Night Strike

by Rodney Mountain

  "We need to get her to a hospital," the doctor said, "Now. I think she’s either having a stroke or a similar cerebral incident."

  By this time a police officer came over to the area and was radioing in. He saw Kara and the doctor explained to the officer what was needed. Before anyone could get the call in, he had called for an ambulance and was trying to get the crowd back.

  "Are you her next of kin?" the doctor asked him, "Able to make decisions for her?"

  "I’m as close as she has in this country," A.J. said, "She is British and is living with me. I guess that could count as common law."

  "The ambulance is on the way," the officer said, "Is there anything we can do?"

  "Pray we get her to the emergency room in time and that there is a good brain surgeon available," the doctor said, "If she has what I think she does that will be the only thing that could save her now."

  A.J. stayed down in the snow holding her hand and talking to her, even though she was completely unconscious. He was not about to let go, even though he knew something was massively wrong.

  She had been there for him as he recovered from his massive injuries and had helped him along greatly in his reintegration to civilian life. If not for her intervention he may well have ended up dead chasing after another revolution.

  "Clear the way!" the officer exclaimed, "Ambulance coming through!"

  "I wish I could do more," the doctor said, "I’m sorry."

  "Thanks for doing this much," A.J. said and handed him a card while the EMTs worked on Kara, "If you have a favorite charity, let me know. They will get a good donation. I promise."

  A.J. shook the man’s hand and followed the EMT’s into the ambulance. Being in New York they were not far from the hospital at all, so they were in the Emergency room before he even realized it.

  Chapter 5

  Despite his years of being a doer instead of a watcher, all he could do in this situation was watch as the doctors stripped her down and began working on her.

  "What is her name?" a nurse asked Durell, "We need information to save her."

  "Kara Malloy," he told her, still a bit shell shocked, "She is twenty eight years of age."

  "Any known diseases?" she asked him.

  "No," A.J. said simply, "None."

  "Any history of heart disease or blood pressure problems?" she asked.

  "No," A.J. said, watching them work, "Just a little headache…"

  She was moved quickly into surgery, while A.J. was forced to wait in a waiting room pacing around. He craved cigarettes, but did not want to leave in case the doctors came back with some news. It was another hour and a half before anyone came over to him at all.

  "Mr. Durell?" the younger man said as he approached.

  "Yeah?" A.J. said, looking up from the chair he finally had settled in, "I’m A.J. Durell."

  "You came in with Kara Malloy, right?" the doctor said, not really asking, "Do you speak for her?"

  "I’m the only one in the country who can," A.J. said, "What happened to her?"

  "Your friend had a massive cerebral aneurysm." The doctor told him, "It’s rare to see one like this in someone so young."

  "Is she going to make it?" A.J. asked him, hoping the impossible hope.

  "She passed away on the table," the doctor said, "We opened her up and tried to repair the damage, but the burst aneurysm had already killed a large chunk of her brain. The damage was too severe. Even had we been able to keep her alive she would have been brain dead."

  "My god," A.J. said, his eyes wide, "I mean… We were just together. She had had a headache, but she’s always had those…"

  "This has probably been building up for years," the doctor said, "My guess is she was probably discounting the headaches when she should have had a cat scan done."

  "Does it always happen this quick?" A.J. asked him, "I mean, talking one minute and gone the next?"

  "Usually does," the doctor admitted, "I’m afraid there is nothing that can be done."

  "Thanks," Durell said, "Do I have to sign something or what not?"

  "Next of kin will," the doctor said, "You may be close, but you can’t sign the legal paperwork."

  "I’ll get word to her mother," Durell said, "I want any bills to go to me, though."

  "Fair enough," the doctor nodded, "I’m sorry, Mr. Durell."

  "So am I," A.J. nodded, "I guess there’s nothing left for me to do here."

  "No sir," the doctor said, "There is nothing you can do for her now."

