by Grant Pies
“Who was it?” Carter asked through gritted teeth.
“Some rich guy. Didn’t give a name. Just paid half up front. Said he’d pay me the second half after, but he never did. Told me to fuck off and said go to the cops if I wasn’t happy.”
Carter looked back again at the warehouse, still thinking about Sam, but also wondering how long he had until the actual police came out the back of the warehouse and saw him holding a man at gunpoint.
He slowly stood from Jason, but kept the gun pointed at him.
“Get up!” he demanded.
Grimes sat up on the ground, sweat and tears dripped through the dirt stuck to the side of his face.
“Please don’t do this! Please. It was just for the money, man. I didn’t know what I was doing. I thought you beat his wife up. Please! He showed me the pictures. She was beat up bad. If you saw that – you – you’d see where I’m coming from. Thought you deserved it. I’m sor—"
“What pictures? You have them?”
“Yeah, yeah.” Grimes nodded enthusiastically and slowly reached in his pocket.
“Slow!” Carter growled and gripped the pistol tight.
Pulling his phone out and flipping through pictures, Grimes handed the phone to Carter and said, “See man. Tell me you don’t want to get back at the man who did that.”
Carter leaned forward and looked at the phone. On it was a picture of Lucinda Kingsley, her eye swollen shut and her lip split open. “Sam was right,” he muttered to himself. “Motherfucker. Sam was right.”
I Wanna Be Sedated
Carter rushed back into the warehouse, leaving Grimes to take off and disappear in a rust covered rail yard. Jamming Sam’s pistol into his waistband and pulling his coat over it, Carter walked briskly. The lights in the warehouse were still off, but flashlights flickered and moved deep in the darkness, illuminating slivers of the oily machinery.
“Sam!” Carter shouted. “Sam!”
He jogged towards the lights to find two paramedics hovering over Sam. His eyes flickered sporadically, like the shutter of a camera taking rapid pictures.
“Sir,” one of the paramedics said, holding his arm out to block Carter, “please stay back.” The other paramedic acted as if Carter wasn’t there, wrapping bandages around Sam’s stomach.
“He’s my partner,” Carter said, trying to move around the paramedic’s arm, but with the two men, Sam, and the machinery, space was tight.
“Let’s go,” the paramedic said. They lifted a stretcher and wheeled him through the darkness. Carter followed, keeping his eyes on Sam the whole time.
“I’m right here, Sam!” Carter shouted over the paramedic’s shoulder. “Hang in there!”
Just outside the front of the warehouse was an ambulance and two cop cars.
Pointing at Carter, the man who had the clipboard said, “There! That’s him!” Two police officers walked towards him, but Carter followed the paramedics to the ambulance.
“Sir!” one of the officers said in a demanding tone. “Sir, we need to speak to you.”
“Can I go with them?” Carter turned to the police officer.
“No, I need you to stay here with me and answer some questions.”
“Okay,” Carter nodded. “Let’s get this over with.”
After a short discussion with the police, during which Carter lied and blamed the stabbing on Jason Grimes, Carter rushed into the hospital and sped past the coughing and vomiting patients in the waiting area. He approached the admin desk and leaned against the counter, tapping on the glass window.
Sliding the window open, a woman in blue scrubs shoved a clipboard towards Carter and said, “Fill these out and take a seat.” She dropped the clipboard on Carter’s side of the counter and closed the door.
Carter tensed his jaw and tapped on the glass again. The woman slid the window open. “Just take a—"
“My partner was brought here. Sam Murphy.” Carter pressed a business card against the glass, facing his bloodied palm towards the woman.
Checking her computer, she said, “Okay, come on back.” She pressed a button and a buzzer hummed. The glass doors to the emergency room slid open. Carter rushed in, barely waiting for the doors to open enough. “They took him to Trauma Room Three.” The woman pointed in some general direction.
Carter made his way through the crowded emergency room. The place smelled of disinfectant, vomit, and the slight metallic scent of blood. He sped up and reached Trauma Room Three. Bursting through the door, he found only bloody rags on the floor, used latex gloves, and a hospital bed with the sheets in a ball.
