Fic: Jabberwocky, Part 9a/?
Gene felt his heart pounding in his ears as he walked into the morgue, anger and shock still bending his features into a frightening mask. The coroner nodded to him, then pointed to the body on the slab. Lying on the cold metal, eyes staring vacantly upwards, was the naked body of another man, on the tall and slim side of average, medium brown hair and hazel eyes, just like the other three victims… No, just like the other four victims; he tried to dismiss the thought of Sam as a victim, and found that it refused to budge from his brain. The corpse’s flesh was pallid and white, the bruises and stab wounds standing out bright and livid against it, deep whirls of purple and red. The pattern of the wounds on the arms was the same as with all the others, deep, perfectly aligned marks going all the way through the flesh from armpit to wrist, and once again there were bite marks mixed in with the bruising along the chest, neck, thighs and buttocks. A deep, open wound stared up at him from the victim’s neck, a yawning maw of deep red mocking him. He turned to Oswald.
“Same as the others, then?”
Oswald nodded, and then started to point at the different areas of the corpse, not looking at Gene. “Corneal flash burns, once again, and the same patterning on the arms - I believe that the report from the crime scene where the last vic - where DI Tyler was rescued showed the wounds to be caused by pieces of glass? I actually haven’t found any shards of glass in the wounds this time, in fact, I was able to remove a few small slivers of metal. It looks like he may have been suspended with something other than glass shards, then.”
“So it could be someone else besides Myers, who was just working with him before? Someone using different materials?” Gene’s head snapped up and he had to stop himself from advancing on the coroner.
Oswald nodded. “I’d have to agree with you there. In fact, after reanalyzing the details of the other victims in minute detail, I think it’s safe to say that this man was killed by the same person who killed our first victim, and that the second and third victim were killed by another. I wouldn’t have believed it before, given that the wounds are very precise, and the idea that more than one person would be capable of inflicting them, let alone of sharing so many details between the two murder patterns, but that is my current theory. A few tiny shards of glass were found in the wounds on the arms of victims two and three, and I finally found a few tiny slivers of metal in the wounds on the first victim, just like on this poor fellow.”
“They would have had to know each other, then, though?” Gene’s mind was doing cartwheels, trying to find out exactly how it was even possible that more than one person was committing the murders. “It’s likely that Myers learned his tricks from the bloke that killed victim one, and this one?”
“More than likely, I’m almost sure of it. The specificity of the wounds is such that you’d need to know all of the details of the first murder in order to copy it so precisely, and the press haven’t been given any details at all of the murders, other than the fact that they were grisly, to the best of my knowledge,” Oswald agreed.
Oswald stepped around the side of the table, and then reached out gloved hands and bared the victim’s back. Gene let his eyes drift to the bruising and bite marks around the victim’s anus, and to the deep, dark patch of exposed meat on the man’s left lower back. The edge of an identical patch on the man’s right side was vaguely visible. His memory leapt back to the sight of Sam, lying in a pool of his own blood, the same pattern of removed flesh cut into just one side of his back, and he felt his fists clench tightly at his sides. “The same method had to be used on all of the victims - it’s very precise - and it’s the exact same shape as the missing patches from the other victims. There’s no way that that detail could be the same without some form of measurement and marking taking place before the removal of the flesh,” Oswald’s voice floated in, thankfully moving the memory back and out of Gene’s mind’s eye.
“The patches he cut off were the exact same size in every case, even with the men being different sizes? You never mentioned that before,” Gene’s voice was tight and hot with anger, and Oswald lowered the body slightly and backed away, a look of fear flitting across his eyes for just a second.
“It was in my report, and I did mention it to DI Tyler,” he said, defensively, and then moved to continue on, pointing at the cut in the victim’s throat. “As opposed to the other victims, this one had his thyroid removed. Again, the cutting instrument had to be incredibly sharp, and the cuts were incredibly precise. If there was no medical training, there did have to be an extensive study of human anatomy - they knew exactly where to cut to remove the gland without damaging any of the surrounding tissue. A very odd thing to do, when so much other damage was inflicted upon the victim. And the ribs, in this instance, were damaged far less than victims two or three. As noted in my previous report, victim one would have been alive for quite some time, over 48 hours, while two and three would have died within 24-36 hours of the wounds to the chest being inflicted, three being more severely damaged than two. And once again, the damage was primarily on only the left side of the chest, although there was some bruising and cracking of the ribs on the right side as well.”
