Into the Breach: Choices can be deadly...

by Lottie M. Hancock

  Sam moved the file under the next one and began studying it. "Peters, Agnes. Says Peters collapsed while doing the family shopping. Same symptoms?" Shafer nodded.

  "Four days later, the doctors requested that the husband sign a release to remove incubation," Sullivan piped up. "He left the hospital and never returned. His wife woke up that night."

  "That does sound mysterious but," Sam shook his head. “I still don't get why we were called in." Sullivan and Shafer looked at each other a moment and the chief looked down at his desk. "Fine, what aren't you telling me?"

  "Mrs. Stephens claimed to have received numerous phone calls from an unknown. The caller claimed to have put her husband in a coma and could reverse it. The catch was that she had to admit in a public ad that she had been cheating on her husband since their marriage began."

  "An assailant with a moral cause?" Sam looked extremely skeptical.

  "Not quite," Sullivan said. "She claimed that the truth was that she was never unfaithful to her husband. The caller wanted her to lose face with her husband. That was all it was. Mr. Stephens believes his wife unconditionally."

  "Okay, let’s say that she is telling the truth, what did this guy have to gain from blackmailing her into lying?"

  "That's part of the mystery," Shafer answered.

  "And have any of the others, the ones whose loved one died, got calls like this?"

  "I have asked two of them but they have clammed up," Sullivan stated, her accent getting stronger. "I’ve been having trouble getting the others to agree to talk to me."

  "That's why we need to open this up as a case and not just an inquiry, Sam," Shafer looked squarely at his old friend. "We suspect that they think we are trying to get info for the insurance agencies."

  "And why is that?"

  "They asked if there was a criminal case open about it and we had to tell them no. That’s when the door shuts in our faces." Sullivan's hands turned white around the files. Sam suspected that there was more to it than they were telling him, but knew better than rock the boat before knowing where the life-vests were.

  "Has anyone talked to Mr. Peters yet?"

  "We haven't yet. We did find out where he was staying, however, and that was hard to do since he was using an assumed name for his lease. His wife hasn't heard from him since she left for the store the day of her coma."

  "He never went home?" This didn't make sense. A man who just drops out of the picture while his wife is in a coma sounded fishy. "Maybe we should start with him."

  "I was hoping you would say that," One side of Sullivan's lips turned up into a lopsided grin. It was the first sign of a smile since she had entered the office. She pulled out her notepad from her back pocket. "I got the addy right here."

  6

  S ally’s mind was clouded as her mother’s face blurred in her memories. Coughing violently, the young woman tried to stand without the desired result. She fell onto her side. Her knee was twisted and scraped so that blood oozed from the jagged tears. Her skirt was torn and her shirt had seen better days.

  "Where am I?" she asked out loud. Pushing herself up into a sitting position she stared in the blackish red haze that surrounded her. She smelled rot surrounding her but she couldn’t see the source. The sounds she heard grated against her skin as much as a razor. It was what she would think a thousand screams and moans would sound like echoing from the Grand Canyon. It was getting difficult to breath and another racking cough ensued. She felt a stinging in her side and found a tear in her blouse just under her breast. Her ribs were scraped and dirty with a black soot. She ran her fingers through the dirt that consisted of slivers of coal and ash. What kind of place is this? she thought.

  Something moved in her peripheral vision, but when she looked, there was just more blackness. The ghostly moans stopped and were replaced by a scraping, scuffling sound that echoed everywhere around her.

  She saw it again from another direction. Something was out there.

  "Hello? Hello! Is someone there?" Her voice radiated around her and echoed like a sick joke.

  There was something silhouetted in the distance against the glow of red rocks. It was an animal, but she couldn’t tell how large it was, nor could she see what kind. It moved slightly, confirming that it was not just another rock formation. Visibility was so poor that this was the only thing she could focus on. Its long lanky legs scrambled toward her in short bursts. Sally's heart began to race. She tried to stand again, balancing carefully so as not too put too much pressure on her knee, she watched the animal approach. Squinting, she could make out that it had a large head like a bear and this terrified her. If she ran, it would outrun her easily.