The door opened behind him. “They took that man to surgery.”
Carter spun around to see an old man hunched over, holding himself up against the handle of his mop. He rolled a bucket on wheels to the middle of the trauma room and sloshed the mop around. The man was short, even shorter because of his huddled posture.
“Surgery?” Carter repeated.
“Only two places people go after they down here. Morgue or surgery.” He bent down, like he was in slow motion, to pick up all the bloodied disposable clothes and gloves on the floor.
“You’re sure it was surgery?”
“Mm-hmm.” The man nodded and shuffled over to a biohazard bin. “They were moving too fast to be pushing around a dead man.”
Carter sighed and moved out of the janitor’s way. “Thanks.” The janitor grunted, but otherwise kept his head down and mopped. Carter pushed the large trauma room doors open and stepped out into the ER.
Less critical patients laid on narrow hospital beds scattered around the large open ER. If they were lucky, there was a curtain hanging from the ceiling to provide them a touch of privacy. The more seriously injured patients filled the trauma rooms. A man in a hospital gown waddled past Carter, wheeling an IV stand next to him, his gown hanging open in the back.
A nurse chased after him. “Mr. Edwards.” She turned him around and led him back to his room. “You can’t walk off like that.” The old man had a confused look, but he didn’t fight or protest. Carter guessed it could have been anyone leading him anywhere, and he would have shuffled right along all the same.
More paramedics burst through the doors wheeling an old woman on a stretcher, and two nurses rushed down the hall past Carter to meet them. He pressed up against the wall to avoid a collision. A small child screamed from one of the dozens of beds, people coughed and sneezed, most not covering their mouths. Most patients were sleeping, at least Carter hoped they were sleeping.
There were twice as many people waiting for a bed than were already in the ER. A man leaned over the edge of his bed and vomited on the floor. Another man laid next to him, only a few feet away, squirming in pain, holding his wrist. A nail ran straight through his palm between his thumb and index finger.
Near the triage center with the large window separating the ER from the waiting area, he spotted a familiar face. Dr. Abbott. He made his way over, dodging beds, nurses, and paramedics. She was talking with a nurse, giving orders for a patient. Just as he reached her, she signed some paperwork on a clipboard and handed them to the nurse.
“Doctor?” Carter said. She turned towards him. A look came over her, like she recognized him but didn’t know from where. “Dr. Abbott?”
“Yes.” She squinted her eyes and tilted her head slightly. “Private detective, right?”
“That’s right. Will Carter.”
“Mr. Carter. The fire. The teenagers.” She used air quotes when she said ‘teenagers’.
“Good memory.”
“You’re still sticking with that story.” She smiled, like it didn’t matter to her either way, but she wanted him to know she knew it wasn’t true.
He smiled back. “For now.”
“You don’t look hurt?”
“No … it’s my partner, Sam Murphy. Stab wound.”
“Yes.” She nodded. “Screwdriver?”
“That’s him. Is he okay?”
Dr. Abbott nodded
and led him through the ER. “He’s in surgery now, the screwdriver may have nicked his spleen.”
“Shit.”
“Don’t worry. I’ll take you up to the surgery ward. The surgery is simple, as far as surgeries go. It shouldn’t take long.” They walked past patients with IVs, some on heart monitors, others with minor cuts or bruises. One man scrolled through his phone with one hand while his other was wrapped in bloody gauze. An IV of, what Carter assumed, was pain medications ran to his arm.
Dr. Abbott led him to a bank of elevators and tapped on the button to call one down. The same man from before, Mr. Edwards, wandered towards the elevators.
“No, no,” Dr. Abbott said and turned him around. She stretched her neck to find a nurse to help. “Sheila? Sheila?” A nurse came over. “Mr. Edwards has wandered off again, can you see him to his room, please.” The nurse nodded and led Mr. Edwards back through the ER.
“He’s a frequent flyer.” She smiled and tapped the elevator button again. “He’s in here a couple times a month. Usually wanders here, dehydrated, maybe a cut or some infection to treat.”
