Julian found no logical reason to explain. Not yet.
“Are you some kind of fucking pervert, or what?” Beer-Man shouted, the fight in him still very much alive.
Ignoring him completely, Julian went into the storage closet and returned pushing a heart monitor. He wheeled it next to the cart with an assortment of surgical instruments and related items. He picked up an instrument looking like fancy pliers and held them up as if examining them.
“What the fuck is all that shit?” Beer-Man shouted.
“What was that you were saying about tearing out my tonsils?”
“Did you enjoy staying with Emily?” Sami asked Angelina.
“Yes, Mommy. Emily played with me. Lots.”
“How can I thank you, Emily? I owe you big time.”
“Well, if you run into any rich doctors looking for a trophy wife, we can call it even.”
If Doctor Templeton hadn’t been married, Sami thought, she would have loved playing cupid. “I’ll keep my eyes peeled.”
As Sami and Emily chatted about nothing in particular, each sipping a cold Corona, Angelina sat cross-legged in front of the TV watching Sponge Bob. Shuffling her feet across the hardwood floors, Josephine appeared through the archway.
“Are you okay, Mom?” Sami asked, launching off the sofa and dashing to her side.
“Every time I cough, it feels like the incision on my chest is going to split wide open.”
“Are you holding the pillow tight against your chest?” Emily asked.
Josephine waved her hand as if dismissing Emily’s question. “Pillow, schmillow. My body doesn’t always warn me when it wants to cough or sneeze.”
“There’s an extra pillow in the closet,” Sami said. “I’ll put it on your nightstand.”
Josephine eased her body into the recliner. “I’m a little hungry. Any leftovers in the fridge?”
Sami looked at Emily.
“There’s a little meatloaf and some mashed potatoes left over from dinner,” Emily said.
“I’d rather have something Italian.”
“Want me to order some takeout from DeMarco’s?”
Josephine’s eyes lit up. “Eggplant parm with a side of ziti. And tell them not to overcook the ziti. I hate mushy pasta.”
The Rizzo family called DeMarco’s for takeout regularly, so Sami had their number programmed in her cell phone. After she called in the takeout order, Emily volunteered to pick it up and walked out the door.
“Can I talk to you about something, Sami?” Josephine asked.
By the stern look on Josephine’s face, Sami guessed that her mom wanted to talk about something important. “Sure, Mom, what is it?”
“Since my heart attack and the surgery and all the time I’ve had to lie around and do nothing but think, I’ve been talking to God a lot.”
The announcement caught Sami off guard. Her mother hadn’t mentioned God in years, and hadn’t been to church since Sami’s father died. Her only reference to God was blaming Him for Angelo Rizzo’s untimely death.
Josephine continued. “I want to go to confession and start going to mass again on Sundays.” She pointed to Sami and then Angelina. “And I want you two to come with me.”
Sami lay wide awake, twisting her pillow in every possible direction to get comfortable, but she couldn’t fall asleep. Flooded with so many consequential issues, she couldn’t turn off her frenzied brain. Foremost in her mind—at least at this particular moment—was her mother’s request that Angelina and Sami accompany her to church.
Her mom’s announcement brought back bitter memories. There was a time when Sami attended church every Sunday without fail. And what she enjoyed most was the fellowship with other churchgoers. She felt as if she were part of something special. Something sacred. She had thought that the friendships she had built through the church community were lifelong. And she foolishly believed that her fellow Christians would stand by her side through thick and thin. But when she went through her awful divorce, a period in her life when she needed support and understanding more than ever, she learned firsthand the hypocrisy of those who proclaim to be godly people.
One woman in particular, Margaret, a woman with whom Sami had spent many holidays—Thanksgiving and Christmas in particular—went from dear friend, sister in Christ, to judge and jury. Because Sami went through a divorce, an event the Catholic Church and the Bible condemn, Margaret completely turned her back on Sami and dissolved their friendship. She had become part of Margaret’s family, almost as if she were adopted. So when Margaret figuratively tossed her to the curb, Sami lost not only Margaret’s friendship but also her relationship with Margaret’s family. Sami felt such a deep sense of loss that she swore she’d never go to church again. But now, her mother’s request forced Sami to reconsider.
