by David Archer
"I'm at the hotel, but tell me where you're headed and I'll meet you there."
"Got it. I’ll text you the intersection where we are going to meet up."
Sam hung up his phone and let out a sigh.
So much going on, he thought, and all I can do is try to tread water and keep focused on what to do next.
Once they closed the case, he would hopefully get a chance to sit down with their new government liaison. Hopefully, she would understand the situation and help them deal with it, and Sam would be able to continue his investigation into North Forest Hospital.
FIFTEEN
The driver had been following the news, and had been spooked that afternoon when a police spokesman told reporters that a special investigative team had come to town and identified some potential suspects. When a coworker said that police officers were asking about the people who drove the shuttles, he panicked and went into hiding.
He had been successful at avoiding detection for more than three years, mostly because he never took one of his passengers as a victim if he thought anyone had seen them get into the van. He would simply take them to an old building that his father owned, a former butcher shop with a large drain in the floor. When they started doing background checks on the shuttle drivers, Jade had been the one to find the property listed as still owned by the old man, so they had gone to check it out.
Mark Timmons, the driver, had been hiding there, trying to figure out how to get out of the city without being spotted. When police arrived with a warrant to break in the door, he had armed himself with a meat cleaver and hidden in a closet. When an unsuspecting officer opened the door, he had come running out, screaming like a madman and was shot down by the officer’s partner.
A search of the premises told them quickly that they had gotten their man, and Sam had brought Eric down to see just how valuable his assistance had been. Jade had taken his hand to show him the old butcher shop, where Timmons had murdered and dismembered his victims before dropping their remains into the sewer.
Except for his souvenirs. Lined up on shelves along the walls were more than forty human skulls.
"There's so many."
Jade looked over her shoulder to make sure she wasn't needed elsewhere, and then she lowered herself to the cement floor next to Eric. She crossed her legs and stared at the skulls with him, a heavy weight settling in her stomach.
"Yeah, " she began. "Forty-three of them."
"Forty-three." Eric wrapped his arms a little tighter around himself and drew his knees toward his chest. "Forty-three people who died for no reason at all."
Jade nodded her head slowly and put her hands in her lap, not entirely sure what to do next. She interacted with Eric the least of everyone on the team, and despite their shared understanding of the benefit to that, the result was that she wasn’t sure how to comfort him.
"I read about serial killers a lot." Eric continued to stare at the shelves. "Some studies say there could be as many as two thousand victims every year. This isn’t much if you compare it to that, but…" His voice dropped to a whisper. "These aren't numbers, Ms. Miller. These are what’s left of real people."
"That’s true. But, thanks to you, Eric, this guy won’t be collecting any more of them.” She turned to look at him, then put a hand on his arm. “Come on," she coaxed, getting to her feet. "Let's get back to the station and pack up."
Eric nodded again, but he didn't move, still sitting and staring at the skulls like he was waiting for them to say something, like he thought they could sense his guilt at having failed more than forty people who had been murdered, dismembered and flushed down a drain.
“How do I live with it?” Eric asked. “You guys have to deal with things like this all the time, but up till now, I’ve only thought of it as numbers.”
"I know it's hard." Jade offered a small smile. "I know the team will offer all the help they can, but you have to decide what you keep with you, okay? You hold onto the victories and leave the losses in the evidence room. You have to remind yourself that someone out there is alive and breathing because of what we did here. There are a lot of people dead, and that's the killer's fault, but think about the ones he would’ve taken if you hadn’t helped us stop him. That’s the victory, Eric, and that’s what you have to hold onto."
Eric looked down at her hand, and then he allowed himself another small smile. He got up and dusted off his pants, ready to let her lead him out of the room full of horrors.
"Thank you, Ms. Miller."
Jade gave him a smile and a nod of acknowledgement, a silent 'you're welcome' jumping the gap between them. Eric turned to look at the exit, and the second he heard Denny's voice, he was walking away.
