The Poisonous Ten

by Tyler Compton

  “Cut that shit,” a professional-looking woman ordered the cameraman, almost pushing him over as she rushed to Wyler’s side to see if there was anything she could do for him.

  “Help me,” Wyler cried, the tears pouring from his bugged-out eyes mixing with the red substance all over his face, making him look as if he was reenacting the prom scene from Carrie. “Help me!”

  16

  Dave Parks and his team arrived at Union Station less than ten minutes after they saw the attack on Charles Wyler play out live on television. Sirens wailed as blue and red lights flashed off buildings and vehicles to help build a passable lane, but the traffic was already congested that late Saturday morning as people tried to leave town to enjoy the rest of the weekend. As the team walked toward the entrance to Union Station, Parks could hear the sounds of ambulances echoing off the downtown structures in the distance. It was only fifteen past noon, but it was already gearing up to be another hot day. He wondered what the records for the month of September in Los Angeles were and whether they might break any that year with the oncoming heat. As it was, if it kept up, he was going to have to buy a whole new wardrobe just to counterbalance his already sweat-stained clothes, which were still waiting for a wash back home.

  Moore and Fairmont flanked behind him on his right while Tippin and Jackie carried up the left side like a flock of birds traveling in the well-known V, though the only kind of birds he could see them being compared to at the moment were carrion-sniffing buzzards, circling around until they dove in for the kill.

  “Are you the medical team?” a short, slightly overweight Spanish woman spat as she spun out from behind the back of the news van. She wore a pin-striped brown suit with a black undershirt. She was frantic and disoriented, as if she had woken up in some foreign place other than her own bed. She had the look of one who had at one time been considered a great beauty, but unfortunately a stressful life of ruthless business meetings and liquid lunches had caught up to her, aging her somewhat beyond her years. Makeup was plastered to her face in hopes of bringing out her faded beauty, though it failed to hide the bags under her eyes.

  “Dammit,” Parks cursed. “No. LAPD. They’re not here yet? Where’s Wyler?”

  “Come,” was all the woman said as she led them to the back of the van, where Wyler sat in a chair, clutching his arms and panting heavily.

  “Rachel? I want you and Jake to see if you can locate the man who attacked Wyler and keep everyone who witnessed what happened secured and controlled,” Parks ordered.

  “Got it, boss,” Fairmont said as he and Moore broke formation.

  Parks and Jackie rounded to the back of the news van and stopped immediately in their steps.

  “My God,” Parks exclaimed, keeping his distance from the man, who was clearly in pain.

  Charles Wyler rocked in his chair, breathing heavily and making deep, husky sounds from his throat. His clothes were drenched with sweat, his face flushed with heat. His arms and face were covered in a red rash that the man couldn’t stop scratching, his fingernails beginning to leave marks.

  “I’ve been poisoned!” Wyler screamed in agony at the group of men and women standing before him.

  “Okay,” Jackie said, setting her medical bag down and removing a pair of latex gloves and a mask. “Everyone, gloves and masks. I don’t know what we have here yet.” She moved to Wyler and stared at the man, assessing his condition. “What was thrown at him? Does anyone know?”

  The Spanish woman shook her head and stammered a barely audible no.

  “Poison. Dammit,” Wyler quipped.

  “That doesn’t help me,” Jackie replied, digging through her bag.

  “Then get me someone who that does help.”

  “Listen,” Jackie shot back in a forceful tone that got the attention of everyone around her.

  “Don’t you ‘listen’ me—”

  Jackie smacked Wyler across the face and grabbed his cheeks with her right hand and held him steady.

  “Now you listen to me, you scumbag piece of shit. You brought this on yourself by playing with fire. I ought to just let you rot. Right now I’m the best bet you have at surviving whatever was thrown at you. If I can’t help you, then no one can. I don’t have time for bullshit, and neither do you. You’ve been infected with whatever it was you were poisoned with, so you had better calm yourself down and pay attention. I need your cooperation, or this will prove pointless and you’ll be dead. Then I’ll simply fill out a report, grab a beer, and go home to my son. Do you understand me? Nod if you do.”