Sami was still reeling from her earlier conversation with Al. She had never seen him like this. So desperate. So emotional. He had told her that Aleta’s EEG was abnormal, and if it went flat, he would have to make the decision whether or not to keep her on life support. Sami so desperately wanted to be by Al’s side, but she respected his wishes. She had considered telling him about her rendezvous with Simon, but what purpose would it serve? In time, she would.
She closed her eyes, feeling certain that it would be a long night.
“Please, please,” Redhead begged, “Don’t hurt my fiancé.” She was still bound to the chair adjacent to the bed where Beer-Man lay, but Julian noticed that she’d stopped struggling to break free. Even her voice lacked spirit. Had he broken her will?
He stood next to Beer-Man, ignoring her plea, and focused his attention on the task at hand. He quickly inventoried the surgical tools lying on the cart and untangled the ten leads attached to the heart monitor.
“Enough is enough!” Beer-Man shouted. “Now let us go!”
Julian found a fresh razor and started shaving Beer-Man’s chest.
Squirming like a worm on a fish hook, Beer-Man violently twisted his body but could not break free. “What the fuck are you doing?”
Julian pressed on Beer-Man’s shoulder, trying to hold him steady. “This will be much easier for you if you relax.”
Beer-Man’s face changed from angry to terrified. “I’m sorry, man, I really am. I didn’t mean what I said. I was a little shit-faced and thought you were hitting on my fiancée.”
“I was.”
“You rotten son of a bitch!”
“You haven’t figured it out yet, have you? This is not a game and I’m not trying to get even.” Julian’s voice grew louder. “Now shut the fuck up before I really give you something to scream about.”
Beer-man finally broke down, sniffling and sobbing with breathless bouts of tears.
“Mister,” Redhead called out, her voice utterly desperate. “I’ll do anything you ask. You can have me any way you want. Just let us go.”
Finished shaving Beer-Man’s chest, Julian set down the razor, moved toward Redhead, and knelt next to her. His mouth was inches from her ear. “Tell me,” he whispered. “When you say I can have you any way I want you, what does that mean exactly?”
“Do I have to spell it out?”
“As a matter of fact, you do.”
“If you let us go…I’ll, um, have sex with you.”
“You think that’s what I want?”
“You’re a man aren’t you? Has there ever been a man in history who’s turned down a sure thing?”
“I don’t see how your offer benefits me. I can take you right now without your consent, so why should I make a deal?”
Julian noticed that Beer-Man was leaning toward them, stretching his neck as far as the restraints would allow, obviously trying to hear what they were talking about.
Redhead didn’t answer right away. Julian guessed she would choose her words carefully.
“Even if you force me to have sex with you, there will still be limits on what you can do. Wouldn’t it be better for you if I cooperated completely?”
> “Maybe I don’t like it that way. Maybe I want you to fight.”
“However you want me, I’m yours.”
“How can you be sure I’ll honor my end of the bargain?”
“I can’t. But what other options do I have?”
“Let me think about it.”
“What the fuck are you two talking about?” Beer-Man shouted.
Julian walked back to the bed.
“Your fiancée is trying to make a deal.”
“What kind of deal?”
“She wants to trade her body for your freedom.”
Beer-Man fixed his stare on his fiancée, his eyes nearly bulging out of his head. “Don’t you dare fuck this asshole! I’d rather die than have him touch you!”
Beer-Man glanced at the heart monitor and the assortment of surgical tools on the cart. “Go ahead, fuck-straw. Perform your sick experiments.”
“As you wish.” Julian started connecting the heart monitor leads to Beer-Man’s chest, shoulders, wrists, and ankles. “Sick is not the appropriate word. Call it medical research.”
Beer-Man sat forward as far as the nylon straps would allow. “Are you a doctor?”