Gene stretched his arms out and placed his hands on the shining, cold metal of the autopsy table, then bent low, staring at the body of the corpse, closing his eyes as it slowly transformed into Sam again and again in his field of vision. He took a deep breath, the scent of blood, latex, and formaldehyde filling his nostrils, and then stood, pulling out one of his flasks and taking a deep drink. “Same person killed the first victim killed this one, but the other two had to be Myers, yeah?”
“That is my current assumption, DCI Hunt,” Oswald stared at him with a strange, strained expression that was starting to annoy Gene, who returned his flask to its usual place and crossed his arms over his chest.
“Any other details I should know about? Eyes the same?”
“The exact same, DCI Hunt,” Oswald nodded and pulled the sheet up over the corpse’s head. For a split second, Gene saw Sam’s face on the body, and then it was once again the unknown man, the sheet being drawn up and over him.
“Full written report will be sent to CID as soon as I’m finished,” Oswald said as he started to wheel the body back towards the refrigeration units. Gene stared after him for a second, and then slowly made his way back to CID, fists still clenched tightly, wishing for someone to strike.
“Excuse me, Sir?” A small, timid nurse came up to Ray where he sat on the hard plastic chairs of the ICU waiting area, Chris still asleep on the stretch of chairs beside him. “He’s allowed visitors, now. One at a time only, though,” the nurse said softly, glancing up towards the room lined hallway that lay beyond the nurses’ station. Ray nodded, then slowly stood, careful not to wake Chris. He followed the nurse to Room 11, and was led into it slowly. Another nurse sat next to a bed, and on it laid Sam Tyler. His arms were wrapped in bandages, as was the left side of his face, and an oxygen mask obscured his nose and mouth. Ray heard the slow hissing sound of the oxygen, and moved to stand next to the bed, staring down at Sam’s sleeping form.
“He’s still on the critical list, Sir, but he’s improving remarkably well,” the nurse said, hopefully, and Ray again nodded, not sure how to respond.
“He’ll be all right, then?” Ray asked, staring at the still form on the bed, trying to think of something to say, something to ask. No words came to him, and he found that all he could do was simply stare, eyes locked on Sam’s face.
“Doctor Barrie’s taken over the case from Doctor Denslow, Sir; he should be in shortly, if you’d like to talk to him. I believe he’s still talking to your Detective Chief Inspector, Sir,” the nurse said, and Ray let confusion twist his features.
“DCI Hunt? He said he’d gone back to the station,” Ray turned to face the nurse.
“The big man, the one that was here this morning?” The nurse asked, and this time, it was her turn to look confused. Ray nodded in response to her, and she continued, “No, Sir, it was the other one. The tall, slim fellow in the fine suit, the balding one. He came in to see Mr. Tyler once before, and he’s been talking with the doctors.” She laughed slightly, “Doesn’t shout near as much as the big one, does that one, Sir. Very gentlemanly,” she backed away slightly as Ray’s expression hardened.
“We don’t have another DCI in CID,” Ray said, his gaze flickering between the nurse and Sam, who was still lying like a corpse on the bed.
“He said that he was Mr. Tyler’s DCI, Sir,” the nurse’s voice quavered slightly, and Ray wondered exactly how angry he looked, as he glared down at her.
“What was his name?” Ray felt his face start to burn at the idea that someone else had been in to see Sam, even with all of them taking shifts in the waiting area. Whose watch had this supposed DCI come in on, he wondered.
“I, I don’t remember, Sir…” The nurse continued to back away from him, and Ray advanced on her until her back was up against the wall of the small room, like a cat cornering a mouse. She looked terrified, but Ray didn’t back away, allowing himself to tower over her.
“Think, use your brain, you bloody thick cow!” He shouted, and the other nurse jumped to her feet.
“That’s enough, Mister…” The other nurse placed a hand on Ray’s shoulder and moved to pull him away from her frightened colleague.