  Wyler remained quiet. His cheeks puffed up as if he was about to throw up, but he held it back at the last second.

  “Now I need a sample of what he was infected with,” Jackie said to no one in particular. “I don’t care if you scrape it off a rat’s ass in the bottom of the sewers or tackle the mayor himself to get it off his shoes. I need a sample. Someone get on it. Now.” Several footsteps move frantically about behind Jackie while she continued her study of Wyler. “I need whoever has been around him since the symptoms began. I need answers.”

  “I can help,” the Spanish woman said from behind Parks as she dug her way toward Jackie through the team of people who had begun circling around the panic-stricken man.

  “And you are?”

  “Diane Gandara,” Diane answered as she flexed her hands, trying to figure what to do with them. “I’m the producer.”

  “Diane, good,” Jackie replied. “I’m Jackie Isley. I’m going to ask you a few questions, and I need honest answers. If you don’t know, that’s all right—but say so. Don’t make stuff up. This man’s life may depend on it. Understand?”

  “Y-yes, ma’am,” Diane answered. Her hands shook even worse than Wyler’s, and Jackie wondered how much help she would get out of the woman. She didn’t even know what she was dealing with yet and therefore didn’t know the timeline she had to work with.

  “Okay,” Jackie said with a smile and calming whisper. “A substance was thrown in his face. Did you see it?”

  “Yes.”

  “Liquid? Powder?”

  “L-liquid. R-red colored.”

  “How much?”

  “J-just a cupful. Only on Ch-charles.”

  “Just the same, I’m going to need everyone who was standing around him at the time. Other people may be infected, and they’ll need to be tested.” Jackie looked up at Parks. “Make sure everyone’s wearing gloves and masks. We don’t know if this is an airborne contagion or not. Most likely not. But even a drop of this stuff on someone’s skin could affect them, so until we know what it is, I need everyone rounded up.”

  “Got it,” Parks said through his own mask.

  “Okay. You’re doing good,” Jackie said while she took Wyler’s temperature. “A red liquid. A cupful. Good. This was about twenty minutes ago. Then what happened? Did he feel any immediate sensations? Burning? Itching? Hot? Cold? Anything?”

  “No . . . I don’t . . . no. I don’t think so,” Diane stammered. She began to lose it again as she turned from Jackie to Wyler, whose color grew paler as he continued to shake and cough.

  “Hey,” Jackie snapped as she grabbed the woman by her shoulders and pulled her around the side of the van so she couldn’t see Wyler. “Focus on me. Okay? Forget about him. No immediate symptoms?”

  “No,” Diane continued. “I got some water for him, and he cleaned off his face and flushed out his eyes with it.”

  “Good,” Jackie said, resuming her physical consultation of Charles Wyler. “Pupils dilated. Now his skin feels cold but his temperature’s rising. Labored breathing.”

  “Can I have some water?” Wyler asked. “I’m awful thirsty.”

  “I’m sorry, Mr. Wyler, but I can’t allow that at this time,” Jackie said, swabbing off his arm. “I need to draw some blood to do some tests. Okay? Is that okay, Mr. Wyler?”

  Wyler nodded.

  “Now it’s important, Mr. Wyler, that I find out if you are on any medication. Anyt
hing I need to know of?” Wyler shook his head in the negative. “Anything at all? Antidepressants? Viagra? Anything illegal? Marijuana? Cocaine? Even alcohol? Any alcohol in your system? Any anything? I need to know, Mr. Wyler. Your life depends on it.

  “N-nuthing,” Wyler stammered as he continued to shake his head in the negative to each item that Jackie reeled off.

  “Mr. Wyler?”

  “I had a shot of whiskey and a bump to take the edge off. That’s all. Nothing else.”

  Jackie breathed her disapproval.

  “I want s-s-some w-water,” Wyler repeated.

  “I understand,” Jackie said calmly as she could under the circumstances. Parks was impressed by the woman’s bedside manner and wondered how much practice at this she had. “But I can’t allow that at this time. I don’t know what it is you were infected with, and there are numerous toxins out there that can be triggered by being mixed with something as simple as water. Do you understand me?”

