by Drew Avera
I loved to watch my shadow move along the wall, the fiendish devil hot on my heels, dancing to the song of the Pied Piper. The blood trail that I left behind lured the rats and other vermin away from what was the most unholy existence a person was to know. My secrets were still untold, but I contemplated my scheme as the sun fell below the window and I was cast back into my cocoon of darkness. I loved solitary confinement. It was like a warm blanket on a cold winter night. It encapsulated me in a way that made me feel both powerful and protected. I was a god of the darkness, the guards and everyone in this hell knew it was true.
My thoughts were interrupted as the small silver door opened up and a tray of food was placed on the floor. I could tell by the smell that it was the same chicken nuggets that I had for lunch, the same plain foods everyday like clockwork. I relished in the thought that every day was the same. It tended to make you feel immortal if you sat long enough to think about it. Let’s just say that I had enough time to think about it often. I labored over to the food on all fours. My animal instinct taking over; I could have walked, but I was in no rush. I dug into the chicken nuggets and leaned against the cool cement wall, my bare back suddenly feeling the chill that I so enjoyed. I loved solitary confinement. This was where I truly felt like a king, served by others and able to lounge twenty three hours per day.
I heard the tapping of a rock against the wall behind me. It seemed that a fellow prisoner wanted to communicate. I counted the tapping pattern and recognized it as Morse code. I leaned my head against to wall and could feel the taps through my skull, a more efficient delivery method to my brain. The pattern was now repeating, first word "You," followed by "killed" then "Miguel". A smile curled my lip as the next word presented itself, "You," "are," "next". My smile broadened even more as I realized it was a sign that the kings sought vengeance for the death of their little follower. I placed another nugget into my mouth and chewed as the soundtrack of vengeance echoed into my brain. It was only a matter of time before I fell asleep in
Peaceful bliss. My memory of his death and the death of others swallowed me into that haunting place that I loved so much. The darkness was my home and it was a sweet rapture from the reprieve of existence, all set to the whimsical soundtrack of a stone striking against the concrete behind my head, the blissful song of a life that deserved to die.
February 19, 2012
"Is there anything else you can tell us about what happened, Mr. Cavela?" Swenson asked me. He had one foot on a chair as he jotted down notes in a small spiral memo pad. His gruff demeanor and unshaven face made him look more criminal than protector I thought to myself. "Were there any sounds that you can recall hearing before making your rounds, anything at all?" He was leading me and I knew it, still I could not recall anything. I sat there in shock, silently waiting for him to dismiss me.
"Swenson, what's the update?" his partner arrived and looked a lot friendlier than this detective seemed. I had the feeling that he was branding me as an accomplice. "I was at home when the call came through. Sorry, I got here as fast as I could."
"It's all right, Jimmy. I think I've got about as much information out of the witness as I'm gonna get. Follow me and I'll show you what we've got." Swenson escorted Wilson to the hallway where the most horrific thing that I had ever beheld had taken place. It was ingrained in my mind and I knew that it would remain there for a long time. I followed behind and stopped at the corner as they turned right into the mayhem. I leaned against the wall and held my head in my hands as they spoke.
"My, God," Wilson said in a muffled way, I assumed that he was speaking through a handkerchief of something to block out the smell of pooled blood and dismembered bowels.
"Yeah, you ain't kidding," Swenson said. "Forensics are on the way, but near as I can tell it looks like Letum took out the cop seated at the chair first. There's evidence of blunt force trauma to the back of his head which could explain why the IV pole is damaged and lying on the floor. The other cop must have been sleeping and was startled awake based on the fact that he is still hunkered down in the seat that he had been sleeping in earlier when Mr. Cavela made his rounds about an hour prior. It looks like Letum jumped on top of him and began stabbing him with a large hypodermic needle in the neck. After killing him it looks like he took his time with the rest."
I could hear both men stepping around the bloodied floor examining the bodies. I could not bring myself to look, but I didn't need to. The image would be permanently planted in my mind after what I had witnessed.
"It looks like the bloody footprints lead to the stairwell. We're gonna need to get footage from the security cameras and try to figure out which direction he went," Wilson stated.
"Already on it, Jim, the security guys don't work nights, but the hospital staff called them in. They should be here within minutes, I would assume. What do you think Letum plans on doing?"
"I don't know, but if I were him I would lie low for a while. This isn't the kind of city to wander about aimlessly in."
"Yeah, well I don't know if you've gathered this or not, but he ain't exactly all there in the head," Swenson said.
I heard a few footsteps approaching as Detective Wilson stepped back around the corner. "Mr. Cavela, do you keep a log of your rounds?" Wilson asked me.
"Um, yeah, but I don't normally update it until the end of the night," I replied.
"Is that hospital policy?" Swenson asked as he stepped back into view.
"I can't really say; it's the way I was taught to do things when I got hired on," I said quickly, hoping that they would take my word on that. The truth is I had never read the policy, I just took the job because the pay on night shift was better and there was less work to do.
"Sounds a lot like some bullshit if you ask me," Swenson said and I could see Wilson shake his head in agreement.