As Jade stood and watched him leave, she couldn't help but anticipate the day when she wouldn't have to keep her distance.
* * *
"So, um, did you get to talk to the new liaison?"
Sam looked up from the dessert menu and smiled lightly. "Yes. Lynnette Donaldson. She said she would look at our caseload and pull some strings to lighten it, but it might take a while. She's still orienting herself with the new department, and she's apparently keeping tabs on the one she left."
"She sounds busy." Eric sipped his hot chocolate and hummed, a curious expression twisting his features. "What department did she come from?"
"Government accounting." Sam looked at his menu again, finally deciding what he wanted, and then he set it aside. "She's a big supporter of what we’re trying to do with you. She loves the room we made you, and she isn't going to do anything to interrupt your appointments with Dr. Raymonds. She likes having you here with us."
"Oh, that's good." Eric gave a quick smile and huge sigh of relief, and then he sipped his drink again.
Sam kept his lips turned up in the corners, hoping to ease the subtle tension between them. Eric was clearly unsettled by the idea of being out in the world for something other than shopping or working on a case.
"Do you like your hot chocolate?"
Eric smiled and nodded his head. "Yeah, it's great. Thank you."
Sam returned the smile. "You're welcome."
Eric lowered his eyes and took another sip.
Sam waved a waitress over and ordered chocolate cake for both of them—he thought it best if he made the decisions until Eric was more comfortable—and then Sam was ready for more talk.
Eric, on the other hand, was staring through the window to his right, eyes wandering from place to place with no apparent rhyme or reason.
"I guess it's been a while since you've been outside."
Eric jumped and looked at Sam like a deer in the headlights. "Uh, um, yeah. A long while. I've seen a lot of… new things.”
“I’m glad you’re enjoying it,” Sam said.
"Thank you." Eric smiled to himself. "I, uh…" He sobered a bit. "I think the last thing I remember—the last big thing, I mean—was some big wildfire in California. They began the day before my birthday, and… Mom was pretty freaked out." He poked at his chocolate cake. "We were separated less than a month later."
"Eric, something happened in Tulsa that we need to talk about."
Eric blinked in confusion and stared, and while Sam wasn't particularly excited about the next portion of their talk, he was glad the change in topic had Eric distracted.
"I need to talk to you about discipline and punishment."
Eric tensed up and turned wide eyes to Sam. "Am I in trouble, Mr. Prichard?"
Sam quickly shook his head to cut Eric off. "No, no, you're not in trouble. I just need to talk to you about this." He struggled for a moment. "When you admitted that you had lied to me about not sleeping, you were ready to bend over and take a beating for something that wasn’t really all that terrible." Sam cleared his throat. "So, I need you to tell me how you were punished at North Forest Hospital. That way, I can tell you what to expect in the future."
Eric chewed and swallowed, nodding uncertainly. "Okay. Um… I mean, what do you want to k
now? I can tell you the rules."
Sam shook his head with a soft smile. "We don't have to pay much attention to those rules anymore." He took another sip of his drink and leaned forward, resting his arms on the table and lowering his voice. "Just tell me how you were punished. How badly, how often, things like that. Nobody will hear you in here, particularly if you talk softly like I'm talking now."
Eric squirmed a little and took another bite, no doubt using the food as an excuse not to talk right away. He swallowed and cleared his throat, looking down at his plate. "Well, I didn't get punished too much. I told you it's been a while since…" He trailed off and gave a shrug. "I mostly get—got—in trouble for talking too much, and for stealing books from the library. Sometimes I would throw a fit about going back to my room, and once I got caught reading up a light to read by and using it after lights out. It was mostly over talking and books, though."
Sam nodded and kept silent, patiently waiting for more information.