  “I already gave him some water,” Diane said, starting to get frantic again.

  “It’s okay,” Parks said as he grabbed Diane and sat her down.

  “How much?” Jackie asked.

  “He took a few swallows from a bottle, cleaned off his face, then finished off another bottle.”

  “To get rid of the t-t-taste in my mouth,” Wyler explained. “That st-st-stuff tasted like sh-sh-shit.”

  “What did it taste like specifically, Mr. Wyler?” Jackie asked.

  “Like bitter sh-shit.”

  “What water?” Parks asked, trying to keep Diane occupied.

  The woman turned her head, but Parks stopped her from looking around the corner into the news van. “He has a personal supply flown in.”

  “Tell me,” Parks said gently.

  “In the van. There’s a case of it. We have it ordered. For Mr. Wyler only. He’s very picky about what he drinks.”

  “Stay here,” Parks said, making his way around Jackie and into the van. He found a small refrigerator in the back corner and inside were a dozen purple-labeled bottles of Kobra water.

  “Never heard of this,” Parks muttered.

  “It’s f-f-foreign,” Wyler said. “I have it imported. The best st-stuff in the world.”

  Parks reached into the fridge and picked up a bottle. He stared down at the neon-blue lettering with the outline of a hooded cobra above the name and thought to himself about what some people were willing to pay for in life.

  “What is it?” Jackie asked, looking up past Wyler, whose face she kept pointed out the back of the van.

  “Not sure,” Parks said, squeezing the bottle. He expected a stream of water to burst out and when none did he let out a deep breath. “I was expecting—” Parks stopped when he felt something cool touch his gloved hand. He looked back down and saw water leaking out from underneath the plastic wrapper around the bottle. Parks ripped the label off and squeezed the bottle again; this time a stream of the liquid shot out through his fingers.

  “Shit.”

  Parks dropped the bottle and reached for another and squeezed it. When nothing happened he ripped the label off and felt another stream of water come spraying out.

  “We have a problem. A very serious problem.”

  “What is it?” Jackie asked.

  “These bottles have all been tampered with. I think you were right. Only we’re too late and you have it backward.”

  “What?” Jackie said, checking Wyler’s heartbeat and pressure.

  “You said water might trigger the chemical that was thrown on Wyler’s face. What if he’s already been taking in the toxin through his water and the chemical that was thrown at him was the trigger.”

  “Okay, Mr. Wyler, we’re going to have to induce vomiting,” Jackie shouted. “I have something for you to swallow. It’s important you take this or I’ll have to induce gastric lavage.”

  Jackie was reaching back into her medical kit when she first started hearing the sounds from Charles Wyler that let her know her pill would not be necessary. She turned around when suddenly he opened his mouth and began throwing up all over himself and Jackie like a scene out of The Exorcist. She let out a startled scream as she jumped back, already sprayed with the reddish liquid the man had just vomited. Charles Wyler clutched his stomach as he moaned in pain. Parks imagined that if wailing banshees truly did exist, this was what they would sound like.

  Wyler began vomiting again. The vomit was red, not from the chemical that had been thrown at Wyler, but from the blood that was mixed in with it. Charles Wyler jerked himself up and threw up another small amount and slammed his mouth shut, his teeth closing down on his tongue, the tip of which hung by a thread through his clenched teeth. Wyler lurched forward and opened his mouth and threw up once more. When he was finished, the tip of his tongue was no longer attached, having come free in the chemical waste.

  “M-m-my thwoat,” Wyler groaned through the spasms that continued to attack his body. “M-my thwoat is b-buwning.”

  Parks looked at the dying man but then noticed that Jackie hadn’t even paid attention to what Wyler had said. Instead, she was trying her best to clean herself off, having been a side victim of the killer’s poison yet again. Parks tried to get around Wyler and slipped in the blood, almost falling to the ground before catching himself on the side of the van. Wyler threw up more blood, making the back of the news van look like something out of a Wes Craven horror movie, blood flying everywhere. Parks finally got out of the van, his shoes and pants covered in blood, and reached Jackie and grabbed her.