Julian mounted the IV bag on the rolling stand and turned on the heart monitor. “A cardiologist.”
“You’re going to do something to our hearts, aren’t you?” Redhead asked.
“Your hearts will be central to my experiments.”
“What are you going to do?” Redhead asked.
“Even if I explained it you wouldn’t understand.”
“Try.”
No need for him to get too technical. “I’m going to use certain drugs to induce a condition called atrial fibrillation, which is an arrhythmia. The drugs will cause your heart to go into a spasm. Then, I’ll perform specific surgical experiments to determine how your heart responds.”
Beer-Man looked as though someone just told him that his entire family had been murdered. “Are you fucking serious? You’re going to operate on us like we’re some kind of lab rats?”
“I’d hardly call you lab rats. I’d rather think of you as martyrs.”
“We’re going to die, aren’t we?” Redhead asked, her voice barely a whisper.
“It’s not my agenda, but that, I’m afraid, may be the unfortunate outcome.”
Beer-Man pleaded again, his tone completely resigned. “Please, don’t do this. We have money in the bank for our wedding. About thirteen thousand dollars. You can have it all. Every penny. And I swear on my dead mother’s soul, we won’t say a thing to anyone.”
His comment enraged Julian. He had to teach Beer-Man a lesson. “You should never, ever swear anything on your dead mother’s soul!”
Julian stood over Beer-Man with a syringe in his hand. “I have to warn you that this is going to be terribly unpleasant. It can’t be helped. When I inject you with this drug, your muscles will be almost completely paralyzed. However, your nervous system will be very much awake.”
Beer-Man was now sobbing like a hungry newborn baby, rolling from side to side, trying to break free. “You’re a monster! A fucking monster!”
Julian tore off a piece of duct tape and carefully placed it over Beer-Man’s mouth.
Redhead, barely able to speak, made one last attempt to save her fiancé. “Let him go. Please! What about our deal?”
“We haven’t made a deal, remember?”
“I’ll make it worth your while. I promise.”
Dressed in scrubs, a scalpel in his hand, Julian prepared himself mentally to proceed. He had placed duct tape over Redhead’s mouth and turned the chair to face away from the bed. Why torment her by letting her observe her fiancé’s surgery? He’d already tortured her enough on the living room floor. He never thought it possible that anyone could please him more than Eva. But the tall redhead had come close. Apparently, fear of death brought out the raw animal in her. He had learned that her name was Rachael; family and friends called her Rae. How foolish she had been to think he’d have his way with her and simply let Beer-Man and her walk out the door. What was it about forcing himself on women that made it so pleasurable?
He had considered using a condom, but only for an instant. He had learned with Eva that nothing was more pleasurable than skin against skin. Besides, what difference did it make if the police harvested a sample of his semen? He was a model citizen, had never even gotten a parking ticket in his life. From a DNA perspective, Julian didn’t exist.
Not sure if Beer-Man’s vocal cords would be capable of making any sound, Julian wadded up some toilet paper and stuffed it in Redhead’s ears. If Beer-Man was capable of screaming, Julian couldn’t imagine that the makeshift ear plugs would suppress the violent screams. But it was better than nothing. After all, he wasn’t cold-blooded.
“Try to move your toes,” Julian said to Beer-Man.
Nothing.
“Move your fingers.”
Still nothing.
Julian glanced first at the IV bag to be sure the drip was adequate. Then he looked at the heart monitor. Except for a rapid heartbeat, which Julian expected, Beer-Man’s EKG looked normal. He pressed the scalpel against Beer-Man’s chest and looked into his wide-open eyes. Beer-Man stared at the ceiling, pupils fully dilated. No blinking and no eye movement at all. A steady stream of tears seeped out of his eyes.
He made a deep incision in Beer-Man’s sternum, from the manubrim, just below his neck, to the xiphoid process, two inches above his stomach.