  The cold eyes glowed like headlights as it stared directly at her. Close enough that Sally's blood ran cold as she heard it breathing. A low growl rumbled from the animal as it lowered itself in a crouch. Injured or not, she would have to run if that thing charged her. She scooted her foot back several inches and risked putting on the pressure to step back with her good leg. Slowly and painfully, she repeated the action but the animal continued to crawl forward. She turned and as quickly as her leg would allow, she ran. Jolts of pain raked through her body as she looked back to see the animal following.

  Within moments, it had her pinned on her back. She screamed as razor claws sank into her shoulder. Blood flowed freely as the animal lowered its face closer to her own, its rancid breath brushing against her face. Its grotesque head was mangled and scarred. The skin was blackened as if burned and the eyes glowed wildly.

  The building listed for Bill Peters’ address had seen better days. Sam had seen similar dumps in the slums of New York but hadn’t expected to see something like this in this historic city. There were some kids hanging out in the doorway, eying Sam and Faith suspiciously but parted for them to pass through. The front door of the building was the kind that had to have a resident buzzed in to open it; but like the main structure, it too had seen better days and would not shut completely. This allowed them to walk right in. Peters’ address was listed as apartment 3a and there were no elevators so the two detectives walked up. The dim staircase gave off a pungent aroma as the detectives climbed.

  Reaching the third floor was easy enough, but finding the correct door was not. None of the doors were labeled and Sam shrugged at Faith's inquisitive raised brow and knocked on the first door they came to. There was a shuffling and a soft clink of locks being unfastened on the other side. The door opened slightly, the locked chain giving enough space for a man with dark eyes to peek out. Sam found his man on the first try.

  "Mr. Peters?" Sam inquired.

  "No. My name is Lucas. Charles Lucas," said the man, and tried to shut the door. Sam slipped his foot between the door and the jam, blocking his escape.

  "Mr. Peters, we know it is you. We are Boston PD. We just want a minute to speak to you." Sam was no diplomat, but he had a talent for talking down frightened people, and this man seemed scared to death.

  "Just leave me alone. I just want to be left alone." Bingo.

  "Sir, we understand that. We just need a minute of your time, then I promise that if we can we will leave you be." Sullivan's melodic voice was soothing to Peters. Sam saw the man’s eyes soften and removed his shoe from the door. When the door closed, he wondered briefly if he had made the wrong decision, then heard the chain drop from its locked position.

  The door swung open and Bill Peters stood back against the wall. After the detectives passed him, he closed and re-locked the door. The clean room contained a couch that doubled as a bed and a simple end table that held an old console television. The radio played softly from the window above a filled laundry basket. There was a kitchenette with a single pan sitting in the sink and an open bottle of beer. The room screamed loneliness.

  "Would you like to sit down?" Peters asked as he gathered up his blanket from the cushions. Sam and Faith sat on the couch while Peters grabbed a fold-out metal chair from behind the television table. Sam waited patiently whil
e Peters tried to get a hold of himself.

  "How did you find me?" He finally asked.

  "It wasn't easy," began Sullivan. "but you used your real Social Security number when you leased this place. Believe me, it was our only clue."

  "I could kick myself for being so careless." Peters lowered his head and ran his fingers through his graying black hair. "I thought I had covered everything."

  "Mr. Peters, we have a few questions to ask you about the time your wife was in the hospital," Sam stated. "but mostly we are wondering why you disappeared. You obviously went to great lengths to go into hiding but there is nothing in your record, no history of violence."

  "So you are wondering if I snapped?" Peters stared at Sam and let his hand droop to his side. "You think I wanted this?"

  "We just want some answers."

  "There is no need now. She is awake, I am gone. Deal is made. Just let it go."

  "Mr. Peters, there were more comas." Sullivan glanced quickly into the man’s eyes.

  "Other than my wife?" Peters’ looked surprised.