“Carling. Detective Sergeant Ray Carling. And no one outside of CID should have been in to see him, you daft bird!” Ray whirled around and threw the nurse’s arm off of his shoulder. “We’ve only got one DCI in CID, and that ‘big man’ is the best copper on the face of the ruddy damned planet, and if it weren’t him, then who the bloody hell was it?” Ray was shouting at the other nurse now, but this one refused to back away from him, and drew herself up to her full height.
“Out. Now.” The nurse pointed towards the door, but Ray refused to budge. “Did you hear me? Out. I won’t have this type of language or behavior around one of my patients.”
“Oh, you won’t have this shite behavior around, but anyone that bloody well pleases can just pop in, can they?” Ray was livid, his face growing red, and he moved so that he was mere inches away from the nurse, who continued to stand her ground. She pointed towards the door.
“Nurse Bedford, go and call security. Tell them that we have a problem visitor in ICU, needs to be escorted out…” Ray grimaced as she said it, and then moved towards the door, sneering at both of the nurses.
“You don’t need to call bloody security. Fat lot of good that lot have done so far, have they? Just tell me where I can find this supposed DCI, and this doctor…”
“Doctor Barrie. I can ask him to come down once he’s free, but he is a busy man.” The nurse glared at Ray, and then raised an eyebrow and pointed at the door again. “Out. You’re lucky I don’t call security now and bar you from seeing the patient again.”
“Tyler. His name is Sam Tyler, you stupid bint,” Ray muttered as he walked out of the room, a palpable atmosphere of anger and frustration surrounding him. He stalked back up to the waiting area, pausing to glare angrily at the nurses, and then sat down, heavily, next to Chris. He slowly shook Chris’ shoulder, trying to rouse him.
“Chris. Wake up, you div!” Chris stirred slightly, and Ray shook harder, and was rewarded with Chris slowly opening his eyes and sitting up, wiping at them with the palms of his hands.
“What is it?” Chris asked, wincing as his eyes met light and looking around the waiting area, then adjusting his expression to one of mild shock as he saw the look of anger on Ray’s face. “What’s happened?”
“Bloody damned birds just told me there’s been someone besides the Gov in to see the Boss, and he said he was his DCI.” Ray fumed.
“The Gov is the Boss’s DCI, Ray,” Chris muttered, still trying to wake up.
“No, you div, they let in some other person that said he was the Boss’s DCI. Didn’t describe no one from CID, neither.” Ray grabbed Chris’ shoulder and shook him again for emphasis, and immediately felt sorry that he had done so, as Chris shrank away from him.
“Who the hell would say that?” Chris asked, and Ray slapped his hands on his knees, trying to keep from getting up and screaming at the nurses.
“I don’t know. No one bloody knows. None of these damned birds knows a damned thing!” He looked back at the station as he said it, and half of the nurses looked away with frightened expressions, while the other half glared at him sternly. He curled his lip in a sneer, then reached into his pocket and withdrew his cigarettes, lighting one angrily and handing one to Chris, who had finally stopped shaking his head and rubbing his eyes and was now staring down the hallway, a confused look on his face.
“Someone else, saying they were the Boss’ DCI?” Chris’ eyes were wide, and for a moment, a flash of terror fixed over his features as he looked up at Ray. Ray shook his head, then gestured down the hallway.
“They say we can see him now. Just a bit, like. You go ahead an’ check in on ‘im, an’ I’m gonna see if I can’t find out sommat about the whole thing. Say his new doctor’s called Barris, or sommat like that.” Ray stood, crushing out his cigarette in the ashtray on the little table, and continued to the nurses’ station, where Chris could hear him muttering curses and light threats at the more stalwart of the nurses.
Chris stubbed out his own fag and then slowly clamored to his feet, then started to make his way towards Room 11. The hallway seemed to stretch on forever, the window at the end of it growing further away and the light dimming, the world spiraling away slightly as Chris moved towards the door, the short walk seeming to flood into forever as he inched his way closer. Images of similar hospital halls started to bombard him, skittering through his mind on strange, slippery strands of memory, and he paused outside the doorway, steadying himself and taking a deep breath.
He slowly pushed the door open, finding the room impossibly claustrophobic, the walls seeming to shimmy up and down as if they weren’t solid, the hazy yellow lights spinning around the machines, the bed, and the nurse writing something on a chart at the foot of the bed. He looked at her, his eyes wide and dipping in and out of focus, and she gave him a patronizing smile that made him steel himself and approach the bed. “He’s asleep. Not unconscious, just asleep. You can talk to him, if you want,” she offered, her tone much softer than it had been with Ray.
