Buck Fever

by Robert A Rupp

  He returned to the waiting room, sat rigidly in a chair with the Bible firmly held on his lap and observed the nurses behind the glass. His eyes moved toward a doorway near the glass wall. Several waiting-room visitors, summoned by name, stood and followed a nurse through the doorway to an observation area.

  Carpenter slowly stood up and walked toward the restroom. He glanced through the glass, noticed nurses were busy and walked toward the observation doorway. Convinced no one was watching, he sidestepped and followed the other visitors down the observation hallway.

  Chapter 51

  Dingman listened intently as Pillbock detailed his conversation with the Reno police.

  “So they think it’s a dead end?” Dingman said.

  Porter stood next to Dingman in the hall, waiting for Dr. Grace to return from the nurses’ ready station. He was called to observe the actions of a visitor in the visitor waiting area.

  Dingman tapped his right earflap forcing Pillbock’s voice over a built-in speaker.

  “Not exactly. They found an empty room in an older hotel similar to the one Katie described next to a ‘Welcome to Reno’ sign. No Barbie dolls, but it did have a long shelf on a wall across from a brass bed and a window facing the flashing street sign. The owners said a man rented the room yearly for five years, but was seldom there. Sometimes he would walk through the lobby with younger women, probably prostitutes. They will watch for his return.”

  “Damn, I had high hopes,” Porter said.

  “Me too,” Dingman said, tapping his earflap to hang up the phone.

  A vague, chilling screech floated from the last room down the hall.

  “Looks like the screamer is awake, eh? Shall we sneak a peek?” Dingman said.

  “Grace told us to stay here until he returned.”

  “Come on, we are angels; we can do anything.”

  “But my wings aren’t fully developed,” Porter said, waving his earflaps.

  ~ ~ ~

  “He was sitting near the men’s restroom, and probably went in there. He was dressed like a church preacher, but had a strange look. His eyes were covered by tinted glasses so I couldn’t tell if they were red, but I’d bet on it,” the waiting-room attendant explained to Dr. Grace.

  “When he returns, I want you to direct a nurse out there to take him into a testing room. Don’t arouse concern or suspicion. Just make it part of our normal routine to check out visitors.”

  “Will do.”

  Dr. Grace stared through the windowed partition at the restroom door for several seconds, then walked away to join Dingman and Porter.

  Chapter 52

  A wrinkled-faced seventy-five-year-old woman lay in bed covered to her neck. Her hands poked out pulling the blanket tight. She raised her head forward, focusing red eyes at the blurry human form behind the observation glass.

  Moses Carpenter stared back. He slowly opened his Bible.

  “Shall I read to you, Sister? Do you want to hear the truth?”

  Red marks flared from the temples of the old woman as she desperately tried to recognize the person behind the glass. She could see the white collar, but the face blended with shadows.

  “Father? Father Fellorday? Have you come back for my soul? You son of a bitch. You took my daughter—our daughter—and killed her, so I killed you. An eye for an eye.”

  Carpenter flinched. He did not expect this confession. Sharp pain pierced his brain. Kill-er. He tried to make sense of his thoughts. Kill-er...KILL HER. The thoughts became clear. God was giving him direction. He carefully removed the handgun from inside the Bible and raised it up. Images of Sister Mary Agness hacking at Father Fellorday’s body raced through his mind. He remembered helping the Father cut up the deer. That evening he made a special gumbo and the Father invited Sister Mary Agness to join them for a cordial meal of venison stew, fresh bread and red communion wine. Father Fellorday and Sister Mary Agness were inseparable; they were high-school sweethearts, but only Moses Carpenter knew that. Some in the church congregation whispered about the closeness, but the Father ignored it. The next day the Father became sick; it felt like flu. Carpenter felt fine, but had strange dreams the night before. The Sister’s eyes were bright red. She felt strange, like a caged animal she said. The Father scoffed at her secular statements; they were not well mannered and certainly not to be spoken in church. Carpenter remembered trying to console the Sister, but could not understand her expression of grief.