The elevator dinged and the doors slid open. They stepped in and Dr. Abbott tapped the button for the fifth floor.
“It’s – it’s chaos,” Carter said.
“It’s an inner-city emergency room. But yeah … it’s chaos.” She nodded. The elevator rushed up. “But I like it.”
“You … like the chaos?”
“Sure.” She nodded and shoved her hands in the large pockets of her white doctor’s coat. “A little chaos is good for a person, isn’t it? Figured you’d get that, with your meddling teenagers and all that.”
“I – I don’t make it a habit to get wrapped up with teenaged arsonists on a regular basis. I could do without the chaos if you ask me.” The elevator stopped, and the doors slid open. Carter followed Dr. Abbott down a hall.
“I suppose I’ve always looked at it like a vaccine.”
“A vaccine?” Carter asked.
“Sure. A small dose of craziness during each shift. It prepares your body for the real thing. Gets your heart going, forces you to make split-second decisions.”
“The real thing? You planning on getting into some sort of trouble?”
“It’s a harsh city, you know. Safety isn’t guaranteed.”
“Tell me about it…” Carter mumbled.
They reached the surgery ward. Dr. Abbott swiped a security card and the glass doors opened. They stepped inside an area much quieter than the ER downstairs. Dr. Abbott stepped up to a desk and exchanged a quick nod and smile with the nurse sitting at the desk.
“Sandra, this is Will Carter.” Carter stepped forward. “He’s Mr. Murphy’s partner. Can you give us an estimate on the surgery?”
Sandra looked at her notes. “They just put him under, so I would think it’ll be a couple hours. You can wait up here if you’d like.” She motioned to a waiting area.
“Sure, thanks.” Carter nodded, then looked at Dr. Abbott. “And thanks for helping Sam.”
“I’m glad it wasn’t anything more serious.” She shook Carter’s hand and headed back down the hall towards the elevators.
Something sparked in Carter’s mind and he walked after her. “Doctor?” She turned around. “Can – can you help me with something?” He didn’t know if it was inappropriate, crossing some boundary, but he had to ask.
“I’ll do my best.”
He scrolled through his phone and pulled up a photo of Rose Bishop. “Do you know what this is?”
Dr. Abbott held the picture close to her face and squinted. “Hmmmm.” She tilted her head. “Looks like a minor deformity of the pupil and maybe the iris. It’s hard to say what exactly caused it. Is this a relative? You could bring her in, have it checked out.”
“No … not a relative. She – she’s a missing girl. Her parents hired us to look for her.”
“Oh. That’s horrible. Runaway?”
Carter shook his head. “I don’t know anymore, but seriously doubt it. If you ask Sam … we’re chasing a ghost.” He nodded down at his phone. “Do you think it’s hereditary?”
“That’s pretty difficult to determine just from this picture. It could be, but it could be environmental. There could be a lot of reasons for it.” Another doctor sauntered down the hall; a very different pace than downstairs.
“If two people had the same thing, and I was pretty sure they had the same father, would it be safe to assume the father would have the same issue?”
“That’s probably a safe bet.” Dr. Abbott nodded. “If two siblings exhibit an abnormality or something like this, it is likely that at least one of the parents has it.”
“Well in this case the two girls only share a father … at least I think they share a father.”
“I’d say it’s a safe assumption then. I can ask around if you’d like me to?” She handed the phone back to Carter.
“No, it’s better if I don’t involve anyone else.”
“You mean safer?”
“Just better. Thanks though.” He nodded and smiled. Dr. Abbott gave a quick nod. His stomach growled and he realized he hadn’t eaten all day. “Is there a cafeteria around here or something?”
“There is, but you don’t want to go there.” She stuck her tongue out and made a face like she was sick. “Here.” She pulled a business card from her coat pocket and flipped it over, jotting down an address. “This place is nearby and pretty good. The ER docs and nurses make food runs there when things slow down enough to eat.” She handed him the card. It read Doc’s Diner with an address that was only a block away.