  A.J. sighed and stood up. He walked out the door, again ignoring the pain in his knee. A world that had seemed so bright and free for him just a few hours before began to look dark and grim. Even the sky that had looked clear and pretty before had begun to look foreboding. He walked out in the hospital parking lot and just watched people as he lit a cigarette.

  "Suck it up, Durell," he told himself, "You’ve lost people before. This should be no different."

  But it was different. The people he had lost before had been in a hostile country, people who were combatants. These were people who had been courting death just like he had been.

  Kara had never been a combatant. She had been his friend, his lover and the one who had brought him out of that life. If not for his time with her he might never have been able to assimilate to society again.

  A.J. Durell finished his cigarette and tossed it into the snow. He limped his way over to the taxi stand and hailed a cab, getting a ride back to the park so he could pick up his truck. He was quiet the whole time, keeping his emotions in check as he had learned to do in his youth.

  Once he made it back to his truck he got in, lighting yet another cigarette. He was about to leave the area when the doctor with the two young children came up. A.J. stopped the car and lowered his window to talk to the man. A.J. figured the doctor had a right to know what happened.

  "How is she?" the doctor asked him, "Did they get there in time?"

  "I’m afraid not," A.J. sighed, "They fought for a long time, but the damage was too severe. A massive cerebral hemorrhage, probably the result of an aneurysm. She passed without ever waking up."

  "I had a suspicion," the doctor nodded, "I’m sorry."

  "So am I," A.J. said, "Thanks for trying though."

  "Were you together long?" the doctor asked him, nodding about the thanks.

  "Long enough," A.J. said, "But then, I guess it wasn’t long enough, was it?"

  "It never is," the doctor admitted, "Take care of yourself, Mr. Durell."

  "You too, doc," A.J. said, firing off a salute, "Thanks."

  A.J. drove away from the park and headed towards the apartment that he had been sharing with Kara. He knew that he was not going to want to go in there alone, but he had no choice. He parked the truck outside and walked up to the first floor apartment, unlocking the door and letting himself inside.

  Chapter 6

  A flood of memories went through A.J. as he unlocked the door and looked around the small apartment. He sat down on the couch and simply let the atmosphere overwhelm him. The unreality of it was still there, but the truth of it was the fact that she was gone. She was not just sick, she was not just hurt, she was dead. Their lives changed in a matter of minutes.

  It was the first time in years A.J. had let himself show emotion. The fact that nobody was there to see it probably didn’t hurt, but he just let it out. It came out in a typical fashion for him, a bit of tears, a bit of anger and a lot of violence. He destroyed a number of pieces of cheap furniture and finally stopped when he put his third hole in the wall.

  Once he’d worked off the fury he let himself collapse on the couch. He considered going to bed, but he knew that going to the bed they had shared would just fuel the anger and heartache. He was not prepared for that yet.

  He considered turning on the television, but his taste for American television hadn’t returned yet. He had spent enough time away from it that he just could not get into it anymo
re.

  He leaned back on the couch, pushed his hair back and rubbed his eyes. Once he calmed down a little he pulled a bent cigarette from the pack that he’d had in his pocket. He lit it and just sat there for a while, not really thinking, not really feeling, mainly just letting himself recover a bit.

  Finally, close to 11pm, he was disturbed by a telephone call. He put the cigarette he was smoking out in the ashtray and picked up the handset. He was mildly surprised that it was actually running and even more surprised that he had not thrown the handset during his rage earlier.

  "Durell," he said, his voice hoarse from the activities earlier, "This had better be good."

  "Where the hell have you been, Andy Jack?" his father’s voice came through the handset, "We’ve been trying to reach you for hours."

  "It’s been a bad night," A.J. said, "Kara…"

  "I don’t care about your love life, boy," his father said, cutting him off, "This is really important! Your brother has done…"

  "Kara died tonight, dad!" A.J. exclaimed, "I really don’t give a fuck what Randy has done now!"

  "What happened?" His father asked him, "She’s dead?"

  "An aneurysm," A.J. told him, "Doctors tried, but the damage was too severe."