"When I first got there, they mostly spanked me or hit my knuckles. Just, y'know, with a stick." Eric shrugged again and took another bite of his food, keeping his eyes downcast. "When I got older, that’s when they started using a belt. If I got mouthy, they would smack me, in the face, I mean. It didn't happen too often, but…"
It happened often enough that he asked if he should sit so I could reach his face more easily. Sam kept that thought to himself, though, and nodded to show Eric he understood the unspoken words.
"They use stun guns if you get too close to the other patients, guards, supply closets, cabinets… or anything that looks like you might be passing or receiving supplies and information you're not supposed to have. They'll also use it if you start a fight or try to escape." Eric scraped the last of the cake and licked his fork clean, setting the utensils down. "It's just a little shock to discourage misbehaving. It's not too bad, but… well, it's worse than the other punishments, and it sticks around for a little while. I don't really like it."
Sam nodded again and took Eric's plate, stacking it on top of his own and placing both at the end of the table. "You want a refill on your cocoa?"
Eric nodded, chewing on his lip. "Yes, please."
Sam smiled, pleased to see he didn't have to assure Eric it was alright. It was taking time—they all knew it would—but Eric was slowly getting better at accepting gifts and trusting there were no ulterior motives at play. He hadn't rubbed his nose during their talk, either, and Sam was pleased.
He flagged their waitress down and asked for refills, and then he got back to the talk. "So, let's talk about the here and now."
Eric nodded a bit nervously, wide eyes swimming with uncertainty.
"I will never use a stun gun on you, Eric. No one on the team will use a stun gun on you. If anyone ever tries to use a stun gun on you, you tell them I will have their ass." Sam spoke clearly and deliberately as he continued, knowing exactly what exaggeration with a word like 'never' could do to someone with severe trust issues. "I will never hit you, and neither will anyone else here, unless it’s necessary to keep you from hurting yourself or someone else. Do you understand that?"
Eric nodded a bit, and both men paused as their refills were delivered.
"Thanks." Sam waited until the waitress left to continue. "Frankly, I don’t think you’ll ever do anything that would require such drastic measures, but I want you to understand that that’s the only thing that could ever cause it."
Eric nodded obediently. "Yes, sir."
Sam look him in the eye. "I mean it, Eric. If someone tries to punish you in any way physically, you come to me. Even if you think you deserved it, even if you know you deserved it, even if they outrank me. I'm not going to allow anyone to discipline you physically. Period.
“The idea is to help you to feel safe. We aren’t going to give you rules you can't follow and inflict consequences you can't predict. My hope is to remove some of your anxiety by giving you a more stable set of guidelines."
Eric blinked a few times, eyes moistening as a smile pulled at his lips. "Okay. That makes sense."
Sam gave a light smile to assure Eric kindness was the motive, and then he continued. "Now, the rest of the team will have authority to take privileges away. They can take your MP3 player temporarily—we will never take it from you permanently—or give you extra work to do, that sort of thing. If they do, I want you to be the one to come and tell me about it."
Eric looked at him for a long time, fresh tears welling up in his eyes, and he sniffed softly. He fumbled with his napkin and blew his nose, sniffing again and wiping at his eyes. "You're so good to me, Mr. Prichard."
Sam only smiled, his heart breaking for what had to be the thousandth time since Eric came into his life. "I'm only treating you with the respect and care you have a right to. I know you don't completely understand that, and that's okay, but you need to know you've gone too long without fair treatment, and everyone at Windlass is working to fix that."
Eric sniffed softly and looked down at his drink. He took a sip and swallowed hard, a soft smile pulling at his lips when he whispered, "Thank you."
SIXTEEN
Tony Hester wasn't supposed to run.
He was just a simple, twenty-nine-year-old delivery guy who drove a truck for Johnson Medical. Sam and Summer only went to his house to ask him some questions about the deliveries and pickups he did; he ran the North Forest Hospital route more than any other employee, so he was the most logical driver to approach. His criminal record held a whopping two charges of vandalism from his teenage days; he was hardly violent.
He wasn't supposed to have any reason to run.
