Stone Cold

by James Glass

  As my eyes started to focus, I recognized the devil himself, staring back at me with ice in his eyes. Stone cold, for sure. My stomach clenched, the taste of soap swashed the back of my throat, followed by a violent eruption. Allen must’ve seen it coming because he sidestepped to the left and avoided my contribution to the fight.

  The putrid smell permeated the air. He straddled both sides of the yellowy, slimy substance pooled on the floor, but pieces of vomit had splattered up from the floor and onto the bottom edges of the yellow jumpsuit. He pulled one sleeve up to his elbow and I saw how he'd bypassed getting eaten by Sam. He’d wrapped black foam around his arm, held together by duct tape.

  He retrieved a scalpel from a pocket and pointed it at me. “Because of you, Rebecca, Williams got away.”

  “He got justice. Maybe not what you wanted, but the Navy court-martialed him, busted him down from admiral to captain. He's living a life of shame for his actions. You know how obsessed he is with his image.”

  His nostrils flared. “You don’t get it. None of you do. I didn’t get justice.”

  The water was still running. The bathroom felt like a sauna. Beads of sweat had formed on my brow and soap dripped into my eyes as he continued, “The human skin is the largest organ. Did you know that?”

  I shook my head, but I doubt he cared. I just needed to keep talking. As long as I was talking, I was alive.

  “The skin is only around two millimeters thick.”

  He waved the scalpel in the air. “Do you know how long it takes to cut someone’s face off? It’s an art form that takes a long time. The victim doesn’t die from the injury, but when they see their face in the mirror, well, I’m sure they wished they had.”

  Sam continued to bark and scratch in a frenzy. So near, and yet so far. We were separated by less than ten feet.

  “I had everything planned out. Williams would be my masterpiece. Instead, you intervened and now he’s in the wind.” He pressed the blade against my carotid. One clean cut and I’d bleed out in seconds.

  “But since I don’t have him, I'll have to settle for you.”

  Without warning my bladder released. I was too scared to be embarrassed about that, or my nudity. The warm liquid soaked the top of the toilet seat and dripped onto the floor.

  He raised the scalpel. A glint of light reflected off the blade. As if a power button had been pressed, I leapt to my feet and bolted for the door.

  Allen grabbed my arm but couldn’t maintain a firm hold due to the soap and sweat on my skin. He swore and gave chase until I heard a massive thud. I glanced back. He’d lost his footing in the vomit and pee.

  I tripped over the area rug beside the bathtub. Arms flailing, I tried to stay upright but my torso outran my legs and I toppled to the floor again. I got to my knees and grabbed the doorknob and turned. Sam appeared through the small opening just before Allen shoved the door closed.

  I swung my arm up hard and connected with his privates. He grunted. I followed through with a second bullseye.

  He bent at the waist and I shoved him enough to reach the knob and pull again. He tried to close the door again, but Sam bit into his hand and Allen dropped the scalpel. As he reached for it, Sam burst inside, and this time she went for the bastard’s neck.

  Blood sprayed everywhere. Allen punched Sam in the head, then slammed her into the wall. Sam yelped once, then slumped to the floor.

  Allen came toward me, his face ashen. Blood streamed from the gash on his neck.

  I scrambled through the door and bolted toward the living room. I reached the table by the front door, snatched my Glock, turned, and—

  Allen tackled me. We crashed into the wall. I lost my grip and the gun skidded somewhere out of sight. Bleeding like a sonofabitch he straddled me and wrapped his massive hands around my neck.

  Breathing was a struggle. As darkness closed in, my thoughts turned to my father.

  I’d be joining him soon.

  The last thing I saw was a blur of fur as Sam leapt in the air, latched her teeth into the back of his neck and shook vigorously, like he was a woodchuck or something to be subdued. Allen's grip loosened and I gasped and coughed as air rushed into my lungs. Allen tried to defend, but because he’d been straddling me, he didn’t have any leverage.

  Growling, Sam shook and shook him, blood and spittle flying in all directions. Most of it landed on me. Suddenly Allen slumped to one the side, his body limp. A moment later, he toppled to the floor.

  I knew he was dead. At the very least, his spine had to be severed.

  The end table had been smashed in the melee, but somehow the cordless phone had survived the fight.

  It took every bit of energy to crawl. I called nine-one-one. The operator tried to get my attention several times, but my throat hurt too much to speak.

  Sam stood guard over Allen, ready to launch another attack at the slightest indication of movement.

  I reached up and unlocked the front door. I tried to turn the knob, but I didn’t have the strength. I slumped back onto the floor, away from the door. My body hurt all over. Police sirens wailed in the distance. My eyes grew heavy as I passed out.

  Chapter 49

  Beeping noises awakened me. I squinted from the dim fluorescent overhead lights. The faint scent of antiseptic wafted in the air.

  A full-figured nurse appeared with her back to me, her dark hair tied in a bun. She pushed buttons on one of several machines.

  “Look who decided to join us,” a familiar voice said nearby. Lieutenant McVay stood from a chair next to a window with the blinds lowered. Streaks of sunlight seeped through the slits. He walked toward me, concern on his face.

