Killer Career

by Mandel, Morgan

“Mr. Donovan, this is Sergeant O’Connor. How are you doing?”

  Dade’s stomach flopped. Reminders of the accident hurt deep, leaving a bad taste in his mouth. He’d killed someone. It didn’t matter he hadn’t meant to. The results were the same.

  “I’m doing better, Sergeant. The doctor confirmed I’m leaving at the end of the week.”

  “Good. Listen, I need to talk to you. We checked over your vehicle.”

  Papers rustled. Dade stifled his impatience, as the man took his time, poking through the file.

  “Mr. Donovan, you can thank your lucky stars you’re alive. Your brake line was cut. There’s also the matter of the driver’s side air bag being disabled. You didn’t arrange that, did you?”

  “No. I had no reason to. Hell, I didn’t even think about that air bag. It should have gone off.”

  “Right. My advice is to watch your back. Someone’s out to get you. Off hand, can you think of any candidates?”

  “In my profession all sorts of people get mad at me, but to go to such lengths to get even is stretching it.”

  “Well, don’t take this lightly. Let me know if you come up with a lead.”

  “Fine, officer, and thanks.” Dade slowly hung up the phone.

  The script was straight out of a Grade B movie. Whoever hated him had succeeded in committing murder, but the poor guy in the Cavalier had been the victim instead of the real target.

  Dade shut his eyes tight, but couldn’t erase the vision of the other driver. He’d never forget the terrified look on the man’s face. It would live in his nightmares forever. And the poor wife, how was she doing? He’d asked the police for her contact information, but they’d said she didn’t want to talk to anyone but immediate family. He would not intrude on her grief. He’d done enough.

  Damn, the whole thing reminded him too much of Todd, who’d lost Laura in the accident with the drunken driver.

  “Are you all right?”

  “Oh, hi, Avery. I didn’t see you.”

  “Of course not. Your eyes were closed. Plus you’ve got a massive frown on your face. Do you need more pain meds?”

  “No, that’s not necessary. I’m fine.”

  “No, you’re not. Tell me what’s wrong,” she said, dangling a small paper bag in front of him. “If you don’t, I’ll eat all of Mom’s chocolate chip cookies.”

  Dade drew a long sigh. “Okay, I give up.”

  He hated to alarm her, but maybe they should all be on guard. Someone hated him enough to cut his brakes. Who knows where it might end?

  “Strange stuff is going on. I just got a call from Sergeant O’Connor from the investigation unit. My brake line was cut.”

  “He can’t be serious. Who would do that?”

  “Hell if I know. I’ve stepped on enough attorneys’ toes, had my share of disappointed clients and fakers, but none stand out in my mind.”

  “What about that crazy secretary? What’s her name, Nora something? Could she have done it? You know, the one who screwed up your computers?”

  “I must not have told you. She’ll never hurt anyone again. The poor thing committed suicide. Apparently, Nora had more baggage than any of us knew.”

  “That’s horrible, the poor thing. Listen, Dade, I don’t want anything happening to you. You can’t let this rest. Whoever it was might try again and you might not be so lucky.”

  “I know I have to figure this out, but for now I’ve got other considerations.”

  “What could be more important than your life?”

  “I’m worried about Julie. She’s got health problems. Do you think you could go over and have a talk with her? She needs it.”

  He filled Avery in on Julie’s dizzy spells.

  “It may turn out to be nothing, but, just in case, we’ve got to be there for her.”

  “We always have and always will be. After all, she’s one of us,” Avery said, nodding solemnly.

  * * *

  The hospital room was so cold her teeth chattered. Julie took one look at the MRI machine, then back at the doorway where she’d come in. She could still escape.

  She didn’t want to do this, but had to. She trusted Dr. Crane. Though some doctors disagreed with his thinking, he insisted that a normal MRI would be more accurate than the Open MRI she would rather use.

