Mercy Killer

by T S Paul

  “Doc, you ok?” Chris asked as he approached the two men.

  “Yeah, we had a transference for sure. We need to lock this guy down.” The young doctor shifted his grip on the cop. “Notify security. We’ll need them.”

  Chris nodded even as he grabbed the emergency receiver on the wall. Hospital security was supposed to have a strike team on standby.

  Mentally I groaned. At least we had the entire day shift as witnesses. We’d just freed one patient and gained another. The young cop was most likely now possessed.

  “What about the other one?” I pointed to the sergeant on the floor.

  “Shock maybe. He might’ve been too old or unfit for the Demon. Not really my field,” Norton replied. “Wait for the team, though.”

  “Isn’t this your field doctor? You and I’ve dealt with dozens of the possessed since I started here. How is this one different?” I bitched at the wimpy seeming man.

  We didn’t have to wait all that long before four stun gun armed men in rubber suits crashed through the door. On their heels were more cops.

  The lead security guard had his stun gun out even as he spoke. “Situation?”

  Dr. Norton, still struggling with the newly possessed officer, explained what had happened.

  I moved over to one side as the hospital men took the young cop into custody. After checking the sergeant over, they allowed me to revive him.

  “Sergeant Hinnekamp, can you hear me?” I carefully patted the man’s cheek as I checked his vitals. Forcing an eyelid open, I looked for the distinctive Demonic gleam associated with the newly possessed. The older man was lucky. Given the choice of host, the Demon had chosen the youngest one.

  “What…” Hinnekamp murmured.

  I raised the man into a sitting position and peered into his face. “Sergeant, you’ve had a shock.”

  “Ugh, my head. What hit me?” Hinnekamp raised his arm, rubbing his face.

  Sighing, I launched into an explanation. Experience had taught me people shouldn’t be coddled in cases like this. It only led to more trouble down the road. “You were almost Demon possessed. Your partner, Officer Lloyd, wasn’t so lucky. He’s got a Demon inside of him now.”

  “No! How the hell did that happen?” The sergeant pulled himself to his feet and looked wildly around the room.

  “When you loosened the patient’s bonds, you allowed him to touch you both. That’s all it takes for an entity to act. It jumped into your body first but rejected you,” I explained to him.

  “Michael…” The sergeant started to head toward his friend. Hospital guards had him on the floor, locked down.

  Grabbing the officer’s arm, I tried to pull him back. “Please don’t. They know what they’re doing.”

  The sergeant reeled around on me, jerked away and moved into my personal space, yelling, “Why didn’t you people warn us?”

  I opened my mouth to explain when we were interrupted by a plainclothes detective. “That’s enough. Leave the nurses alone. You and Lloyd should have read the signs or just asked, rather than bullying your way in. See Lieutenant Kerol about your report and Lloyd’s.”

  Hinnekamp glared at me and even took a step toward me.

  “Now, Sergeant,” the detective ordered.

  Literally growling, the cop spun around and left, leaving the detective and me alone.

  “Nurse…” the detective started.

  “Vogel. Genevieve Vogel. I’m the night shift RN here on the Demon ward,” I finished for him.

  A notebook appeared in his hand and he made a small notation. “Nurse Vogel. Can you tell me what the hell just happened here?”

  As clearly as possible, I answered the detective.

  “So did they even bother to interview you or the other nurse?” he asked me.

  I shook my head no. “Can we discuss this in the breakroom? The day crew needs to see about Corporal Essen here.”

  Seeing the patient for what seemed like the first time, the detective looked shocked. “Sorry. This man was possessed?”

  “Yes. He’d been released but was placed back with us. The exorcism didn’t take the way it was supposed to, and he was repossessed. Now he’s just a shell of what he was before. We’ve seen this happen. The psych team may be able to work with him,” I pointed out as we walked the short distance.

  “Do many get their lives back that way?” he asked me.

