Embryo 2: Crosshairs

by JA Schneider

  Jim lay on his stomach on an exam table, his head turned to David, whose gloved hands returned his pencil flashlight to his white breast pocket. On the other side of the exam table, Tricia carefully shaved Jim’s bloody scalp area, while Woody readied the curved suture needle and mosquito clamp.

  “Describe him,” David said, pulling a stool close and sitting. Jim was less woozy now, speaking more.

  “It’s hard… Caucasian, sunglasses, baseball cap pulled low, jumped me from behind…” Jim squinted in the bright exam light, trying to think. David reached and angled it away.

  “Don’t know height,” Jim mumbled. “Snake tattoo on his arm... Kept me down with his foot on my back and a goddamn knife at my throat. Went through both pockets, took my cell phone.” A hesitation. “Guess he decided not to use his knife.”

  “But he took your phone,” David said gravely.

  “Yeah.”

  “Disable it. Fast.”

  Jim groaned. Said he thought he’d written down his phone’s serial number; wasn’t sure. This place, there’s never a minute…

  David swore to himself. “Guess he decided not to use his knife” echoed in the cubicle. Jim was tall with dark hair like David. Had the guy realized Jim wasn’t the one he was really after?

  Sam stuck his head in. “Jill’s still waiting. Security’s coming.”

  David nodded; looked back. “Okay, so how’d this guy get at you?”

  Jim drew in a deep, heavy breath. Mumbled, “I saw…the kid who usually delivers. He saw me too…waved, but his car was stuck way back, so…” A swallow. “I left the loading dock, was walking between two empty vans…and pow.”

  Outside the cubicle, Sam was heard calming a babble of worried voices. “He’s okay. Bad knock, that’s all. Thanks, I’ll tell him. Yeah, the neighborhood’s gotten scarier.”

  Woody finished up the laceration dressing. “Done,” he said. “Hey pal, you only needed nine stitches.”

  Tricia, shaking her head, silently dabbed the stitches with cotton swabs.

  The nylon curtains parted. Jill and Sam entered. Behind them followed the hospital’s Chief of Security, named Stivak, muscular and barrel-chested.

  Jill looked very pale.

  “Patient coming around?” Stivak asked. David told him yes as Jim rolled over onto his back, grimacing.

  Stivak questioned him.

  Jill and Sam listened as Jim repeated, almost verbatim, what he’d told the others. The guy came from behind. Jim barely saw him. Baseball cap pulled low, sunglasses, snake tattoo on his arm, kept Jim face down with a foot on his back and a knife at his throat.

  Jill pulled up a stool next to David.

  “Describe the tattoo,” Stivak said.

  “Vile. Snake writhing around a sword.”

  Stivak blew air out his cheeks. Said they’d already watched the security tape. Guy was a pro: kept his head down, no looking around, kept his face under his baseball cap. Other security people questioned the pizza kid, who hadn’t seen the mugging but had seen a guy answering that description walking away, not driving. That seemed weird, the kid said.

  Stivak looked frustrated; shook his head and seemed out of questions.

  But something came to Jill. She leaned forward, a knot in her stomach grinding tighter. “Jim?” she asked. “If he held you face down, how could you see his tattoo?”

  “It was on his forearm.”

  She blinked. “His…inner forearm?”

  “Yeah.”

  “The one that held the knife?”

  “Yeah. In his right hand.”

  Stivak looked at Jill; David too. Something glimmered in their expressions.

  Jill continued as if she didn’t quite understand, “Well, don’t bad guys usually wear their tattoos on the outside of their arms and bodies? To show the world how wicked macho they are?”

  Woody and Tricia looked at her. David bit his lower lip hard, nodding slightly.

  Jill’s eyes went from him back to Stivak. “How odd,” she said curiously. “This guy wanted his face hidden, but his tattoo seen by his victim.” She hesitated. “Who puts a tattoo on the inside of his arm unless maybe, possibly…the whole thing was…a disguise? The tattoo maybe one of those fake, removable ones?”