  Sister Mary Agness shouted a stream of expletives, then screamed gibberish. Images of a dead fawn, a doe, filled her mind. She felt extreme remorse for her loss. It was her only offspring, and the Father cut it up for food. She never married; how could this be? Her mind focused suddenly on the flashy metal object pointed at her from behind the glass. Red streaks continued to travel up her forehead to her hairline. She concentrated on the gun.

  Kill...her. Kill...her. Carpenter felt raging pain. His right hand quivered as he raised the gun to eye level.

  Sister Mary Agness squinted to form an image of Carpenter. It was not Father Fellorday.

  Bang!

  Carpenter’s hand recoiled after pulling the trigger. A jolt of lightning struck his right eye. His knees gave out, and he fell to the floor.

  “Moses!” she shouted. Her face grew violent and red. “Moses? Is that you? You come to take me home? Please, take me home.”

  ~ ~ ~

  “I hit the display, it’s not shutting down,” Porter said to Dingman, as they waited for the ion generator to turn off. “Holy shit, she looks like she’s going to blow. What do you think that noise was? Who was she talking to?”

  “Not sure, but it sounded like a gunshot coming from the observation hall.”

  “Gentlemen, what’s the problem?” Dr. Grace said, speed walking toward the reporters.

  “We heard her scream, then a loud noise, but can’t get into the room.”

  “Stand aside.” The doctor placed his hand on the display and the buzzing stopped. “Nurse, routine six in room ten, stat!”

  “Is she going to blow?” Porter said, as they approached Sister Mary. She shook violently in bed.

  A nurse entered the room with a large needle and two vials.

  “She’ll be fine,” the doctor said, as he administered the two shots.

  “Is that a bullet hole?” Dingman said, as he approached the observation room glass.

  “That’s high-impact carbon-fiber glass. Nothing short of a nuclear bomb can get through it.”

  “Bloody hell, a black man is lying on the floor in there. He has a gun in his right hand. It looks like a bullet pierced his right temple.”

  “Does he look like a preacher?” the doctor asked.

  “He has a white collar. Yes.”

  Porter walked toward Dingman and looked through the observation glass. “Looks like he shot toward the glass and caught a ricochet to his head.”

  “Security to observation room ten, man down,” the doctor said, speaking toward the ceiling. “Take the man to room nine. I will be there in two minutes.

  “She is going to have frightening memories of this, eh?” Dingman said. Porter nodded.

  “She’s resting now. The redness is subsiding, we can go.”

  ~ ~ ~

  “Is he dead?” Porter asked, as he pointed his recorder at the body in the bed in room nine. Dingman stood next to him.

  The doctor poked and prodded various parts of Moses Carpenter’s upper torso. A computer display whined a soft tone as a flat blue line traveled across the display grid.

  “He definitely was infected, and he is dead. This card in his pocket says he’s Moses Carpenter from the church over in Greektown,” Dr. Grace said.

  “Huh, that’s the guy the cops say killed Father Fellorday and now an attempt at Sister Mary Agness. What do make of that?” Dingman said.

  “Could be the infection sparked a depressive reaction and he simply lost control. We will never know.”

  Dingman’s earflap phone buzzed. He tapped it.


  “Dingman here. Yes, sir. What? Hmm. We just witnessed an attempted murder by Moses Carpenter. He tried to shoot a nine-millimeter at Sister Mary Agness of Father Fellorday’s parish. Okay, I will pass that on to the doctor. Any word on the situation in Reno? No? Okay, talk later.” Dingman tapped the earflap, ending the call.

  “News?” Porter asked.

  “The cops just confiscated Carpenter’s vehicle in the parking lot. Apparently, a security guard at the entrance found a body and trail of blood leading to Carpenter’s vehicle. They think he ran over a pedestrian and dragged his body through the streets of Detroit and into the hospital entrance ramp.”

  “No way,” Porter said.