Chris nodded to the nurse, then forced himself to look downwards at Sam. His stomach jumped into his mouth again, and he swallowed, hard and repeatedly, against it, clamping his mouth tightly and biting his lower lip with his teeth, the pain bringing him firmly back to reality. “Boss?” Chris barely heard the word himself, and a shudder ran down his spine as he remembered the last time he’d stood over a hospital bed, staring at the closed eyes and bandages, the long, thin tubes snaking their way into the veins on the backs of hands. He had to turn away then, and he moved quickly out of the room, the nurse casting a sympathetic glance his way as he bolted through the door. Once outside of the room, he leaned back against the wall and took a few deep breaths, willing himself not to cry, memory and reality colliding haphazardly through his brain. After a minute, he was able to slowly make his way back to the waiting area, where Ray sat, lighting another cigarette.
Chris sat down heavily next to Ray, still breathing deeply, then pulled his legs up under him and sat cross legged on the hard plastic chair, stretching his neck from side to side with a dull cracking sound. He placed his hands on his knees and stared at the ground, breathing in the comforting scent of Ray next to him, booze and cigarettes and too much aftershave, the combination vaguely like the Gov’s scent, but much different, somehow. Ray stood then, and placed a hand on Chris’ shoulder, lightly. Chris fought the urge to lean his face into Ray’s hand, knowing that the movement would likely infuriate the other man, and continued to stare at the floor.
“Dozy bird’s going to take me down to this new doctor’s office; this new DCI git should be there. You stay here,” Ray commanded, knocking ashes over the table as he forcefully put out his latest cigarette. “No one goes into the room, save the bleedin’ nurses, and anyone else tries, you stop ‘em, eh, big man, just like you were with Myers. Understand?” Ray’s voice was hard and commanding, and Chris straightened his back, lowering his legs and scooting over in the seats so that he was looking down the hall and directly at Sam’s room’s door.
“Wilco, Ray,” Chris said, reaching for his pocket and pulling out his own fags, lighting one and nodding up at Ray, feeling his resolve harden and his mood sour into anger at the concerned look on Ray’s face. “Not a problem, you go. Can’t wait ‘til the Gov gets an earful on this one,” Chris said, letting his voice settle.
Ray nodded at Chris, then moved back to the nurses’ station, where one of the more timid specimens behind the desk crept out from the folding bit of counter and started to lead him back towards the offices on the other side of the floor. Chris kept his eyes locked on the door, and locked down his own internal defenses against the thick flood of memory that continued to threaten to overtake him, eventually silencing it back to its oblivion. He let his thoughts roam to the idea that someone else had been to see Sam, without their knowledge, and grew more resolute in his task. No one was getting past him, and Ray would probably find whoever this supposed other DCI was, and likely beat him to a pulp. For the first time in his life, the idea of Ray beating the shit out of another human being seemed comforting to him.
Ray followed the skittish little nurse down the hallway, staring at her backside as he did so, his mind contrasting it to the rears of thousands of other women, and hundreds of other men, whose assets Ray had assessed in the past. On a scale of one to ten, he gave her a seven; a bit on the small side, which meant smaller tits, unfortunately, but high and tight. He smiled, letting the idea of his own devious thought comfort him, the distraction pulling him away from musings on what he would do if the other man did, indeed, turn out to be a DCI. Litton? No, the description that they’d given him didn’t match Litton at all, and he couldn’t think of any reason that that particular thorn in CID’s side would ever come and visit a wounded officer from his rival division. A DCI from Hyde, then? The Gov had said that no one from Hyde was coming, but he could’ve been told wrong by whomever he had spoken with on the phone.
Ray was nearly to the office when a man in a suit walked briskly up to him, terror contorting his features, and anger, as he moved quickly up to Ray. “You’re with the police, right? I heard there were detectives on this floor, watching over the injured one. You’re one of them?”
Ray nodded, an irritated look of confusion twisting his mouth into a sneer, and he spat back at the other man, “What of it?”