  “Jackie,” said Parks. Jackie looked up, tears in her eyes, as she tried to frantically clean herself off. She didn’t have to say it. He knew what she was thinking in that moment even though he himself had never been a father. She was worried about not being there for her son. Sure he was full grown, a man now, but she was still, first and always, a mother.

  Two ambulances raced up to Union Station and four EMTs jumped out and hustled over to the back of the news van.

  “Keep your distance,” Parks shouted at the approaching men and women. “Check her.” Parks handed Jackie off. “But stay away from this van. Don’t get any of the red substance on you. Understand? Fairmont? Moore?”

  “Boss,” Fairmont and Tippin both called out through muffled masks. Both men stopped suddenly, backing off a few steps at the sight of their boss covered in blood.

  “Rope this entire area off,” Parks ordered as he jumped back from Wyler. Wyler began making painful, retching noises as he continued throwing up blood. The wheezing noises coming out of the man made it sound as if everything inside his body was squeezed together as his organs fought over one another to get oxygen. “Get those people over there who were with Wyler during the attack to the EMTs to be checked out, and keep everyone else away. We’ll all need to be checked and tested.”

  “What about Wyler?” Fairmont asked.

  Parks turned back to the news van, already knowing the answer. Wyler lay face-up, covered in the vomit he had choked to death on as a result of his body’s uncontrollable reaction to a poison that had been introduced to him by a sadistic madman.

  17

  “It’s not your fault,” Parks said quietly from a chair facing Jackie while she sat on a hospital bed in the Cedars Sinai emergency room. They were alone, sealed off from the rest of the room by a cloth curtain, giving them some privacy, which Parks felt they were entitled to after the day they just had. Both were dressed in blue nurses scrubs as their clothes had been taken for testing and ultimately burning.

  Every member of his team had been cleared, at least as far as they were able to determine at this early stage. They had been at the hospital all day, each getting poked and prodded. More blood had been drawn from each of them for testing than Parks thought they could physically reproduce to keep living. Each had been given numerous immunization shots and would be required to return for further testing. But for now, all had been cleared to go home.

  “But I left Wyler alone
. I just freaked. I should have never stopped administering—”

  “You’re human,” Parks said, trying to console the woman, who was doing her best to hold back the tears. He could see it on her face. She was distraught. And not just about the fact that she could have died by some unknown, foreign substance, thereby leaving her son an orphan. She was also genuinely disturbed by her conduct on the job. Performance was everything to the people Parks worked with; he saw that day after day. He felt the same way. They all took pride in what they did. “You panicked. It happens. We don’t know what we’re dealing with. It’s scary. Damn-right freaky. Anyone of us could have died today. It’s not your fault about Wyler. Blame that sick son of a bitch out there running around poisoning people.”

  Jackie threw on a fake smile that let him know she wasn’t buying it. Parks stared at the woman before him, her hands trembling as she tried to get a grip on herself.

  “You talk to your son yet?” Parks asked.

  “Ricky? No.” Jackie shook her head. “He’s not home today. Or tonight. Staying on campus. Some frat party. I think he’s pledging. Not sure. Only know he’s out of contact for the weekend.”

  Parks stared intently at her. “How are you getting home?”

  She shrugged and smiled. She had no idea. Why would she? She wasn’t worried about how she was going to get home. Only about trying to survive the day.

  “I’ll give you a lift,” Parks said.

  “Are you good to drive?” Jackie asked. “Because I’m sure as hell not. How can you be?”

  “Believe it or not, but I’ve been through worse things than today.” Parks smiled and held his scarred up hands in front of her. “I’ve learned to control my adrenaline flow. I know how to manipulate it. Use it to my benefit. It’s what helps keep me cool under pressure. I’ll pass out tonight and sleep like a log. That’s when it hits me.”

  Jackie and Parks stared at each other, enjoying the moment of silence.

  “Yes,” Jackie said, breaking the silence.

  “Yes?”

  “Yes, I’d like a ride. If the offer still stands?”