  "Yes, sir," Sam continued. "There were eight that we know of, and we are just trying to find some answers. Now, will you talk to us, please?" Peters wrinkled his brow, and he looked like a man who was just told that the sky was blue after a lifetime of believing it to be pink. There was a brief flash of anger and it was gone.

  "Agnes went grocery shopping," Peters began. "She always went on Wednesdays. I was at work. I worked as an architect. Seems like another lifetime."

  "Mr. Peters, I don't mean to be forceful, but we need you to focus." Sam kept up eye contact, it seemed to help him.

  "I got a call at work that Agnes was in the hospital. I dropped everything. When I got there, the doctor said that she was in a coma but he didn't know why." Fat tears rolled down his cheeks. "I panicked. I told the doctor what I thought of his abilities, but it didn't help. He knew I was taking it out on him." Peters paused for several moments but the detectives kept quiet and waited. "She wouldn't wake up for anything. That night I got a call on my cell phone. A man. He said that he…He said that he did this thing to my Agnes. Said he took her soul, can you believe it? Her soul. I got pissed and hung up. I didn't need some crack case upsetting me and making things seem worse."

  "Did you recognize the voice?" Sullivan asked.

  "No, it was unique. Deep. Two days later, Agnes was having trouble keeping her body heat. The doctors had said there were no brain waves or something. They had put her on a respirator. Her organs were failing." Peters ran his hand through his hair again. "Then that bastard called again. This time he said he could make her all better. I was about to hang up again when he told me that my watch needed winding."

  Sam and Sullivan looked at each other. What was this guy talking about?

  "Winding, sir? He told you your watch needed winding?" Sullivan asked.

  "Yeah," Peters laughed, defeated. "I asked him what he said and he repeated the same thing. I was almost afraid to look, but I checked my watch. It had stopped." Peters began to shake. Sullivan got up and knelt beside him, touching his arm.

  "What happened next?" asked Sam, "Take your time." Peters inhaled deeply.

  "The guy told me what to do. He said if I left her and never went back, my Agnes would wake up. Then the line went dead." Peters buried his face in his hands. When he looked up again, he was far away. "The next morning, the doctors asked me to sign a release. Said her body was shutting down and they couldn't stop it. There was nothing they could do. But I knew. I knew what I could do. I had to try. So, I started walking and haven't stopped. I called the hospital the next day. I didn't say who I was but asked to be connected to Agnes's room. She had been moved to a regular room, away from ICU." A ghost of a smile played around his lips. "She woke up."

  Sam's heart felt like it was in a vice. This never got easier. At times like these, it was difficult to be the badge, instead of being a civilian. The badge was more than the metal it was made of. It was the blood and tears and sacrifice of those who carried it and those it protected.

  "Were you telling me the truth? Were there others?"

  "Yes, sir," answered Sam. "and at least one other has given us a similar account." Sam deliberately left out that six of those eight had died. "She got calls, too." Peters sat a little straighter and sighed. "Is there anything else you can tell us about the man on the phone?"

  "Other than he was fucking creepy? Not that I can think of, but if I think of anything, can I call you?" Color came back to Peters’ face as Sam wrote down his cell phone number and handed it to him. Peters nodded, then looked at Sullivan. "You said if you could, you would leave me be once I talked to you."

  "Yes, sir, I did."

  "If you can get this guy with my help, so be it. I will help. Just don't tell anyone that you found me or where I am. This guy. He means business. He will kill her if I go back."

  Sam and Sullivan walked out of the dilapidated building to Sullivan's coupe at the corner in silence. Sullivan hesitated before starting the car.

  "Wesson? What is your take on what we just heard?" Sullivan stared straight ahead, almost as if she was talking to herself.

  "First of all, if we are going to be partners, I am Sam. Second," Sam didn’t like the tone of her voice. He still felt like she and the chief were keeping things from him. "I think he believes what he was saying. He never said he believed that the man had his wife's soul, so that says something about him. He does believe that this perp did something to put his wife in the coma and bring her out of it."