  "I’m sorry," his father said, "But I need you here."

  "What did Randy do this time?" A.J. asked, sighing, "And what do you expect me to do about it?"

  "SEC is about to come down on us for something he did," Robert Durell said, "You know the legal end of this mess better than we do. I want you here."

  "I’ll be there," A.J. said, "The lawyers will do more good, but I’ll be there. Maybe it will keep my mind off Kara."

  "That’s the spirit, Andy Jack!" Robert said, "See you here in a few."

  "Yeah," A.J. said as his father released the line, "Great."

  A.J. sighed and picked himself up off the couch. It was time to move on and time to get to work. It certainly beat having to sit in that apartment moping about loss and defeat. He had a job to do. He breathed deeply and put on a jacket. Once he hardened his resolve he put a cigarette into his mouth and left the apartment.

  He turned around to close the door and sighed. It felt like he was closing the door to a major portion of his life. In a way he was, but he had no choice. Fate was cruel but to stop was to let it win. He decided that he wasn’t about to do that. He locked the door and turned away.

  "There is no fate," A.J. said as he walked to his car, "Just folly."

  The Highway

  The Highway was one of my first Nick and Corrie shorts. They started with my desire to do CSI style mysteries and having been two of my favorite characters from The Killer Strikes I figured they would fit the role nicely.

  This story came from a scenario I'd been thinking about for a while and figured out how to do. It's little more than an amusing head exercise.

  I still write these occasionally to keep my head in shape and to give myself a break from the bigger projects. I think I was working on the rewrite of The Accidental Immortal at the time, which was my second rewrite of the year and I was getting burned out.

  So here are Nick and Corrie in all their glory.

  Not much history on this one, but Nick and Corrie always did make me smile when I used them together. If I were ever to write a cop show I'm sure I'd make it about them.

  -Rodney 7/29/11

  Chapter 1

  Nick Jones pulled his ancient unmarked police car over to the side of the road, listening to it cough and sputter as he put the machine in park. Corrie Albiston, his partner, looked at him and growled a little. She was getting sick of riding in that rolling death trap of his, but since they lived in the same house and worked cases together the brass would not give her a car.

  "When are we going to get them to retire this piece of junk?" Corrie asked him, "It’s been on its last legs ever since you got it."

  "Not my fault that crazy bitch Steele destroyed my car," Nick chuckled, "Unfortunately it was my second one in two years."

  "Should have let me fill out the paperwork," Corrie grumbled as she opened her door and got out.

  "You were in the hospital still," Nick reminded her, "I wasn’t going to wait two months for a new car."

  "Yeah," Corrie sighed, rubbing the spot on her side that had been injured in that explosion, "Let’s go down and see what they have for us this time."

  The two of them walked down the hill towards the mass of people who were at the edge of the trees. It was a beautiful day here on the outskirts of the city, the sun beaming down and shining off Corrie’s fire red hair. Nick smiled as he watched her, actually liking working on a day like this.

  The illusion of niceness was shattered as they approached the woods, however. It did not take them long to see the man that was lying on his back staring blankly into the sky. Unfortunately he was not seeing anything, as he had probably been dead for at least twenty-four hours.

  "I guess this isn’t such a fine summer day for him," Nick said dryly as he looked at the body, "How’s it going, Charlie?"

  "Not too bad," Charlie Durling said, "Mike sent you guys out on this one, huh?"

  "Marcus actually," Corrie told him, "Mike is taking his first vacation in years, spending a couple weeks with Claudia and the baby."

  "She finally popped, huh?" Charlie smiled, "Glad to hear it. Guess everyone gets a second chance at family life, eh?"

  Mike Miller was Nick and Corrie’s boss and the second chance that Charlie referred to was Mike’s second family. His first had collapsed in a nasty divorce nearly a decade before. Everyone in the department was glad to see Miller happy again, especially after giving so much in the years directly after the divorce, first as an undercover agent then as a Homicide squad commander.