  Opening the door to the nurses’ lounge, I allowed the detective in first. “Some. It’s rare, though. Most end up institutionalized or dead. It’s the dirty little secret of the Demon War. Our heroes, locked away,” I replied bitterly.

  “Cozy,” the detective remarked. There was a hot plate and refrigerator along the wall, as well as a single cot. We both sat at the two-person table in the middle of the room.

  “It suits our needs. We don’t get many visitors up here,” I explained.

  “I can see that. Did you have any visitors last night?” he asked me.

  “Not that I remember seeing. You can ask Chris, Chris Knesek, the night nurse. He might have let someone in, but visiting hours are mainly in the day. Most Demons are nocturnal,” I explained to him. “We do keep a log, and I didn’t see anything on it.”

  “We’ll check it. Did you or Nurse Knesek leave the floor at any time last night?” the detective asked, his pen ready to write.

  “Only for the code blue at around two. I took the elevator down to level two and took over their desk until they returned. It’s our standard procedure,” I explained to him.

  “Code blue, what’s that?” the detective asked.

  “Every hospital has emergency codes that get broadcast.” I pointed to the speakers in the ceiling and carefully explained the color code system. Blue meant a cardiac arrest situation, something that happened far too commonly. Green, white, and red were all general codes. Except for black. Here it was a Demon alert. “We’re trained to listen for certain codes. Blue is an all hands, but since we aren’t supposed to leave that desk vacant, one of us up here covers for them.”

  He made a note in his little book. “And they approve of this down there?”

  “Of course. You might have noticed how short-handed we are around here? We all fill in as needed. Before moving up here, I worked in the emergency room. It’s a big hospital,” I answered. He was starting to get on my nerves.

  “How long have you worked here, Nurse Vogel?”

  “Five long years. I was at County General before that. Atlanta is my home,” I explained to him.

  The detective nodded. “While you were down on two did you see anyone out of place or suspicious? A new face maybe?”

  Pursing my lips, I stared past him as if in deep thought. Very slowly I nodded. “There was one new face on two. There was a guy in a janitor uniform I hadn’t seen before. Those guys are pretty much like furniture around here, but this one seemed to be right in the middle of things during the code. Truthfully, I don’t get down to the lower floors often. I have way too much paperwork up here to get involved elsewhere.”

  Making copious notes, the man asked me again for a description of the janitor. Racking my brain I came up with tall, dark hair, scarred face, enough detail about the uniform for the cops to search long and hard. Of course it would help if the man I told them about actually existed, but I wasn’t about to mention that part.

  “Thank you, Ms. Vogel. I’ll be in touch again.” The detective scratched a final note on his pad before putting it away.

  “I’m here six nights a week. Am I free to go home now?” I asked him.

  He smiled for the first time. “Of course. Thank you. Just tell the officer at the elevator that Detective Gallagher said it was ok to leave. Can you send the other nurse in here for me?”

  I thanked the detective and tried to not run from the room. Chris was still at the desk working when I reached it. “Chris, they want to interview you in the breakroom.”

  “Finally. I do have a life outside of this place, you know,” he remarked as he
stood stretching.

  “You? Life? Where’s the grump I work with?” I asked him with a smile.

  “By this time of day, lying on my couch with a beer in my hand, usually. I can’t wait to get home,” Chris answered. “See you in a few days.”

  I smiled at the day shift nurses as I pulled my purse out of a drawer. “You girls need anything else from me?”

  “Not now. Was everything else quiet?” the other RN asked me.

  I nodded and headed home. Detective Gallagher’s name did indeed allow me access to the lower floors. I went out through the ambulance entrance as usual. Looking down the side of the building, I could see what appeared to be a news conference at the front. I’m sure it would be on television later. All I could think about was how the luck of the Gods were on my side this time. If Essen hadn’t acted up, I might’ve said the wrong thing, exposing myself. With cameras on the lower floors, I’d need to be careful from now on, though.

  It was my personal goal to see to the needs of the guilty. They were all damned in my eyes.