"I'm serious, Detective."
"I'm sure you are," Wilson chimed in. "Now if you'll be so kind as to bring me the log, now."
I turned around and headed back to the nurse’s station to grab the log. It was sitting on the desk untouched since I had started this shift six hours prior. There was no way to cover up the fact that I was not properly doing my job, and I knew it. I grabbed the log and walked back to where the detectives were standing and held it out to Detective Wilson.
"Thank you. I can see you weren't kidding about not updating it until the end of your shift. How do you keep track of any medications given on your shift?"
"I just remember it and log it later," I said flatly.
"Right, well I'm going to have to confiscate this as evidence. It will be used on my report along with what you said about updating it. You can expect a call from the station at some point tomorrow. Have a good night, Mr. Cavela." Both men walked away to greet the forensics team as they entered the psych ward. I could see them speaking with some of the street cops who were entering as well and Swenson pointed at me. I looked to see that the hospital director was speaking with them and was shaking his head. I leaned against the desk of the nurse’s station nervously. I could see the director's face turning red with anger as he spoke to the police officer standing in their group. The officer turned to face me and shook his head as if he were acknowledging an order from his superior. I wished that I could say I didn't know what was coming, but as he removed his handcuffs from his belt as he approached I could see exactly where this night was heading. I stood up on shaky legs and accepted was about to come.
"Mr. Cavela," he said politely.
"Yes, sir," I answered.
"You're under arrest for willful medical negligence," he said as he placed the cuffs around my wrist. "You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to an attorney," he continued to speak as the blood rushed to my head as I realized how much worse this night had become. The police officer led me by the arm and I saw the two detectives and the hospital director as we moved past them, and headed towards the police car waiting out
side.
June 12, 2014
The black skirt and blue blouse made me look a bit more formal than I honestly felt comfortable with. I looked into the mirror and saw my reflection, but emotionally I was disconnected from what I was seeing. My mind was racing, not because of graduation, but because this major life event was clouded by the loss of my sister, Sarah. Twenty months was not enough time for those wounds to heal, I very seriously doubted they ever would heal, or if I really wanted them to. I looked down and stepped into my dress shoes with my left foot first, followed by the right. The one inch heel was exactly one more inch than I was used to and I felt a pang of anxiety that I might trip and fall down the stairs. Wouldn't that be ironic, the clumsy girl with the tragic life meets her end at the bottom of the stairs? I was about to smile at the thought when I looked into the mirror and noticed the edge of the scar that along my collarbone that was peeking out from behind my blouse. That was enough to trigger a somber response. I touched the scar with the tip of my finger and knew that this scar was deeper than the wounded flesh that I was touching. It was much deeper than anyone could ever know.
A knock at the door startled me and I turned to see my mother opening the door. "We're about ready to leave, Sam," she said smiling at me while dabbing at a tear with a tissue. "Do you need more time?"
"I think I'm ready, Mom," I replied as I grabbed the silver class ring off of my dresser. I placed it on my finger and looked at the Alexandrite stone that reflected the ambient lighting in the room. It was our birthstone, Sarah’s and mine. It was also a light shade of purple which was her favorite color. It helped me to remember her, the beautiful stone for the memory of my beautiful sister. I looked up at my mother as I walked towards her. "Let's get this over with."
She took my hand in hers and led me down the stairs into the living room of our suburban home. We had moved here a few months after Sarah's death to get away from the memory of what had happened in that house. It was the second move in less than a year all because of that sadistic madman who tried to kill me and then came back for revenge; that time killing my sister instead. The house was nice, but it didn't feel like a home. Instead it felt like a waiting room in a hospital. My mother had a hard time dealing with what had happened and often stayed up all night to clean the house and remove what little clutter there might have been. We existed in a very sterile environment. I say existed because this did not feel like living.
"There's my graduate," Dad said with a wry smile. He extended his handout to me and took it. He wrapped his arms around me and held me close. "I'm so proud of you," he picked up a small bouquet of flowers and handed them to me. They were purple Lilies and Lilacs, both mine and Sarah's favorite flowers. My father had a slightly better time dealing with her death, but the way he tended to cope with it was by using me to represent both Sarah and I. I felt like I was living two lives sometimes.
I took the flowers from his hand and smiled as a tear welled in my eye. "Thank you, Daddy," I said as I lifted my mouth up to kiss his cheek.
"You're more than welcome, sweetheart. I've just got one question for you," he added.
"What's that?"
"You never told your mother and me what you plan to do now that high school is over."
I had been trying to avoid this question for months, not because I didn't know, but because I knew they would not like the answer. "I'm going to go to school," I replied.
"We know that, Sam. We just wanna know what area of study you have planned," Mom jumped in.
"I was thinking about criminal justice," I said hesitantly.
They both looked at each other and didn't question my decision. Instead my mother grabbed my hand to lead me out the front door. "Well that sounds nice, doesn't it dear," she said to my father who was walking behind us.