“Thanks.” Her handwriting was neat, especially for a doctor. “You’ve been very helpful.” He flipped the card to the front. It had her full name – Dr. Olivia Abbott.
“Good luck Mr. Carter.” She smiled and walked back to the elevators.
Carter sat by Sam, watching the lines on the monitors jolt up and then drop back down. Sam rolled his head from side to side, slowly opening his eyes. Gradually gaining awareness, he looked down at his stomach then dropped his head onto the pillow.
“What the fuck,” Sam groaned. “What—"
“Take it easy.” Carter leaned forward. “It’s okay.”
“What – where am I?”
“At the hospital.”
Sam’s hand ran down his arm and found the IV in the crook of his elbow. Carter gripped Sam’s hand and pulled it away.
“What – let me go,” Sam mumbled.
“Listen, Sam,” Carter said, trying to make eye contact. “You gotta say it was the other guy that stabbed you.” Carter whispered.
“You stabbed me!” Sam said, still groggy. “What other man?”
“The guy, you know, the guy we were chasing. The one that started the fire.” Carter held Sam’s face in his hands. His pupils were large and it seemed as if he was looking right through Carter.
“The other guy?”
“Yeah, the other guy. He stabbed you.” Carter looked over his shoulder and saw a nurse heading in their direction. “You got it? The guy that started the fire stabbed you, okay? Not me.” He quieted and sat back down. To the nurse he said, “I think he’s waking up.”
She stood at the bedside and checked the monitors and Sam’s chart.
“The other man stabbed me,” Sam said. “Carter didn’t stab me.” He fought to keep his eyes open.
“When do you think he could leave?” Carter asked.
“Who are you?” the nurse asked.
“I’m his partner. Uh, work partner, you know, not like – we’re just friends – well we work together. We’re partners.”
“Carter didn’t stab me.” Sam reached up and tugged on the nurse’s sleeve, like a child asking his mom for candy. “It was the other guy.” He scrunched his face and tried his best to wink, but it just came off as an exaggerated blink.
“Is that the pain meds?” Carter asked, hoping the nurse would just ignore Sam’s ramblings.
“Yes,” she
said, jotting notes down in Sam’s chart. “That should wear off in an hour. We’re going to keep him here overnight for observation, but he should be able to go home tomorrow morning, assuming everything goes well.”
“It was the guy that started the fire,” Sam carried on, oblivious. “It wasn’t us.”
“And the surgery?” Carter asked, still ignoring Sam. “It was okay? No permanent damage?”
“He’ll be fine. He had some internal bleeding, but the surgical team was able to repair the damage.”
“The other guy started the fire,” Sam whispered to the nurse, or at least tried to. “Because we knew too much. We didn’t start the fire.”
“Okay, Sam, you should get some rest,” Carter said.
“Eisenhower, vaccine, England’s got a new queen,” Sam slurred, trying to sing.
“I’ll come back and check on you in a little bit, okay?” the nurse said to Sam like she was talking to a child. “Let us know if you need anything.” She put the chart away and walked out the door.
“North Korea, South Korea, Marilyn Monroe! We didn’t start the fire! It was always burning!”
“Okay, okay,” Carter said as the door closed. “You need to relax!”
“Is this pain meds?” Sam looked at the IV and fumbled with the tube.
“Just leave it there. Jesus! What are you twelve?”
“How can you stand when the room is moving like that?” Sam said, his head pressed against the pillow like some force stronger than just simple gravity was pulling at him.
“Just relax, Sam.” Carter patted his shoulder. “Just get some rest.”
Then Sam was asleep, and Carter slouched in the chair next to his bed. The monitors beeped and Carter closed his eyes, drifting to sleep.
It was early morning when Carter woke. The sun hadn’t risen yet. Sam was sitting up drinking some thick smoothie drink.
“Hey man,” Sam said. His voice was raspy. “You’re up.”
Squinting and looking around the room for a clock, Carter said, “What time is it?”
“Six.”
“How are you feeling?” Carter asked, rubbing his eyes and stretching his arms over his head.