  A long, stunned silence. Stivak looked surprised. “It’s possible,” he said, and sent Jill a tight, impressed smile. He turned to David, “What do you think was used to hit Doctor Holloway?”

  “An iron pipe.” David glanced back to Jim’s bandage. “We cleaned out what looks like rust, street dirt, nothing more.”

  “The sort of junk the assailant could’ve picked up anywhere,” Stivak said with a grimace. “Nothing else stolen? Wallet? Keys? Last week a kitchen employee was mugged near their loading dock. His attacker took everything.”

  Sam went out again to someone asking about Jim.

  Woody told Sivak, “Most of us don’t carry wallets in our scrubs. We keep them in our lockers.”

  “We’re always exhausted,” Tricia added, leaning her hip on the exam table. “If I carried my wallet, I’d forget it and lose it every time I showered and changed scrubs. Credit cards, social security number, everything important would be gone.”

  There was nothing more for Stivak to say. He muttered something unhappy about “another damn mugging” and left, saying he was going to re-check the security tape.

  Gently the others got Jim into a sitting position, and into a new scrub top.

  “Can you stand?” David asked.

  “Yeah, I’m okay. Thanks, all of you.” With help, Jim climbed off the exam table and started to walk, a bit wobbly, trying to make light of what had happened. “Hey look, I can put one foot in front of the other!”

  Woody and Tricia stayed with him. David motioned Jill out the cubicle entrance. She touched Jim’s arm and said, “We’ll be right outside.”

  In the wide, busy hall Sam waited, and the three spoke in low, worried tones.

  Sam said emotionally, “Omigod…the guy had a knife but didn’t use it.”

  “Maybe he didn’t intend to,” David said quietly. “Just wanted the cell phone. May even have looked for anyone with Ob/Gyn on their nametag.”

  Reflexively, Sam and Jill looked down at their plastic tags. White with black letters, doctor’s name, M.D. on the top line, Ob/Gyn or whatever specialty just below.

  Even more quietly David said, “Or maybe he thought Jim was me. Didn’t kill when he realized, but still scored. That cell phone has all our numbers, email addresses.”

  “Jesus,” Sam said.

  Jill’s throat closed. “No,” she breathed. “Now what?”

  22

  Later, they were back in Jill’s on-call room, trying not to talk about it and not succeeding.

  “Maybe it was a different guy,” she said.

  “That would be nice,” David said. “Just another creep with our cell phone numbers and email addresses.”

  She was breathing shallowly, frowning. “Why the knife? Why not a gun? A little .22 or something?”

  “Sounds like a hands-on guy. Likes touching his victims.”

  They sprawled on the bed, feeling numb. Both were on call tonight. David tried to focus on some new charts he’d picked up at the nurses’ station. He shook his head, flipping pages. “Hard to think,” he said.

  “Yeah. Hard to breathe.”

  They both tried to concentrate on a case that threatened preeclampsia: the woman had untreated high blood pressure. Mother and baby could both be in serious trouble. It would be a hard, dangerous delivery.

  David finally closed that chart and said, “We’re in no shape for this.” He scanned a list and checked everybody’s on call schedule. “Mackey’s on tonight too. Good.”

  George Mackey was a second year resident, an easygoing good guy. David called him, and George said he’d take the preeclampsia case. “I just heard about Jim,” he said. “Jeez, what’s going on around here?”

  David mumbled something about muggings, thanke
d him, and hung up.

  “Mackey just heard?” Jill asked.

  “He was in delivery.” David checked his phone, found a message, and answered it.

  Evan Blair, emoting, talking a mile a minute. “I’m so sorry about that Curry misfile! That’s never happened before!”

  “I know,” David said. “You sound hyped. When do you sleep?”

  “I only need four hours. Promise, it’ll never happen again. You’re on call tonight?”

  “Yep.”

  “Jill too?”

  “Yep.”

  “Guess I’ll be seeing you. I have to step into my phone booth and change from a med student to a nurse again.”

  As David hung up, Jill’s phone chirped for the first time in the evening, and she jumped. Answered, sending David a frightened look.