"Yeah, that does sound nice," he said as he shut the door behind us. The warm June air blew across my face and tossed the small locks of my black hair to the side as I followed my mother to the car. The door handle was hot to the touch as I opened it and sat down on the plush cushioned seat. My dad climbed into the driver's seat and cranked the car. My mother did as she always did and changed the radio station with no regard for what was currently playing, it was just her thing; as soon as the car came to life she began flipping switches and turning knobs.
"Just think, Sam. In about two hours you'll have a diploma," she said between radio stations.
"Yeah," I replied unable to conceive of this day with the hole I felt in my heart. Dad smiled at me with a little encouraging wink as he turned to back the car out of the driveway. I smiled back and looked back down at my class ring and turned it with my other hand. I read the back side first, with my name embossed on the top and the school mascot, a bobcat under my name. I twirled it again and read Sarah's name with a cross embossed on that side. I would carry her with me, always. March 22, 2020
"What I would appreciate is a little cooperation, Martinez," he said with a gruff voice. The Police Chief had been under fire all week after what had happened between me and Cason Letum. The attempt at killing a murderer became just damned media frenzy, one where the liberals cried injustice and demanded my badge and my freedom.
"I'm not working against you," I muttered softly, still seated in the hard backed chair in front of his desk. His tone softened as he saw how the stress was wearing on me.
"I know," he said softly as he sat on the corner of his desk and looked at me. "Not a single person in this department thinks that what you did was unjustified. It's just these fucking politicians playing their little money games. They cater to whoever is the biggest contributor to their reelection and the rest of us will be damned to do anything about it. My hands are tied, Sam. I'm sorry,"
"What do you mean your hands are tied?" I asked.
"Involuntary suspension without pay, psychiatric evaluations, and I need your badge and your gun. That's how my hands are tied."
"How long is the suspension?"
"Until the psych evaluation concludes that you're not a threat and we know if the district attorney is going to press charges." I could see his face grow whiter as he said that.
"You're holding back," I said.
Chief Sawyer exhaled and looked up at the ceiling. "It's not a matter of if they press charges, Sam. It's a matter of which charges are filed. With the circus surrounding this incident I have to say I'm shocked the judge granted bail in the first place," he said with a hint of aggravation.
"Tell me how you really feel," I said as I pulled my badge out of my purse.
"It's not like that, but I don't honestly see a good outcome for this, I'm sorry. Here," he said as he pulled a yellow post it off his desk and jotted down some numbers with his pen. "This is the number to one of the best attorneys in the state of Illinois. If anyone can help keep this down to a manageable level then it's him. Do me a favor, and yourself a favor, and give him a call."
"I understand, thank you" I said as I stood up and placed my badge and weapon on his desk. I grabbed the post it from his hand and folded it in half to place it in my back pocket. "I'm sorry for what I did, but it's not an excuse. Thank you for taking the heat on this and for trying to save my job."
He stood up tall and wrapped his arms around me and patted me on the back. "Hang in there, Sam. If nothing else then maybe the psychiatrist can help you to come to terms with what Letum did to you and your family."
"Thank you for the sentiment, but I won't hold my breath for that to happen," I turned away and walked toward the Chief's office door. The gold doorknob felt warm in my hand as I turned it. I looked back at Chief Sawyer before I closed the door behind me and he half smiled at me in return.
I felt as if I were walking through a cell block as I strolled through the department I was no longer a part of. Homicide was my calling, in more ways than one. I had spent five years with the police department, four of which were with the Homicide Unit. As I walked by the eyes of my colleagues followed me, and I felt their judgment for what I had done.
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Perhaps Sawyer was wrong, and not everyone understood why I had done what I had. To tell the truth, I wasn't quite sure myself. The elevators down button illuminated after I pressed it and a small ding alerted me of the door opening. I stepped into the elevator and pressed the button that would take me to the ground floor. I looked in the offices to see the busy bodies working on their homicide cases as the doors drew shut. It was then I saw my reflection and realized I had been crying by the smeared mascara that ran down my face. I placed my hand on the elevator door and felt the gentle movement of the seven-level decent that brought me to the ground floor. I wiped at my face with a napkin to remove as much of the blotched makeup as I could before the doors opened. The small ding sounded and the doors opened, that moment was followed by an onslaught of camera flashes and microphones being shoved into my face. I ignored the questions and forced my way through the lobby to where I had parked my car. The stalkers followed me all the way to my car and compressed themselves around my car even after I put it in gear. I squeezed my eyes shut as I honked the horn and applied the gas, hopeful that I would not hurt any of them who were too intent to capture this hellish moment in my life. February 19, 2012
The jostling movement of the rail car stirred me from my restless slumber. The darkness was intermittent as sunlight crept through the rusted holes along the walls and roof of my compartment. I groaned as I pushed myself up to lean against a dirty wooden crate that was labeled with some kind of military or government shipping numbers. My best guess was military since it seemed to contain some kind of aircraft part or something. I pulled the gray shirt up to inspect my gunshot wounds and grimaced as the shirt pulled away from the caked up blood. It had been about sixteen hours since my escape and I was both hungry and exhausted. The pain from my wounds was more than I had anticipated it would be. I supposed that the drugs had worn off completely a few hours after boarding the rail car.