  Two

  It was a real mistake, not seeing or even knowing about the cameras on the lower floors. Luck was the only thing that had saved me. If I had looked up at any point, they would know for sure it was me. Maybe it was time to move on.

  Mentally I weighed all my options. Night RN on the Demon Ward was the perfect cover. Dealing with the Demonic aspects of the patients allowed me to vent my rage and select those to whom I would bring justice. My position brought the right amount of control into my life. It kept me alive and off the radar of law enforcement. It’s a well-known fact that people die in hospitals all the time. Killing Brandon Hoot was too good a chance to pass up.

  I wasn’t lying to Detective Gallagher. Not completely. Code Blue and several of the other codes were considered to be all-hands-on-deck situations. And the administration had asked those of us on the Demon ward to help. Most hospitals were run in a similar way. I hadn’t always worked the tough wards. Slipping down the stairs and onto another floor was easy. Hardly anyone looked twice at the nurses, especially the ones in candy stripes. I chuckled to myself. Mr. Big Shot himself had been so surprised to see me. Too bad my other kills hadn’t started out as happy.

  “I didn’t order a sponge bath, but you’ll do,” Hoot stated as I walked into his room pushing a medical cart with towels piled on top of it. He patted the empty space next to him on the bed. “Hop up here and tell Daddy what you like.”

  Parking my cart next to his bed, I walked around to the window side of the room. Careful to not look directly outside, I drew the drapes. The room was on the second floor, but you just never knew who might be watching. Smiling, I approached Mr. Hoot and sat next to him. “Good evening.”

  “I’ll have to commend the VA for the personal service I’m receiving here. What’s your name, sweetie?” Hoot ran his hand over my shoulders and hair, eliciting a shiver from me. “Why don’t you give Daddy a kiss?”

  What was it with men? Almost every single one of my non-possessed patients asked if I wanted to give them a sponge bath or they treated me like a sex object. Had humanity stooped so low that we treated those trying to help them with such derision? This guy deserved death even more now. With my back to him, he didn’t see the syringe in my right hand. I turned as if to accede to his wish and injected him right into his carotid artery.

  Hoot froze as the needle went in, the words from his lips dropping off suddenly. “What the…”

  I pulled the needle out carefully. Smiling, I gave him a light kiss on his cheek. “I’ve given you a dose of Suxamethonium chloride. It’s a paralytic, and not a very nice one, at that. Think of me as your own personal Angel of Death.”

  Hoot’s body shook as he tried to regain control of it. Strange choking-like noises came from his mouth.

  “I wouldn’t try to talk if I was you. The drug is constricting your lungs and slowing your heartbeat. Pushing your body too much isn’t good for you right now.” I caressed the man’s face and hair. “You’ve been such a naughty, naughty boy, taking all those people’s money from them.”

  Hoot swallowed and tried to move his hands as more noise came from his throat.

  “What? You want to give it all back and help the aged and infirm now? Silly man, that’s not why I’m here,” I explained with a smile. “Justice is my goal, not reparations.”

  I stood up and removed the towels from my cart. Underneath them was a small tray with two more syringes. “Ok, Daddy. Let’s play.”

  Hoot’s body shook violently as the very large air bubble I injected hit his heart. The extra dose of the paralytic I gave him might have done the job on its own, but I needed to be sure. With everything in his body constricting and slowing down, it was easy. Carefully covering his body with blankets, I wiped down anything I’d touched, even accidentally. The syringes would go in the first collection box I found. The hospital itself would steam clean them for reuse. Checking both ways outside the door, I moved my cart down to the laundry area at the end of hall.

  It was funny. While I was learning to become a nurse, I took a psychology class. During the course of study, we’d discussed serial killers and what motivated them. How they kill and what trophies meant to them. It was a very awakening experience for me, to say the least. My triggers were actually textbook. It was how I chose to use my rage that was different from the others. But like some of the women in the books I studied, it all started with my mother.