“There’s been a murder. One of the patients two floors down - he was supposed to be under armed guard, but somehow…”
“What patient?” Realization came swiftly over Ray, and his eyes went as wide as the man in the suit’s. “What bloody patient?” He practically screamed it.
“A Jefferson Myers - suspect in the recent string of murders that the papers have been going on about,” the man’s voice was shaking as he said it, and he motioned for Ray to follow him to the lift. Ray obliged, feeling bile rise up in his throat. This couldn’t be happening, it was impossible…
All comments, criticism, etc. are greatly appreciated, and commenting = love.
“Same as the others, then?”
Oswald nodded, and then started to point at the different areas of the corpse, not looking at Gene. “Corneal flash burns, once again, and the same patterning on the arms - I believe that the report from the crime scene where the last vic - where DI Tyler was rescued showed the wounds to be caused by pieces of glass? I actually haven’t found any shards of glass in the wounds this time, in fact, I was able to remove a few small slivers of metal. It looks like he may have been suspended with something other than glass shards, then.”
“So it could be someone else besides Myers, who was just working with him before? Someone using different materials?” Gene’s head snapped up and he had to stop himself from advancing on the coroner.
Oswald nodded. “I’d have to agree with you there. In fact, after reanalyzing the details of the other victims in minute detail, I think it’s safe to say that this man was killed by the same person who killed our first victim, and that the second and third victim were killed by another. I wouldn’t have believed it before, given that the wounds are very precise, and the idea that more than one person would be capable of inflicting them, let alone of sharing so many details between the two murder patterns, but that is my current theory. A few tiny shards of glass were found in the wounds on the arms of victims two and three, and I finally found a few tiny slivers of metal in the wounds on the first victim, just like on this poor fellow.”
“They would have had to know each other, then, though?” Gene’s mind was doing cartwheels, trying to find out exactly how it was even possible that more than one person was committing the murders. “It’s likely that Myers learned his tricks from the bloke that killed victim one, and this one?”
“More than likely, I’m almost sure of it. The specificity of the wounds is such that you’d need to know all of the details of the first murder in order to copy it so precisely, and the press haven’t been given any details at all of the murders, other than the fact that they were grisly, to the best of my knowledge,” Oswald agreed.
Oswald stepped around the side of the table, and then reached out gloved hands and bared the victim’s back. Gene let his eyes drift to the bruising and bite marks around the victim’s anus, and to the deep, dark patch of exposed meat on the man’s left lower back. The edge of an identical patch on the man’s right side was vaguely visible. His memory leapt back to the sight of Sam, lying in a pool of his own blood, the same pattern of removed flesh cut into just one side of his back, and he felt his fists clench tightly at his sides. “The same method had to be used on all of the victims - it’s very precise - and it’s the exact same shape as the missing patches from the other victims. There’s no way that that detail could be the same without some form of measurement and marking taking place before the removal of the flesh,” Oswald’s voice floated in, thankfully moving the memory back and out of Gene’s mind’s eye.
“The patches he cut off were the exact same size in every case, even with the men being different sizes? You never mentioned that before,” Gene’s voice was tight and hot with anger, and Oswald lowered the body slightly and backed away, a look of fear flitting across his eyes for just a second.
“It was in my report, and I did mention it to DI Tyler,” he said, defensively, and then moved to continue on, pointing at the cut in the victim’s throat. “As opposed to the other victims, this one had his thyroid removed. Again, the cutting instrument had to be incredibly sharp, and the cuts were incredibly precise. If there was no medical training, there did have to be an extensive study of human anatomy - they knew exactly where to cut to remove the gland without damaging any of the surrounding tissue. A very odd thing to do, when so much other damage was inflicted upon the victim. And the ribs, in this instance, were damaged far less than victims two or three. As noted in my previous report, victim one would have been alive for quite some time, over 48 hours, while two and three would have died within 24-36 hours of the wounds to the chest being inflicted, three being more severely damaged than two. And once again, the damage was primarily on only the left side of the chest, although there was some bruising and cracking of the ribs on the right side as well.”
Gene stretched his arms out and placed his hands on the shining, cold metal of the autopsy table, then bent low, staring at the body of the corpse, closing his eyes as it slowly transformed into Sam again and again in his field of vision. He took a deep breath, the scent of blood, latex, and formaldehyde filling his nostrils, and then stood, pulling out one of his flasks and taking a deep drink. “Same person killed the first victim killed this one, but the other two had to be Myers, yeah?”