  It was Connor, calling for Pappas. The report had come comparing the grit found in the two raped women’s lacerations. “An exact match,” Connor said. “Pappas is turning the air blue ‘cause our lab never looked at that mold. Sidewalks don’t have it, especially with layers a hundred years old.”

  Jill was holding the phone so David could hear. “A big piece of the puzzle,” she said.

  “Rapist thinks he’s clever, but he’s also obsessive,” Connor said. “Attacked on opposite sides of town, but used the same cement chunk. Could be he’s feeling connected to either Arnett or Sonny Sears.”

  Jill swallowed, said nothing.

  “Or he could be just one of those nuts who latch on to high profile cases, got himself a souvenir piece of concrete from the museum grass, wants in on the attention. There’s no way to know.” Connor hesitated. “Pappas wants to recruit you two, by the way. Says you’d make good detectives. Seriously.” He sounded almost serious. “I’m being re-assigned. After tonight. Detectives Brand and Pappas will be handling this case.

  Jill thanked him for the call, said she’d relay the news to David, and rang off. Her phone chirped again in her hand.

  A gruff male voice said, “Open your email.”

  Lead. Jill’s heart froze. It was…him, she knew it. Trembling, her eyes filling, she handed the phone to David.

  “Oh, I’m actually speaking to you!” the voice told him. Low and muffled, as if he had a sock over the phone. “Pity it wasn’t you in delivery parking!” Laughter. “Well, that would have been so trite, ordinary. Better to do you on a grander scale. Get in the media just as big as you!”

  David was silent, trying to hear sounds on the other end. There were none. No muffled traffic, no sirens. Quiet as a closet.

  “Are you there, dear David?”

  “Why did you rape those two women?”

  A malevolent chuckle. “Whooo? Meeee? Seriously, did you like the little messages I sent you?”

  “Letters,” David said cryptically. “What were they?”

  “HI D! In bright red capital letters! You and the cops couldn’t possibly have missed them!”

  David’s jaw tightened. He looked over at Jill, who had scrolled to a photo on her phone, then dropped her face in her hands.

  He reached and turned it so he could see. Closed his eyes and winced.

  “Are you there? Did you see my wonderful picture?”

  “Yes.”

  “I’m calling from Dr. Holloway’s phone to send it to you. Copied all your contact info from him; now his phone goes into the river and I’ll use untraceable phones. You see, David? I’m just like you. Methodical. Very organized.”

  David said nothing.

  “By the way, the red message this time is different. Did you see?”

  David frowned more closely at the awful picture. Jill had already seen, and was looking at him helplessly.

  On the abdomen of the bloodied woman were written the initials HI J.

  “See it, David? The new message?”

  “Yes.” Through gritted teeth.

  “Wonderful! That’s really been my plan all along.” The voice grew suddenly angry. “I want all of you dead. Both of you and that freakazoid floating kid! More than any amount of money or headlines could ever repay!”

  At the other end the line went dead.

  23

  Subject: Rapist; photo attached

  Detectives, at 8:55 rapist called. Definitely James Holloway’s mugger. Bragged about having our numbers and contact info, now threatens to kill us both and the six-months fetus. Says will throw away Holloway phone, use untraceable phones next. Attached: photo of his latest rape. No indication where victim is, or where photo was taken.

  Connor had left, so Jill cc’d Pappas and Brand, and hit Send. Her hands were shaking badly.

  David, leaning close, said, “Now what? Dial 911?”

  Jill did. Described the rape victim’s photo.

  “You got this photo where?” said a tired female voice.

  “My iPhone. As an email attachment.” Jill knew they were being recorded.

  “Where is the victim now?”

  “I don’t know. It’s just a photo.”

  “So you don’t know how old this photo is?”

  “No! But I’m sure it was just taken.”

  “We’ll need an address, Ma’am.”

  Jill had expected an exchange like this. “Listen!” she snapped. “If you get a report of a rape victim found with red letters on her belly, this is her.”

  “We get many other rape calls, Ma’am. We need an address.”

  Enough. The dispatcher said to call 1-212-267-RAPE.

  David spoke to them.

  “We need an address,” the voice kept saying.

