CHAPTER 3
“I want him taken out of the house today. Damn it. He came back to us with a broken arm!”
“Hold on, please.”
Dr. Barbara Montgomery, PhD, school psychologist, heard music play. Her jaw tightened. She was ready to explode when that social worker came back on the phone.
Calm down, Barbara.
She stiffened as she sat in a plain wood chair tucked into a worn teacher’s desk that had been aged with notes written on the wood, coffee and food stains. She doodled different shaped hearts on it herself as she panned her office, checking out the new paint job in her twelve foot by fifteen foot space on the third floor of an elementary school in the Sheepshead Bay section of Brooklyn.
She had been in many schools but this was the first one where the principal, Mrs. Sarah Bennett, had asked the teachers and staff what colors they wanted their rooms painted. Barbara had chosen a light blue and pale yellow for her home away from home because it had a calming effect on her students.
Even the window shades covering the massive floor-to-ceiling windows had new light blue shades. The bookcases under the windows, running the full length of the wall, had come out a darker blue than she had envisioned them, but she was stuck with it. The pale yellow walls didn’t compliment the blue either. She loved matchy-matchy, but her time here would end soon enough. The thought of it made her want to get up and do a happy dance.
Hearing the voice on the other end of the line at Child Protective Services, brought Barbara out of her reflection.
“Dr. Montgomery, all right, Dr. Cohen said he spoke to you about Jeremiah in detail.”
“Yes, he did. So now I expect him to carry through on what he told me he would do.”
“Yes, he will. We’ll take care of it this afternoon, Dr. Montgomery.”
“Thank you. I have to go. I’ll call you for a follow-up in a few days. Bye.” She hung up smiling. She had saved another child.
Getting her clipboard and the evaluations sheet she needed for her student’s observation from her desk drawer, she got up and pushed in her chair a little too hard this time, causing the roller ball on the bottom of one leg to fall off. Anger did that to her.
Damn! Just a little while longer, Barbara. Have patience.
She put her left hand in her jacket pocket and clutched the tumbled, rutilated-quartz stone. She needed all the strength she could muster. The stone’s energy started at her feet and gushed like a stream, running north to her head. She took a deep breath, stood straight, dusted some lint off her double-breasted, navy, three-piece suit, and kicked t
he roller ball under her desk.
She opened her door and noticed that the black floor tiles in the hall still needed a cleaning from the paint job. Before she took a step, she mentally navigated her path. She’d never forgive herself if she got paint on her navy sneakers. She entered the down stairwell and, wincing at the rancid odor of the paint job, covered her nose and mouth.
As she descended to the second floor, she heard uncontrolled screams of anger coming from a classroom. Sounded like a major fight going on while the teacher shrieked unintelligible words. As she opened the second floor stairwell door, she realized the commotion was coming from the classroom she’d be visiting.
Standing outside the closed wooden door of room 215 and observing through the plexi-glass windows on the top third of the door, she assessed right away that the problem in this room was not the children. Thirty six-year-olds were doing their own thing, ignoring their teacher of one year, Miss Klein, who was at her wit’s end. They were running and chasing each other around the perimeter of the room. Some played a boxing video game in the corner and wrestled over whose turn it was, as one girl pulled another one’s braids. Two others engaged in a knock-down-drag-out fight. Considering the screaming she heard, Barbara knew this wasn’t center time or any constructive activity.
The teacher’s high-pitched squeals came out as raspy screeches. “Sit down, sit down. I told you not to do that! I can’t take you anymore!” It was obvious this teacher did not want to be there. Nor did she belong here wearing skintight jeans with a low V-neck sweater showing too much cleavage. And her long greasy hair was in pig tails. Seriously? Barbara crinkled her nose in disgust. Better now than in front of the class.
“He hit me in the eye with his pencil, Miss Klein,” Little Treasure said. With her hair in cornbraids, held at the ends with about twenty brightly colored barrettes, she looked up at her teacher with pitiful eyes.
“Kyle, what did you do? Why are you poking her again? Can’t you behave?”