  My earliest memories of my mother were pleasant. She was making me breakfast. I might have been two or three years old. I was a precocious child, always striving to do things myself. At four I was making my own food, and by six or seven dressing myself. If I had a father I never knew him. All I remember was my Uncle John. Or Mom’s friend John. Or her John. Lots of Johns.

  When a new John would come to see us, I’d hide under the kitchen table and watch. It wasn’t always pleasant. Mom wasn’t treated well at all. She was used and abused on a regular basis. Even at my early age of thirteen, I looked at things clinically. I was too insightful a child. It wasn’t until one of my ‘uncles’ tried to have his way with me that I snapped.

  “Aren’t you a sweet little thing,” the newest Uncle John asked me.

  I was in my usual spot under the kitchen table. Our tablecloth, the only one Mom had, hung down just enough to shelter me. Unlike most of the Johns, this one walked in and started opening cabinets. He saw my foot sticking out and acted on it.

  Shying away from his grime-covered reaching fingers, I clutched my doll for protection. Just inches from grabbing me, the John was pulled back by my mom.

  “Leave her be, she’s too young for any of that. C’mere, baby,” my mom slurred out. She’d been drinking what my grandmother called the devil’s juice all day.

  “Old enough to bleed means old enough to breed,” John muttered to her, his voice heavy.

  “I’ve got a brand-new bottle on the counter. Help me drink it.” Mom’s voice was a bit clearer now.

  John stood, allowing the tablecloth to hide me again. “Fine, this time. But this man needs more than just your charms, Hannah.”

  I watched as my mom stepped past him to grab the bottle and a couple of glasses on the counter. All I could see were her legs, but she didn’t once check on me. Grabbing John, she pulled him into the bedroom, closing the door.

  Still clutching my doll, I crawled out into the kitchen. Cleaning up and doing dishes was my job. Mom kept a stool handy so I could reach the cabinets easily. Pulling it over to me, I reached up and grabbed a large knife out of the block on the counter.

  Sex wasn’t something I was interested in at all, especially at my age. Adults might try to hide things, but kids knew. It wasn’t a secret at all what my mother did to pay for things. The neighbors knew. School was harder for me because of it. I might have been what society called a child, but it toughened me. Kids can be cruel.

  Returning to my hiding place, I clutched my doll in one hand and the knife in the
other. Even though someone pounded on the front door more than once, Mom kept the bedroom door closed. Several bad experiences had taught me to not open the door without Mom to back me up.

  Sometime after midnight, what Mom told me was the witching hour, John staggered out of Mom’s room.

  “Hannah, you are worth every penny,” John slurred as he did a half pirouette in what counted as our living room. Swaying on his feet, the man leaned down, catching my eyes. “Next time you’ll be the appetizer before the main course. We’ll have such fun together, sweetie.”

  John grabbed the door knob, giving it a yank. Losing his balance, the man stumbled out and fell halfway down the three-step porch with a muffled thump.

  I leaned to one side, peering around the corner at Mom’s room. The door was open, but she wasn’t visible. Fearing the worst, I crawled into her room to check on her the way she should have checked on me. But never did.

  “Uhhhhh…” Mom let out a moan from the bed. Standing up, I looked at her in shock. It wasn’t that unusual for one of the Uncle Johns to hurt my mother. She sported black eyes and black marks on her body frequently. But this was different.

  Bits of cloth, no more than rags now, were scattered across the floor. I recognized her favorite dress in the bits. Bruises were darkening before my eyes, even as I cut her hands free of the bed frame. Anger festered in me that this new uncle would do something like this to my mother. And he thought this would be good for me as well? Tucking dolly against her for comfort, I left the bedroom.

  John was still on the stairs asleep when I opened the door. Looked down at his rumpled clothes and emaciated appearance, I couldn’t believe I’d been scared of him. Walking out the door and down two of the steps I stood next to him for a moment. I looked around but didn’t see any sign of the normally nosy neighbors. No lights or gawkers in sight. By the time the sun came up, this John would be rolled and stripped by those gawkers. Bending down, I looked into his face.