  David flung his phone onto the blanket. He was breathing as shallowly as Jill. Looked again at the picture of the rape victim, whose battered face was angled away. Probably bruised and bloodied anyway, but who was she?

  “Think she’s alive?” David said hoarsely.

  Jill lips were dry and her heart hammered. Then something occurred. She took a breath and brought her face close to the awful picture.

  “This is the first victim he left totally nude and inside.” Her voice shook. “So…it’s her apartment? His?” Jill pointed. “He also took his time arranging her, turning her face away and focusing on the HI J. He had no fear of interruption.”

  David nodded; seemed to come out of his shock. Hurriedly called hospital security, identified himself, told of the threat to the fetus, and asked for a guard in the preemie nursery.

  “I’ll forward your request to Administration,” said the voice.

  “Now, dammit! We just got a phoned threat from a psycho.”

  “Well, security’s been beefed up downstairs, all entrances, extra police-“

  “Anyone in a clean shirt can come up in the elevators! There should be security now!”

  “Well, we’re spread pretty thin.”

  David threw his phone down again.

  They sat hunched with their fists clenched, barely breathing. Now what? They were on call but hadn’t been called yet, and sleep was out of the question.

  They checked their email. No reply yet from the detectives.

  Jill said incredulously, “That ‘freakazoid floating kid?’ Why is he mad at the fetus?”

  “Do crazy people need reasons? And the fetus is in the nursery with other preemies.”

  “Let’s go there,” Jill said.

  David’s eyes were red-rimmed with fatigue.

  “ESP,” he said.

  The little guy was safe and asleep. The soft pink light illuminated his cylinder’s interior. His head was down, his eyes were closed, and he was sucking his thumb.

  “So serene,” Jill breathed, trying desperately to slow her whamming heart. It didn’t work. She was frantic. Somewhere a woman lay bleeding, maybe dying. The monster was after them, too.

  David’s features read the same; also anger. Sheer fury.

  The preemies in the grid behind them were sleeping too. It was another world in here. A world of gentle care, of protecting every precious little life.

  “It could be
someone inside the hospital,” David said tightly.

  Jill’s mind replayed what they both knew, what she’d heard him say when he argued with the Security dispatcher: Anyone could sneak up.

  A long, desperate moment passed. What to do?

  “Let’s camp out here tonight,” David said. “Drag in a mattress.”

  “Yes!” Jill whispered fiercely. “Arm ourselves with scalpels. Big syringes.” She gazed achingly at the fetus. “I want him to be born, protected. I want to hug him.”

  “We should name him too. Can’t keep calling him the fetus.”

  Jill was silent for a moment. “How ‘bout Jesse?” she said. “It means ‘gift’ in Hebrew. I liked it first, then googled it.”

  David’s cell phone chirped.

  Pappas. “Got your email, I’m at a crime scene.” He spoke fast. “We’ve got another rape. It’s your picture. A uniformed guy’s on his way to guard the nursery.”

  “My God,” David whispered.

  “Rape happened just six blocks away. Ambulance is on its way. See you there.”

  They cast one last look at…Jesse and hurried out. Just arriving outside the newborn nursery was a young uniformed cop, one hand on his holstered gun.

  They greeted him, relieved as he took his place by the hall door. Then answered their cell phones that both chirped at once.

  Emergency. Urgent.

  Overhead, the P.A. was softly calling their names too. Urgent, urgent…

  They ran.

  Red and blue lights flashed. Beep beep as the ambulance backed up to the E.R. dock. EMTs opened the ambulance doors; interns and an orderly ran out to help, getting the gurney through Emergency’s double sliding doors. One EMT, holding up the IV, yelled, “Airway open, pulse 120, blood pressure 90/60, respiration 24, lost a lot of blood, head trauma, violent rape.”

  Jill and David helped push the gurney into the nearest E.R. cubicle. The woman was unconscious; her bruised face was smeared with blood. With the IV in place and her vitals known, David ordered two tubes of blood drawn: one for the hemoglobin & hematocrit, the other for type and crossmatch.

  “Anyone know her name?” he said through his mask.