Julian heard a strange gurgling sound coming from Beer-Man’s throat, an obvious reaction to the pain. The young man’s head and face were dripping with sweat. Julian again checked the heart monitor: 150 beats a minute. Prepared for this possible reaction, he grabbed a syringe he had already prepared, and injected Beer-Man with a strong dose of propranolol.
Julian studied the monitor.
139. 122. 109.
In less than five minutes, Beer-Man’s heart rate dropped to 87 beats a minute, a suitable level for Julian to continue.
He reached for the surgical saw. The level of pain he expected Beer-Man to endure when he cut through his sternum and then spread his ribs apart, would no doubt make the incision feel like a mere paper cut. Julian pulled down the plastic shield to protect his face from splattered blood, and began to cut. The deafening sounds coming from Beer-Man’s throat drowned out the sound of the circular blade ripping through his chest.
“This is Police Chief Larson.”
Sami had just stepped out of the shower, ready to dry her hair. Running a little late for her 9:00 a.m. class, she’d been thinking about blowing it off. She hadn’t cut a class since starting school, and if ever there was a time when she needed a break, today topped the list. “Good morning, Chief Larson.”
“I’ve spoken to Mayor Sullivan.”
By the formal tone in his voice, she suspected that his announcement would not be positive.
“As much as we’d love to have you back in homicide, it’s just not possible. At least for the time being. With the budget restraints and hiring freeze in place right now, we’d need special approval from the City Council and the mayor. And you worked here long enough to realize that the red tape involved with any major decision is like asking Congress to overturn a veto.”
She thought about debating the issue one last time, but felt it would be futile. Besides, Larson wasn’t the decision maker anyway. “I understand, Chief. And I really appreciate your efforts.”
Moments after hanging up, Sami felt overwhelmed with disappointment. Aware that the possibility she’d be reinstated as a detective was a long shot, she hadn’t set her expectations too high. But in spite of her cautious optimism, she had already mentally prepared herself to drop out of school; she saw herself in the thick of things again. Emotionally, she couldn’t handle school much longer. In fact, Chief Larson’s phone call made the thought of going to class this morning virtually unbearable. How had she gone from idealistic enthusiast to complete cynic in less than two years? She tr
ied to tell herself that she was a victim of the system, that the system had tainted her. But she remembered something Captain Davidson had told her years ago: “There are no victims, only volunteers.”
There were few things she wanted right now more than skipping her class. But ingrained in Sami’s psyche was a profound sense of right and wrong. She was addicted to the principles her father had literally forced on her throughout her childhood and even into her adult life. In grammar school, she was a model student. She didn’t so much as steal a pencil. And in high school, not once had any teacher sent her to detention.
She almost called the administrative offices of San Diego University to alert them that she’d be missing her classes today. But her father’s voice whispering in her ear forced her to stay on the straight and narrow. She picked up the hair dryer instead of the telephone and did the right thing.
Julian walked in the front door and set his luggage on the floor. Before the door closed behind him, Nicole seemed to appear from nowhere.
“How was the conference?” Nicole asked, her voice edgy.
Julian saw something in Nicole’s eyes. “Boring. Glad it’s over.”
“I’ll bet you are.”
“Did you wake up on the wrong side of the bed? No kiss. No hug. Nothing.”
“Where the hell have you been?” Nicole shouted.
“Are you seriously asking me that question?”
“Ted Hastings called while you were gone. Doctor Ted Hastings.”
Julian waited for the explosion. He didn’t have to wait long.
“There was no conference, Julian, you lying sack of horse-shit.” Nicole’s eyes glazed over. “Is it another woman?”
“Of course not.” Julian’s plan kicked into high gear. He carefully scripted his explanation. “Do you want the truth?”
“No. I want you to feed me a load of crap.”
“I drove up to Big Bear.”
“What the fuck for?”
“It was supposed to be a surprise. You love it up there, especially during ski season. So, I tried to buy a little cabin. I wanted it to be a birthday present.” Wow, he thought. His ability to lie with a straight face almost scared him.
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