  “Unbelievable what this infection is capable of,” the doctor said.

  “What if, throughout history, some of the mad men that have wreaked social havoc had simply been infected with a similar virus and Ergot poisoning? Worth pursing, eh?”

  “Several studies of the Salem witch trials have suggested that Ergot was the basis for the strange behavior among the young women at the time, however, nothing conclusive has been uncovered.”

  “I just had a rash thought. What if these people recover from their infections, get back to living normal lives, and then an event triggers a response that reactivates their bizarre actions?” Porter said.

  “I’ve given that some consideration. It’s highly unlikely. Some diseases can trigger ongoing depression and bi-polar activity, but the actions are usually manifested before the infection.”

  “Say again?”

  “He means that people usually show signs of abnormal behavior long before any disease might trigger such behavior. Right, Doc?” Dingman said.

  “Something like that. None of the patients here have exhibited a history of non-social behavior that I know about…and…”

  “And?”

  “We are investigating the possibility.”

  “Are we being investigated too?” Porter asked, his face turning pale.

  “Why, you have something to hide?” Dingman said.

  The doctor laughed. “Let’s just say we are thorough about the people we allow in here; and you are in here, so you must have been properly cleared. There is one issue, though, about those parking tickets; you might want to get those paid.”

  “What, how did you know? I…ah…that was years ago before I was allowed to park under the Times building, and—” Porter explained.

  Dingman patted Porter’s back. “I think that was a ‘gotchya,’ right Doc?”

  “Yup, just kidding.”

  “Oh, son of a—”

  “Let’s take a half-hour break. I need to be briefed and then brief the media about the Carpenter shooting and body found in the driveway. Feel free to hang out in the nurses’ ready room down the hall. You can hear the briefing from there.”

  Chapter 53

  A noisy TV image appeared on the television monitor in the nurses’ ready room as Dr. Grace briefed the media community from behind the glass partition in the waiting room. He gave sketchy facts about Moses Carpenter: “He accidentally shot himself as a possible result of the infection, and he ran over a pedestrian who was dragged underneath his vehicle into the Disease Center parking lot.”

  The brief statements drew a rash of questions and criticism that the media was not being fully informed. They accused the doctor of hiding new information about the disease. It sounded like a conspiracy.

  “Is that Jordan?” Porter said, pointing to the monitor.

  “Yes, I asked Pillbock to send over a reporter to keep him up-to-date while we help the good doctor. We need to get all of this on the front page for the afternoon edition,” Dingman said, approaching a white board in the room. He looked for a marker. “You see anything to write with? I would like to pose a question to you.”

  “Try the stylus hanging on that chain,” Porter said, pointing to a pen-like object. Here comes another boring life lesson, Porter thought as he yawned.

  Dingman grabbed the stylus and held it to the board. A menu display popped up in the left corner.

  “Here we go. It is connected to a rear projector. Hmm, I select the font and color here, and press print.” A page of white paper with colored text slipped out of a white box on the right side and into a waiting tray. “Super. This will do nicely. So what do we not know?”

  “We don’t know what happened to Lickshill, and we haven’t seen Sulkin today.”

  “Okay, got that. But what is it we do not know?” Crisp text appeared as Dingman stroked the board with imaginary ink.

  “Sorry, I’m getting burned out. Where are you going with this?” Porter said, raising his hands to rub his eyes, hesitating. “Whoa, I don’t want to do that—could catch something.”

  “We know nothing is my point. We have loosely associated facts and observations, but nothing concrete, and I see this going on for days. So how do we get to the next knowledge level?”

  “We find out who does know and talk to them.”

  “Now you are getting it. And what is the one question we need to ask them above all questions?”

  “Is this another lesson in how to become a reporter?” Porter asked, eyes rolling.

  “If you cannot answer the question, then definitely.”

  “You ask who else has asked similar questions to what we are asking.”

  “And if they tell you, who are those people?”

  Porter fidgeted. “Ah…the competition?”