  The long cylinder gleamed, mocking her fear. The thought of lying in that small confined space made perspiration dribble down her back. What if she got stuck?

  A white-coated technician, with cocoa colored skin, asked for the prescription sheet. With a reassuring flash of white teeth, he said, “This won’t hurt a bit.”

  “That’s good.” Julie tried to sound nonchalant, as if lying inside a closed-up tube was an everyday occurrence.

  The technician explained the procedure would take about forty minutes as views were taken from various angles.

  He held out a pair of earplugs. “Please put these on, miss, to protect your ears. I’m sorry we can’t provide you with any music today, but the CD player isn’t working.”

  “That’s okay. I’ll manage.” The earplugs almost dropped as she reached for them with trembling hands.

  Here goes nothing. She took a deep breath. Following the technician’s instructions, she climbed the two tiny steps up to the white sheeted table and lay flat on her back. He cradled her head in a helmet-like contraption for stabilization.

  The room was so cold. Her eyes hurt from the bright lights. She closed them tight to shut out the glare.

  “Ready,” he asked.

  Never. “Yes,” she said, though what she really wanted to do was jump off the table and run away.

  “If you need me, I’ll be in the adjoining room. I’ll hear anything you say through the microphone. Now let’s begin. Don’t worry. You’ll do fine.”

  The table moved forward, further and further, until she was deep in the recesses of the narrow tube. She was trapped. She couldn’t do this. She had to. She bit her lip and scrunched her eyelids tight, forcing herself to stay put.

  The darkness took on a light of its own, changing to reds and greens. She began to pray.

  Suddenly the jackhammers clanged, intruding into her narrow space. She clenched her teeth.

  Holding herself as still as possible, she felt the machine move back and forth, as it examined the hidden layers of her skull from different aspects. Strange, how minutes could creep by so slowly when you were in agony.

  “The next test will be four minutes,” the technician said.

  The one preceding it had lasted two minutes. This would take twice as long. She couldn’t stand it. She had to get out. Sweat formed on her forehead. Her foot itched. It took every ounce of will power to remain still.

  She tried to count, but lost track of the numbers and had to start all over again.

  “Only one left,” the technician said. “This will take two minutes.”

  The last few minutes dragged out longer than all of the other ones combined.

  “That’s it. You’re done,” he finally said. “I’ll be right there. Stay put.”

  As the table moved out of the machine, the cold settled on her arms, which were still wet from perspiration. She couldn’t stop shaking.

  It’s over, her mind said. The rest of her didn’t seem to listen.

  “When you’re ready, sit up,” she heard him say.

  She could barely move but she sure didn’t want to stay.

  Julie slowly opened her eyes. Bright light stabbed them. With shaking fingers, she pulled out the earplugs. Gripping the sides of the table, she turned her legs.

  Putting a foot down, she swayed.

  “Are you all right,” the technician asked.

  “I’ll manage.”

  “Let me help you.”

  He put his arm under the elbow. With legs wobbling, she managed to step down the stairs.

  “Your doctor will get the results in forty-eight hours, maybe sooner.”

  Fresh fear hit her. She’d been so involved in the
ordeal, she’d overlooked why it was necessary.

  Trying to appear unconcerned, she thanked the technician and wished him a nice day. Inside, the terror built.

  The results - - the words were cold, like the room she’d left. Neon reflected off the waxed floors, casting a surreal glow, as her wobbly legs took her down the hallway and through the revolving glass doors.

  When she stepped into the mid-August sunlight, her lungs shed the cold hospital air and filled themselves with warmth. She was back in the real world. She’d faced down her claustrophobia and survived.

  * * *

  Dr. Crane’s office looked the same as usual. The sign-in sheet sat on the ledge by the receptionist. Magazines rested in the wall racks and spread across various end tables. The cinnamon colored tweed chairs clustered together in twos and threes.

  The setting didn’t fool her. She knew the truth. This was all a mask. Beneath the deceptive normality lay something horrid. By its very benign nature, the room took on hideous dimensions.