  "So what have we got here, Charlie?" Corrie asked, "Any apparent means of death?"

  "No holes that I can see," Charlie said, "None of us have touched him. Waiting for the medical examiner to show up though. He’s backlogged because of that shooting spree over on 43rd Avenue."

  "Glad that’s not on our turf," Nick said, "So who found him?"

  "A group of local kids," Charlie told them, "They’re all gathered at the blue house about 200 yards or so down the way."

  "We’ll go talk to them in a few," Corrie said, "Any guesses on means of death?"

  "I couldn’t begin to fathom," Charlie said, "He’s got a nasty head injury, maybe beaten or dragged."

  Nick looked up at the highway overpass that was about 40 feet away. He wondered whether someone had tossed the body off the bridge to get it down here. Corrie spent her time looking at the body, trying to find evidence of what killed the man. She looked up at Nick and shrugged her shoulders.

  "The ME is going to have to tackle this one," she told him, "It may be a beating or a bludgeoning, but it’s not a particularly brutal one."

  "Has anyone gone up to the highway to look for a car?" Nick asked Charlie.

  "Not yet," he said, "I’ll radio for a unit to do a drive by on the bridge."

  "Have them call down here if they find anything," Nick said, "You want to tackle the kids, Corrie?"

  "Sure," she nodded, "I’m better at that than you are. Should we wait for the ME to check his pockets?"

  "I’ll check for ID while you go talk to the kids," Nick told her, "I’m also going to take another good walk around the site."

  Corrie nodded and started walking over towards the house that had been pointed out to her earlier. She walked around a few toys and knocked lightly on the glass door that was closest. A middle-aged woman came to the door and opened it slightly, looking at Corrie trying to determine who she was.

  "Can I help you?" she asked Corrie.

  "I’m Detective Albiston," Corrie told the woman, "They told me that it was your kids who found the body?"

  "One of them is mine," she conceded, "The rest are from the neighborhood here. Who expects something like this to happen right by your backyard?"


  "I know it, ma’am," Corrie said, "May I talk with them so I can get a better picture of what happened?"

  "How would they know that, they just found him that way," the woman said.

  "I know," Corrie said, forcing a smile to hide her annoyance, "Just need to know when and what they saw when they found him. A few simple questions and I’ll be out of your hair."

  "All right," the woman said, "But I’m going to be there too."

  "I wouldn’t have it any other way," Corrie affirmed.

  The woman led the way to the den, where a very sullen looking group of kids looked at each other. Corrie smiled at them as best she could and pulled out her badge, knowing that badges tended to impress young children.

  "Hello," Corrie told them, "I’m Detective Albiston. Which one of you found the body?"

  A very small and upset little boy raised his hand. Corrie sighed, realizing that this child was probably no more than nine years old. It was a sad thing when a man had to die. It was worse when a child had to run head first into the remains, especially when the child was not prepared for it.

  "Hi," Corrie said to the young boy, "What’s your name?"

  "Timmy," the child said.

  "Well hello Timmy," Corrie smiled and kneeled down by Timmy, "I’m Corrie. So you found the man out there?"

  The boy nodded slowly, still unsure of himself. Corrie knew he was scared and tried to make sure her tone remained non-threatening.

  "Don’t worry," she told him, "You did right. How did you happen to find him?"

  "We were out playing war," one of the other kids said, "Timmy was running away from us and tripped over him."

  "I thought he was a branch," Timmy said, "I didn’t mean to!"

  "It’s ok," Corrie smiled, "You didn’t hurt him. What did you do when you found him?"

  "He ran and cried!" one of the others taunted, "Timmy is a baby."

  "Like you wouldn’t have done the same if you came face to face with him," the middle-aged woman said, "You should be ashamed of yourselves."

  "How long ago was this?" Corrie said.

  "They came running in here about an hour or so ago," she said, "I called the police immediately and the patrol unit came in about fifteen minutes later."

  "Did any of you see anything strange back there today?" Corrie asked them.