“That is my current assumption, DCI Hunt,” Oswald stared at him with a strange, strained expression that was starting to annoy Gene, who returned his flask to its usual place and crossed his arms over his chest.
“Any other details I should know about? Eyes the same?”
“The exact same, DCI Hunt,” Oswald nodded and pulled the sheet up over the corpse’s head. For a split second, Gene saw Sam’s face on the body, and then it was once again the unknown man, the sheet being drawn up and over him.
“Full written report will be sent to CID as soon as I’m finished,” Oswald said as he started to wheel the body back towards the refrigeration units. Gene stared after him for a second, and then slowly made his way back to CID, fists still clenched tightly, wishing for someone to strike.
“Excuse me, Sir?” A small, timid nurse came up to Ray where he sat on the hard plastic chairs of the ICU waiting area, Chris still asleep on the stretch of chairs beside him. “He’s allowed visitors, now. One at a time only, though,” the nurse said softly, glancing up towards the room lined hallway that lay beyond the nurses’ station. Ray nodded, then slowly stood, careful not to wake Chris. He followed the nurse to Room 11, and was led into it slowly. Another nurse sat next to a bed, and on it laid Sam Tyler. His arms were wrapped in bandages, as was the left side of his face, and an oxygen mask obscured his nose and mouth. Ray heard the slow hissing sound of the oxygen, and moved to stand next to the bed, staring down at Sam’s sleeping form.
“He’s still on the critical list, Sir, but he’s improving remarkably well,” the nurse said, hopefully, and Ray again nodded, not sure how to respond.
“He’ll be all right, then?” Ray asked, staring at the still form on the bed, trying to think of something to say, something to ask. No words came to him, and he found that all he could do was simply stare, eyes locked on Sam’s face.
“Doctor Barrie’s taken over the case from Doctor Denslow, Sir; he should be in shortly, if you’d like to talk to him. I believe he’s still talking to your Detective Chief Inspector, Sir,” the nurse said, and Ray let confusion twist his features.
“DCI Hunt? He said he’d gone back to the station,” Ray turned to face the nurse.
“The big man, the one that was here this morning?” The nurse asked, and this time, it was her turn to look confused. Ray nodded in response to her, and she continued, “No, Sir, it was the other one. The tall, slim fellow in the fine suit, the balding one. He came in to see Mr. Tyler once before, and he’s been talking with the doctors.” She laughed slightly, “Doesn’t shout near as much as the big one, does that one, Sir. Very gentlemanly,” she backed away slightly as Ray’s expression hardened.
“We don’t have another DCI in CID,” Ray said, his gaze flickering between the nurse and Sam, who was still lying like a corpse on the bed.
“He said that he was Mr. Tyler’s DCI, Sir,” the nurse’s voice quavered slightly, and Ray wondered exactly how angry he looked, as he glared down at her.
“What was his name?” Ray felt his face start to burn at the idea that someone else had been in to see Sam, even with all of them taking shifts in the waiting area. Whose watch had this supposed DCI come in on, he wondered.
“I, I don’t remember, Sir…” The nurse continued to back away from him, and Ray advanced on her until her back was up against the wall of the small room, like a cat cornering a mouse. She looked terrified, but Ray didn’t back away, allowing himself to tower over her.
“Think, use your brain, you bloody thick cow!” He shouted, and the other nurse jumped to her feet.
“That’s enough, Mister…” The other nurse placed a hand on Ray’s shoulder and moved to pull him away from her frightened colleague.
“Carling. Detective Sergeant Ray Carling. And no one outside of CID should have been in to see him, you daft bird!” Ray whirled around and threw the nurse’s arm off of his shoulder. “We’ve only got one DCI in CID, and that ‘big man’ is the best copper on the face of the ruddy damned planet, and if it weren’t him, then who the bloody hell was it?” Ray was shouting at the other nurse now, but this one refused to back away from him, and drew herself up to her full height.
“Out. Now.” The nurse pointed towards the door, but Ray refused to budge. “Did you hear me? Out. I won’t have this type of language or behavior around one of my patients.”