  “Give the rookie a cookie.”

  “Why do we always have to go through this ordeal? Just tell me what to do; and bang my head when I do something wrong.”

  “Where is the fun in that? I say we spend a couple more hours here, go home and get a good night’s sleep and hit the news trails hard tomorrow.”

  “Aye, aye, El Capitan,” Porter said, holding up his right earflap in a salute. He followed that with a mumble, “I hate my job.”

  “What did you say?”

  “I said, I love my job.”

  “Good man. Pillbock will be proud.”

  ~ ~ ~

  “Gentlemen, shall we see how Mr. Sulkin is doing?” Dr. Grace said, entering the room.

  “Yes, let’s get on with it; I’m eager to complete our mission,” Porter said, waving his earflaps.

  “So, what is it you would like to know?” the doctor said, laughing.

  “Huh? Oh, you were listening.”

  “We would like to know who else has approached you with questions today—right Jeb?” Dingman said. Porter sheepishly nodded.

  “I just got off the phone with a Lynn Spencer, a news reporter in Reno, Nevada.”

  “What? You did? That’s the reporter Pillbock was going to call,” Porter said.

  “She wanted more information regarding Katie Kottle. I had to turn her request down for privacy reasons. She did say the police arrested a man in an apartment that fit the description that Miss Kottle provided. And—what you’ve been waiting to hear—they found a young blonde woman in the bed in the room tied to a bed by her right leg.”

  Porter’s breathing became erratic.

  “Calm down, my boy, remember to remain objective and detached,” Dingman said, patting Porter’s right shoulder.

  “While the coincidence is more than amazing, you can relax; the woman is definitely not Rachel Kottle. The woman they found is much younger.”

  “Damn, damn, damn; now we may never know what happened to Rachel,” Porter said.

  “What we need to know is: Did Katie have prior knowledge of such a man and was it through mental transference of some kind with her twin?” Dingman said.

  “Most likely there is a simple explanation. After we see Sulkin, let’s visit Miss Kottle and see what we can uncover.”

  “Should we tell her about the man and girl, or leave that for another time?”

  “I suggest we leave that truth for a discussion after we ask questions so it doesn’t affect her answers,” the doctor said.

  “I wonder i
f Pillbock knows about this.” Porter said.

  “He is probably the one who suggested Spencer talk to the doctor,” Dingman said.

  “Yes, she did say that a Cory Pillbock referred her. Shall we move on?”

  Dingman winked. Porter nodded.

  Chapter 54

  Sweat beaded on Sulkin’s forehead as he raised his body up in bed and adjusted pillows behind his back.

  “You’re looking chipper; how do you feel,” Dr. Grace said. Dingman and Porter held their video recorders up and pointed forward.

  “Could someone tell me how I got here, and why I’m here? Who are you two jokers with the toy cameras? Point those away please. I did not give anyone permission to take pictures.”

  Dr. Grace waved for Dingman and Porter to lower their hands. Porter slipped his device back into his belt loop. Dingman held on to his and kept the voice recorder on.

  “Hmm, no red marks; eyes are normal. Heart rate and blood pressure are normal. How do you feel?”

  “I feel great, almost energized. What is going on here? Where am I?”

  “You are at the Michigan Disease Control Center in Detroit. A virus that is infecting the deer herd near West Branch apparently infected you. We think you received the infection through contact during an embalming of a potential murder victim: Gordon Lickshill. Ring a bell?”

  “Embalming? What? Why would a college student be doing embalming? Just the thought of that is revolting. West Branch? I live in Toledo and go to school at Wayne State University in Detroit,” Sulkin said, taking a longer look at the medical equipment in the room. “Wow, this apparatus is beyond anything I’ve seen. What’s that? Looks like something out of Star Trek.”

  “Follow my finger,” the doctor said, waving his finger.

  Sulkin’s eyes followed the finger, seeing his image in the observation room glass.

  “Where is my hair? What did you do to my hair?” he said, patting his baldhead.