I guess he didn't get the memo. Sam wasn't about to waste air complaining, so he grumbled in thought and spirit only. Sure, run right through bushes with the burrs on them. I didn't like this suit, anyway. I do, however, like chasing people through the woods, so you are making my day right now.
"Mr. Hester!" Summer called.
Sam finally got close enough to grab Tony by the shoulder, and then both of them were tumbling head over heels into the grass. Sam wound up on top, and Summer trained her gun on Tony.
"Mr. Hester, calm down," Sam ordered.
"She's not even here anymore, okay?" Tony shouted, and though he wasn't struggling anymore, he spat in the dirt to show his displeasure. "Screw you for coming after her, anyway."
Sam furrowed his brow, confused, but he didn't ease up on the pressure. "Mr. Hester, I think you're confused. If you—"
"Why else would you be here?" Tony—a redhead who clearly embraced his gingerism—glared over his shoulder with fire in his eyes.
Summer answered that, keeping her gun ready but lowering it somewhat. "You drive a truck for Johnson Medical. We have some questions about North Forest Hospital, and about the runs you do for them."
Tony threw his head back, but Sam was quicker and avoided the blow.
"I knew it." Tony spat again. "Whatever. I told you, she's not here."
Sam eased up a bit. "Mr. Hester, we don't want to fight, we just want to talk. If I let you up, do you think you could behave yourself long enough for us to talk? Because we are still, clearly, miscommunicating."
Tony glared at him for a moment, but then he offered a slight nod.
Sam let go of Tony's arms and stood up, reaching out a hand to help him while Summer holstered her weapon.
Tony ignored the offered hand and got to his feet, dusting off his stained, neon yellow cutoff. "What do you want to know?"
Sam looked at Summer, their eyes meeting for a split second.
Sam walked a few paces to the right and leaned against a tree, taking some weight off his bad hip. "I want details about what you carry to and from North Forest Hospital."
"I don't carry anything. All I do is drive a truck." Tony spat onto the dirt again.
Sam straightened up and put his hands on his hips, making sure to display his sidearm—something that would definitely make Tony focus on him. "You also load and unload that t
ruck. You've seen labels and boxes and crates, which is more than I have, so talk."
"You want to know what kind of boxes they ship?" Tony crossed his arms over his chest, responding to the threat by puffing himself up, as Sam knew he would. "Go ask them."
"That would take more time than I'm willing to invest," Sam lied.
"Really?" Tony's eyebrows shot up, calloused hands gesturing to the area around them. "I live in a dumpy old trailer park in the middle of nowhere, and you got the idea that coming out here was somehow going to be faster than a phone call? You and—" Tony stopped suddenly.
Summer was gone.
"Hey, where did she go? Where's the lady that was with you?" Tony turned in a tight circle, but Summer was long gone.
"She went to see who you were trying to keep us from finding." Sam took a step just as Tony sprinted, raising his voice enough to be heard. "Mr. Hester, we really do just want to talk. Running will only make us involve the police, and I don't think you want that."
Tony didn't stop, and Sam scurried after him, swallowing his frustration and trying not to limp.
I guess this is technically good news, he thought. He knows something about something.
It took less than a minute for the trailer to come back in sight, and Sam saw Summer standing in front of their car with a woman in handcuffs.
"Cindy!"
"Mr. Hester!" Sam barked, unable to close the remaining distance between them. "Stop right now, or I will arrest you both!"
Sam was bluffing. At this point, he had nothing to charge anyone with.
Tony skidded to a stop and heaved a sigh, lifting his hands above his head. "Alright, alright. Nobody needs to go to jail." He spat into the gravel.
Sam came up behind Tony but didn't cuff him, nodding in the direction of the woman with Summer. "Is this who you were talking about?" he asked, moving where Tony could see him. "Because we aren't looking for her."
Tony looked at him with skeptical eyes, but there was a spark of hope hidden in them. He cautiously lowered his arms. "You're not?"