  "Anything else?"

  "I think he is deliberately keeping away from her to protect her. Again, that's saying something."

  Sullivan nodded quietly and started the car.

  7

  F aith and Sam drove silently across town toward the station. Sam noticed his partner was deep in thought, and he suspected it was about the case, but why she wasn't sharing those thoughts escaped him. Trust had to be earned, and there simply wasn't enough trust between them yet. He had to get her talking.

  "Take a right up here," directed Sam.

  "What for? We should get back to the chief with what we learned."

  "I agree, but not until we understand what we learned," Sam said calmly. Faith turned right as he had asked, a little harder than necessary. "Pull in here."

  Faith pulled in and parallel parked a block from the Cambridge/Red Line intersection.

  "Now, what? More investigation about the wreck?" Her voice rose. "That was handled. What are you doing?"

  "Coffee."

  "Coffee," repeated the young detective. "They got that at the station."

  "Yeah, but we need to gather our thoughts, don't you think? I don't care if you have a cup or not, but I for one, don't want to go back to Shafer with more questions than answers. Do you?" Faith unbuckled her seat belt wordlessly but her silence screamed volumes. The pair walked into the Tilted Cup Cafe with all the warmth of an Alaskan blizzard. Patience, Sam thought.

  The center tables were mostly full by the mid-afternoon crowd; young couples, construction crews, and regulars reading their papers and drinking their coffees. Lisa danced gracefully between the tables with a coffee pot in hand as Sam and Faith slipped into a window booth. They sat down and just looked at each other. If looks could kill, he would at least be seriously injured.

  Gratefully, Lisa didn’t take long before she got to their table. She eyed the girl accompanying Sam with respect. He didn’t know if that was just how she was or if she saw the badge clipped to Faith's belt. Either way, it was a plus in her favor.

  "What can I get you two fine officers?" Lisa asked with a smile.

  "Coffees will be fine. How are ya today?"

  "Better," Lisa answered truthfully. "Only one nightmare last night and it was about high school." Sam chuckled as she spun away to grab their cups. Sam looked up at Faith staring at him with her arms crossed.

  "What?"

  "Gather our thoughts, huh?" Faith mocked. "Ya know, you
could’ve just said you needed to stop and see your lady love and canned the bullshit." The lilt in her voice was strong.

  "First, she's not my "lady love", " Sam nearly growled. "Second, we really do need to get our notes and our thoughts organized for the chief. You clammed up on me in the car. That's the bullshit we can can."

  Faith narrowed her eyes but much of the anger was gone. Lisa came up with their cups and quickly filled them before leaving to refill coffee for the next table.

  "Fine."

  "Fine?" Sam asked, his frustration getting the better of him. "Detective, I know I am the new guy and I doubt that you asked for me as a partner, but here I am. I didn't ask for you as a partner, either. Shafer said we would be good for each other and no matter how little you trust me, I trust Shafer. So let’s stop this clashing balls long enough to get this case solved. Then if you still don't trust me, we can just tell the chief it isn't working out and no hard feelings. Deal?"

  Lisa materialized, setting a slice of pie in front of each of them. "Enjoy."

  Faith watched the waitress scurry away to tend to the counter customers. "We didn't order pie." She said coolly.

  "Damned good pie." Sam picked up his fork and, and cutting off a piece, looked up at her. "What's the real story here, Sullivan?"

  "What do you mean?"

  "You and Shafer know more than what you are telling me," Sam motioned toward her with his fork. " I don't like being kept in the dark."

  "Thought you said you trusted Shafer."

  "That I do. He and I go way back," Sam confirmed.

  "Then what?"

  "Something is just hanging there. I know you know something about this case that you’re not saying and it’s pissing me off. How am I supposed to help people like Peters if I don't have all the facts?" Sam held the redhead with a death stare. She was not getting out of this one.

  "We don't have all the facts, either, Sam." That was the first time she used his name. "We have plenty of suspicions, but no facts to back them up."