  Until now, she’d never realized the heartache that dwelled here. Behind the adjoining door, leading to the inner sanctum, terror and pain reigned. There, in cubicle-like rooms, patients discovered how their bodies had betrayed them. What terrible things would she learn? What was the matter with her? A frisson of fear streaked up and down her spine.

  Julie grabbed a magazine off the rack and headed to the nearby chair. She turned its glossy pages, but they didn’t distract her. The vibrant beautiful bodies staring back were all inhabitants of another world, the “Never-Never Land” of smiling, healthy people.

  A rhythmic sound interrupted her efforts at serenity. A pimple-faced teenager with earphones tapped his foot to the CD player on his lap. The volume was so intense the bass vibrated into her eardrums, scratching the nerve endings. She wanted to yank that CD player off his head, throw it on the floor and grind it into tiny little pieces.

  If only it were that simple. The gesture might make her feel good, but it wouldn’t cure her illness.

  Julie sighed and shifted in her seat, trying to ignore the scratchy tweed. Within the hour she’d receive her test results and it would all be over, for better or for worse.

  Balancing her work schedule with numerous out-patient tests at Northwestern Memorial had been a feat onto itself, but she’d followed Dr. Crane’s orders and taken an echocardiogram, a CT scan, an ear exam, a six hour glucose test, tons of blood work, and last, the most frightening of all, the MRI, which still gave her the willies.

  “Julie McGuire,” the nurse said, smiling and beckoning toward the door to the inner sanctum.

  She’d been summoned, yet she was reluctant to leave the safety of her chair. Julie took a deep breath and followed the nurse to a small room.

  “The doctor will be with you shortly.”

  In doctor’s office code that meant at least twenty more minutes.

  As she waited, she read the wall charts and tried not to think of her test results. It was no use. She wanted the waiting to be over. She wanted to know what was wrong. When she did know, would she wish she didn’t?

  After an agonizing half hour, the doorknob turned. As Dr. Crane stepped in, Julie’s heart leapt into her throat. She gripped the edge of the chair.

  He glanced down at the chart in his hands. His eyes held a kindly expression as he said, “Ms. McGuire, you passed all the tests with flying colors, except for one.”

  Please God, don’t let it be a bad one.

  He paused for an eternity.

  What’s wrong with me? Say it. Get it over with. She bit her lip to keep from yelling the words out loud. Tightening her grip on the edge of the chair, she fought back a wave of dizziness.

  “Doctor, which one did I fail,” she asked in almost a whisper.

  * * *

  Dade wheeled himself into the court room, plopped his briefcase on the desk facing the Arbitrator and pulled out the file. He went through the motions of pleading Edna Butler’s case and shooting down the defense attorney’s arguments. He’d rather not be here, but he’d do his best for his client.

  He’d offered to stay with Julie when she heard the test results. She’d refused, saying Edna’s case had been postponed too long.

  “Your client needs you. I’ll be all right.”

  What about you, Julie? Don’t you need me?

  It was plain she didn’t want him around and that hurt. So he went to the trial. Now he could kick himself for letting his pride get the better of him. He should have asked for a continuance so he could be with Julie. She shouldn’t be alone. What if it was bad news?

  Damn, he was stupid. If only Avery or Mom could have been there with her, but Julie had insisted Mom not know about the situation and Avery was covering a hostage situation.

  The trial dragged on. It wasn’t until after one when Dade was finally able to wheel himself out of the Thompson building and head back to the office.

  She must have returned by now. She’d said she’d tell him everything, no matter what. He needed to know. The uncertainty was killing him.

  And what about Julie? Was something killing her? He’d soon find out.

  * * *

  Julie sat behind her desk, papers strewn about. She looked normal and seemed to be concentrating on a file. Was it an act?

  Dade’s heart pounded. He was afraid to ask, but he had to know.

  “Julie, what happened? What did the doctor say?”