  The nurse turned and smiled. “How are we feeling?”

  I’ve never understood the concept of using ‘we’ when only one person is involved in the equation, but I decided not to answer.

  I took in my surroundings of my private room. There was a bathroom in one corner, the door slightly ajar. A sport announcer spoke on the small flat screen television mounted on one wall with the sound muted. Guess the lieutenant didn’t want to disturb me. A whiteboard displayed various information. My name as the patient, the nurse on duty, Linda Stephens, and my diet restrictions which stated no food until seen by doctor. Guess it was good I didn’t have an appetite.

  I looked at my nurse, and sure enough, her nametag matched the one on the board. She attached a device on my index finger. Several seconds later my blood pressure and pulse popped up on the display of the monitor’s she’d been fiddling with.

  Stephens smiled. “Your numbers look good.”

  I didn’t respond. I was just thankful to be alive.

  “Where’s Sam?” I croaked. The last time I’d seen her she stood over Dexter Allen’s lifeless body. She’d been injured saving my life.

  Panic caused my numbers on the screen to spike.

  “Is everything okay?” the lieutenant asked the nurse.

  Just then Francisco appeared at the door along with Sam on a leash. “Hey, partner.”

  Sam pulled away and hopped onto the bed. I thought Stephens was going to have a coronary. She tried to shoo her off. Sam growled. Not in a threatening way, but to let her know I was her territory now.

  “It’s okay,” Francisco said to the nurse.

  “No, it’s not. Dogs are not allowed on the premises. For the safety of the patients, you both need to go.”

  “Like I told hospital security, this is a service dog.”

  She eyed him wearily. “Can I see some ID?”

  He removed his credentials and showed her.

  She gestured toward Sam. “What about the dog? Shouldn’t he have ID?”

  Francisco went to speak but his mouth stayed open. It was the first time I’d ever seen him speechless.

  I wanted to laugh at the show unfolding, but that would hurt too much. Instead, I patted Sam and she lowered her head onto my legs as McVay intervened. I was so happy Sam was okay.

  Stephens finally relented. “I�
��ll see if the doctor is ready to see you.” And with that she walked out, closing the door behind her.

  Francisco walked over and sat at the edge of the bed. I’m not sure if being in a hospital makes a patient look smaller, but next to his large frame, I felt like a child. He ran his hand through my hair. His touch sent ripples down my spine. The machine beeped several times then stopped. I saw my heart rate had spiked then leveled out.

  The doctor, a short man in his early fifties with rimless glasses approached. The nametag on his white smock identified him as Dr. King.

  Francisco stood and moved next to McVay.

  King looked at my vitals on the machines then turned to me. “You still have some swelling along the stemohyoid, stemocleidomastoid and trapezius muscles,” he said, pointing to various places along my neck. “But that’s not uncommon with patients in your circumstances. With a few days rest you should have a full recovery.” He walked to a laptop computer mounted on a cart next to the monitors. As he typed on the keyboard he said, “You have some minor bruising and scratches along your body but it’s all superficial.”

  Superficial? My body ached all over. I seemed to recall a rather heavy boot to the ribs.

  He turned to me. “You have any questions?”

  I shook my head. I was just glad to be alive. He was right. Anything else would heal.

  “Good. You should be able to go home in the morning.”

  He nodded toward Francisco and McVay before departing the room.

  The lieutenant glanced at his watch. “I need to get back to the office. I’ll come back later and check on you.”

  “Thanks for coming by.” The croak in my voice was embarrassing.

  “Sure.” McVay kissed me on the forehead before departing.

  Francisco lifted an eyebrow and I scooted over, which wasn’t an easy task. Even though my ribs were fine, my side hurt like hell. The tape pulled along the IV in my right hand. The hospital gown bunched to one side exposing my derriere. Good thing the comforter covered my body. After a moment of getting resituated, I patted the space beside me. Francisco smiled, then climbed in next to me with such care and consideration, my heart stuttered. Sam snorted, then moved down to the foot of the bed without further protest.

  Kind of crowded in that single bed with all three of us, but a good kind of close quarters. I hoped I didn't smell too bad.

  Francisco studied my face. “You doing okay?”

  I nodded, my pulse settling into a familiar rhythm again.

  Things had been so awkward between the two of us over the last few weeks, but it was nice to have him here. Maybe we could mend our friendship and start anew. I hoped so. I missed my partner.

  I rested my head on his shoulder, feeling wiped out from the past several minutes of activity. Francisco stroked my hair, almost idly sifting it through his fingers at times, his touch warm, comforting, and delightfully cozy.

  I reached over and squeezed his free hand. No words needed to be said.

  Resting in that happy place, I closed my eyes and drifted off to sleep.

  Maybe tomorrow will bring a better day.

  A word about the author…

  James Glass achieved the rank of Command Master Chief before retiring after 22 years in the United States Navy. After retiring from the Navy, he exchanged his rifle for a pen. He and his family moved back to Florida. He’s been married for 28 years. They have two children and one grandson. James is also the President of the Panhandle Writers Group. For more information, go to www.jamescglass.com.

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