“Oh, you won’t have this shite behavior around, but anyone that bloody well pleases can just pop in, can they?” Ray was livid, his face growing red, and he moved so that he was mere inches away from the nurse, who continued to stand her ground. She pointed towards the door.
“Nurse Bedford, go and call security. Tell them that we have a problem visitor in ICU, needs to be escorted out…” Ray grimaced as she said it, and then moved towards the door, sneering at both of the nurses.
“You don’t need to call bloody security. Fat lot of good that lot have done so far, have they? Just tell me where I can find this supposed DCI, and this doctor…”
“Doctor Barrie. I can ask him to come down once he’s free, but he is a busy man.” The nurse glared at Ray, and then raised an eyebrow and pointed at the door again. “Out. You’re lucky I don’t call security now and bar you from seeing the patient again.”
“Tyler. His name is Sam Tyler, you stupid bint,” Ray muttered as he walked out of the room, a palpable atmosphere of anger and frustration surrounding him. He stalked back up to the waiting area, pausing to glare angrily at the nurses, and then sat down, heavily, next to Chris. He slowly shook Chris’ shoulder, trying to rouse him.
“Chris. Wake up, you div!” Chris stirred slightly, and Ray shook harder, and was rewarded with Chris slowly opening his eyes and sitting up, wiping at them with the palms of his hands.
“What is it?” Chris asked, wincing as his eyes met light and looking around the waiting area, then adjusting his expression to one of mild shock as he saw the look of anger on Ray’s face. “What’s happened?”
“Bloody damned birds just told me there’s been someone besides the Gov in to see the Boss, and he said he was his DCI.” Ray fumed.
“The Gov is the Boss’s DCI, Ray,” Chris muttered, still trying to wake up.
“No, you div, they let in some other person that said he was the Boss’s DCI. Didn’t describe no one from CID, neither.” Ray grabbed Chris’ shoulder and shook him again for emphasis, and immediately felt sorry that he had done so, as Chris shrank away from him.
“Who the hell would say that?” Chris asked, and Ray slapped his hands on his knees, trying to keep from getting up and screaming at the nurses.
“I don’t know. No one bloody knows. None of these damned birds knows a damned thing!” He looked back at the station as he said it, and half of the nurses looked away with frightened expressions, while the other half glared at him sternly. He curled his lip in a sneer, then reached into his pocket and withdrew his cigarettes, lighting one angrily and handing one to Chris, who had finally stopped shaking his head and rubbing his eyes and was now staring down the hallway, a confused look on his face.
“Someone else, saying they were the Boss’ DCI?” Chris’ eyes were wide, and for a moment, a flash of terror fixed over his features as he looked up at Ray. Ray shook his head, then gestured down the hallway.
“They say we can see him now. Just a bit, like. You go ahead an’ check in on ‘im, an’ I’m gonna see if I can’t find out sommat about the whole thing. Say his new doctor’s called Barris, or sommat like that.” Ray stood, crushing out his cigarette in the ashtray on the little table, and continued to the nurses’ station, where Chris could hear him muttering curses and light threats at the more stalwart of the nurses.
Chris stubbed out his own fag and then slowly clamored to his feet, then started to make his way towards Room 11. The hallway seemed to stretch on forever, the window at the end of it growing further away and the light dimming, the world spiraling away slightly as Chris moved towards the door, the short walk seeming to flood into forever as he inched his way closer. Images of similar hospital halls started to bombard him, skittering through his mind on strange, slippery strands of memory, and he paused outside the doorway, steadying himself and taking a deep breath.
He slowly pushed the door open, finding the room impossibly claustrophobic, the walls seeming to shimmy up and down as if they weren’t solid, the hazy yellow lights spinning around the machines, the bed, and the nurse writing something on a chart at the foot of the bed. He looked at her, his eyes wide and dipping in and out of focus, and she gave him a patronizing smile that made him steel himself and approach the bed. “He’s asleep. Not unconscious, just asleep. You can talk to him, if you want,” she offered, her tone much softer than it had been with Ray.