  She looked up and gave him a small smile. “It could be worse. The tests were all normal except for my blood sugar. I’m hypoglycemic. Dr. Crane says my blood sugar dropped to fifty-seven on the test and it should have been at least seventy. He says improper diet, stress and lack of sleep are probably what caused all those symptoms: dizziness, vertigo, shakiness, headaches. He warned me to change my regimen or I’ll get organ damage.”

  “Did he prescribe anything?”

  “Not medicine. I need to avoid refined sugar and carbohydrates and eat lots of small meals instead of large ones. I’ll miss the chocolate, but I’ll survive.”

  It took a moment for her words to sink in. Low blood sugar. It wasn’t good, but it was manageable. She could live with it. So could he. Thank God it hadn’t been anything more serious.

  He wheeled the chair closer and touched her hand. “I’ve got to admit, you had me worried. I’m glad it wasn’t worse. I promise not to eat any candy in front of you.”

  “Especially your mom’s chocolate chip cookies. Don’t you dare eat one of those anywhere where I can see you. You know how I love those things.” She fixed him a stern gaze, with eyes bright from unshed tears.

  “I won’t, word of honor. You saw me through my crisis and I’ll see you through yours.”

  “Thanks, Dade. You know, this whole thing really shook me up. It makes me realize how precious life is.”

  “I know exactly what you mean. That’s how I felt when I woke up from the coma.”

  Their eyes connected. They’d shared so much together and now something even more basic, namely, the instinct for survival.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Tyler lay still, hoping the lull of the waterbed would claim him. Today had been especially tough. While writing his manuscript, the buried memories had surfaced. He’d ignored them then, the result being a blinding headache.

  Now, in his semi-awake state, he could do so no longer.

  “You smiled at her,” Mom yelled.

  “That’s not a crime,” his father answered.

  “Don’t lie to me. You’re sleeping with her.”

  “Not hardly. You do enough whoring for the both of us. If we didn’t have our boy, I’d be long gone.”

  “You never loved me.”

  “I did once, before I knew better.”

  “You bastard, eat shit and die.”

  In his bedroom, hidden beneath the covers, with fingers pressed tightly against his ears, four-year old Tyler heard the swift sound of a slap.

  She’d done it again. How much more co
uld Dad take?

  Don’t go, Dad. Please don’t leave me alone with her, he prayed silently.

  Was Dad’s love for him strong enough to make him stay? How much could it stretch before it snapped?

  A few days later he learned the answer when Dad was found slumped in the passenger seat of the car. Mom claimed it was a suicide and that’s what she told the police. Tyler didn’t want to believe that, since Dad had promised not to leave.

  There was something else he should remember, but how could he think with this pounding going on. Tyler winced as the familiar pressure built.

  If only he could rest, but each time he slept, the nightmares began, more vivid and petrifying than anything he imagined in his waking hours.

  His eyes drooped. He willed himself to stay awake, but it was no use.

  * * *

  He was six again and in the back seat of his parent’s car. Mother pulled into the garage and hit the remote. Dad slept in the front. No one moved or spoke. The exhaust film rose, forming clouds around them. The motor whirred. His head whirled. His throat tickled, but it took too much effort to cough.

  “Robbie, come,” his mother said.

  His name was Tyler, like Dad. He didn’t like it when she used his middle name. He glared back at her.

  “Did you hear me? Get out of there,” she said, swinging open the back door. As he stumbled out, his mother’s golden hair shone like a flashlight lighting his way.

  “What about---” he began, glancing back at his father in the front seat.

  “Forget him.” She yanked Tyler away from the mounting film and into the house.

  In the background the engine drummed to the beat of his throbbing temples.

  Then she was all over him, removing his shirt, gliding her hand over his chest, touching him, reaching lower. His stomach turned. He knew this was wrong.

  “No,” he screamed, jerking away from her.

  She reached for him again. He bit her arm.