Chris nodded to the nurse, then forced himself to look downwards at Sam. His stomach jumped into his mouth again, and he swallowed, hard and repeatedly, against it, clamping his mouth tightly and biting his lower lip with his teeth, the pain bringing him firmly back to reality. “Boss?” Chris barely heard the word himself, and a shudder ran down his spine as he remembered the last time he’d stood over a hospital bed, staring at the closed eyes and bandages, the long, thin tubes snaking their way into the veins on the backs of hands. He had to turn away then, and he moved quickly out of the room, the nurse casting a sympathetic glance his way as he bolted through the door. Once outside of the room, he leaned back against the wall and took a few deep breaths, willing himself not to cry, memory and reality colliding haphazardly through his brain. After a minute, he was able to slowly make his way back to the waiting area, where Ray sat, lighting another cigarette.
Chris sat down heavily next to Ray, still breathing deeply, then pulled his legs up under him and sat cross legged on the hard plastic chair, stretching his neck from side to side with a dull cracking sound. He placed his hands on his knees and stared at the ground, breathing in the comforting scent of Ray next to him, booze and cigarettes and too much aftershave, the combination vaguely like the Gov’s scent, but much different, somehow. Ray stood then, and placed a hand on Chris’ shoulder, lightly. Chris fought the urge to lean his face into Ray’s hand, knowing that the movement would likely infuriate the other man, and continued to stare at the floor.
“Dozy bird’s going to take me down to this new doctor’s office; this new DCI git should be there. You stay here,” Ray commanded, knocking ashes over the table as he forcefully put out his latest cigarette. “No one goes into the room, save the bleedin’ nurses, and anyone else tries, you stop ‘em, eh, big man, just like you were with Myers. Understand?” Ray’s voice was hard and commanding, and Chris straightened his back, lowering his legs and scooting over in the seats so that he was looking down the hall and directly at Sam’s room’s door.
“Wilco, Ray,” Chris said, reaching for his pocket and pulling out his own fags, lighting one and nodding up at Ray, feeling his resolve harden and his mood sour into anger at the concerned look on Ray’s face. “Not a problem, you go. Can’t wait ‘til the Gov gets an earful on this one,” Chris said, letting his voice settle.
Ray nodded at Chris, then moved back to the nurses’ station, where one of the more timid specimens behind the desk crept out from the folding bit of counter and started to lead him back towards the offices on the other side of the floor. Chris kept his eyes locked on the door, and locked down his own internal defenses against the thick flood of memory that continued to threaten to overtake him, eventually silencing it back to its oblivion. He let his thoughts roam to the idea that someone else had been to see Sam, without their knowledge, and grew more resolute in his task. No one was getting past him, and Ray would probably find whoever this supposed other DCI was, and likely beat him to a pulp. For the first time in his life, the idea of Ray beating the shit out of another human being seemed comforting to him.
Ray followed the skittish little nurse down the hallway, staring at her backside as he did so, his mind contrasting it to the rears of thousands of other women, and hundreds of other men, whose assets Ray had assessed in the past. On a scale of one to ten, he gave her a seven; a bit on the small side, which meant smaller tits, unfortunately, but high and tight. He smiled, letting the idea of his own devious thought comfort him, the distraction pulling him away from musings on what he would do if the other man did, indeed, turn out to be a DCI. Litton? No, the description that they’d given him didn’t match Litton at all, and he couldn’t think of any reason that that particular thorn in CID’s side would ever come and visit a wounded officer from his rival division. A DCI from Hyde, then? The Gov had said that no one from Hyde was coming, but he could’ve been told wrong by whomever he had spoken with on the phone.
Ray was nearly to the office when a man in a suit walked briskly up to him, terror contorting his features, and anger, as he moved quickly up to Ray. “You’re with the police, right? I heard there were detectives on this floor, watching over the injured one. You’re one of them?”
Ray nodded, an irritated look of confusion twisting his mouth into a sneer, and he spat back at the other man, “What of it?”
“There’s been a murder. One of the patients two floors down - he was supposed to be under armed guard, but somehow…”
“What patient?” Realization came swiftly over Ray, and his eyes went as wide as the man in the suit’s. “What bloody patient?” He practically screamed it.
“A Jefferson Myers - suspect in the recent string of murders that the papers have been going on about,” the man’s voice was shaking as he said it, and he motioned for Ray to follow him to the lift. Ray obliged, feeling bile rise up in his throat. This couldn’t be happening, it was impossible…
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