The Hours

by Robert Barnard

  Dana crossed her arms and said, “Where’d you hear this?”

  “Well, ya’ know,” Shelby answered. “It’s just gossip. But, Betty in 313 was over there this morning, before the news crews arrived—says she heard a cop say something about someone eating Geraldine’s face—”

  “That’s twisted, you know?” Dana blurted. Where do you people come up with this garbage? she thought. She stared down the street at the clump of vehicles and flashing lights, her jaw open wide.

  “It’s just what I heard,” Shelby said as she pulled a chiming cell phone from her coat pocket. Elvis tugged at his leash. “I gotta’ run. Call me sometime, we’re overdue for a lunch, okay?” Before Dana could answer, Shelby had already taken off, her tiny Pomeranian leading her down the sidewalk.

  Dana looked down at Elliot, who had finished peeing next to his favorite bush, then looked up one last time at the Cooper’s home.

  “Well. Ready, boy?” Dana asked.

  Elliot blinked twice, and the two headed back for their apartment.

  Dana thought about Mr. and Mrs. Cooper during every step of her climb to the top of her stairs. Mrs. Cooper was a secretary at Henderson. Mr. Cooper had been Dana’s primary physician since she moved to East Violet several years back. The Coopers had a grandchild that went to Henderson High, too. Dana remembered bumping into her once or twice in the hall, her face vaguely familiar from photos Mr. Cooper had shown her. But, Dana taught junior and senior level English classes and the Cooper’s granddaughter was only a freshman.

  What was her name? Dana thought. She felt in her pocket for her keys as her and Elliot reached the landing of the last flight of stairs.

  Elliot bolted into the house as soon as Dana opened the front door, waited patiently beside his dog dish. Dana opened a pantry door and took out a scoop of kibble, dropped it in his dish, and went back to her couch. She flipped through the news channels once more, this time looking for any information on the Coopers.

  Nothing. The top news stories were coming out of the city, where far greater ratings grabs than the death of John and Geraldine Cooper were occurring. A triple homicide in Astoria, a derailed subway car on the Upper East Side of Manhattan, a three alarm fire in Bay Ridge.

  “Christ,” Dana wondered aloud. “What’s going on?”

  The news cut to a helicopter view of a school. Smoke rose from the parking lot.

  “This just in from East Violet—Eyewitness Five has this exclusive video footage from a crash just outside of…”

  Dana knew before the announcer could finish his sentence.

  “…Henderson High school, where a school bus has caught fire….”

  Dana leapt to her feet and then raced to her front door. She grabbed her briefcase, then swung the door open. She turned to her Pug, who was sitting on the couch in confusion, his tail wagging.

  “Be good, Elly,” Dana said with a huff, before slamming the door shut and locking it.

  Skipping almost every other step, Dana breezed down the stairwell to her parking lot and quickly found her Prius. She clicked a button on her car key and the Prius chirped and unlocked. Dana dove into the driver’s seat, buckled, and quickly adjusted her mirrors before jamming her key into the ignition. With a twist of her wrist, the tiny vehicle hummed to life. A pop radio station blared from the speakers. Dana mashed a radio knob, hoping to find a news station, before yanking her gearshift into reverse.

  Dana backed out and popped the car into drive. Her tires let out a quick squirk as the car peeled off down Oak in the direction of Maple. Hoping to hear anything about her school, she anxiously scanned from one radio frequency to the next.

  “Residents are urged to stay indoors…fzzt…Police neither confirming or denying if the incidents are related…psst…Seven bodies were discovered in the Coney Island hotel…bzzt.…”

  Feeling frustrated, Dana spun the radio knob one final time.

  “East Violet Police are on the scene of a bus accident at Henderson High school. We’ve yet to learn of any injuries in the crash and information is slow at best, but stay tuned to 103.9 FM for more information as it becomes available….”

  Dana sighed. She clung to the steering wheel with white knuckles, and a nervous sweat began to glaze over her forehead. In her rearview mirror she watched the flashing lights on Elm vanish behind her, when suddenly—

  “Oh, shit!” she hollered. Her briefcase flew off of the passenger seat and onto the floor as she stomped the brake pedal. The nose of her Prius dipped down as her tires squealed. She had been so distracted by what was happening behind her that she almost rear-ended a maroon sedan waiting at a red light in front of her.

  A figure in the driver’s seat of the sedan looked back at Dana, glared, and raised a middle finger out of the driver’s window.

  The light turned green. The maroon sedan had barely begun to roll into the intersection before a black police cruiser blew its stop light and came barreling into the intersection. The lights on top of the vehicle flickered to life just seconds before it collided with the maroon sedan.

  Dana screamed, then threw her gearshift into park. She jumped out of her car, leaving her door open.

  By the time she made it into the intersection, the officer driving the cruiser was out of his car and checking on the occupants of the maroon sedan.

  “Get outta’ here,” the officer commanded in a thick New England accent.

  Dana put her hands up in front of her, frozen in place.

  “Didn’t you hear me? I said get the fuck outta here!” the officer barked.

  Dana ran back to her open driver’s side door. A line of cars had formed behind her, honking impatiently. She pulled her door shut and sped through the intersection before the light changed back from green to red.

  What is going on? Dana thought, her heart beating faster and faster and faster. Why is this happening? What the hell is going on?

  The Prius turned left onto Maple Avenue and headed towards Pigeon Hill. Dana drove with extra caution, still shaken up by the accident she watched unfold just a moment ago.

  Maple narrowed from four lanes to two, and the houses on either side of her became spaced further and further apart. Pigeon Hill had a layer of morning fog still enveloping it, and it gave the town an eerie look in the morning hours. Considering the circumstances, some early Halloween decorations looked particularly spooky in the fog. On a house to her right, Dana noticed a plastic skeleton hanging from a tree swaying in the breeze.

  Dana continued on the mostly empty street when the song she was listening to was abruptly interrupted by yet another high pitched tone.

  “This is a test of the Emergency Action Notification System. This is only a test—”

  The Prius hummed louder as she began the uphill drive towards Henderson High. Above the sounds of her motor and stereo, Dana could hear a helicopter go buzzing by above her. Through her windshield she watched it ascend then disappear above the hill before again having to jam on her cars brakes. There was something sitting in the middle of the street—maybe a dead animal? Dana swerved to avoid it.

  Driving slowly, Dana peered out her driver’s side window to make out what was lying in the middle of the street. She quickly placed her hand over her mouth and recoiled in horror.

  The object was not road kill or garbage. It was unmistakably two short legs, one of them with a black buckle shoe still attached, both dressed neatly in long white stockings. The legs traveled up to a green skirt that was covered in blood and, from the looks of it, intestines.

  Dana fought the urge to get sick and drove further onward. She followed a slight curve in the road before being greeted by a flood of red and blue lights.

  There was a barricade made up of several yellow, heavy gauge fences and emergency vehicles. The barricade blocked the short section of road between Dana and the high school. In the ditch to her right was a totaled, black Ford Explorer. Surrounding the wrecked vehicle were persons dressed head-to-toe in hazmat suits. They stood around the crump
led Explorer, carefully examining the wreckage. Behind the barricade fences were several police cruisers and a large black van. Dana slowed her car to a stop. One of the vans behind the barricade had lettering different from the others—Dana couldn’t quite tell, but it looked like “C.D.C.”

  Why is the Center for Disease Control responding to a vehicle fire—

  A loud knock rapped on Dana’s driver side window, startling her. Outside was a tall, masculine police officer. The word “BLANKENSHIP” was stamped into a brass nametag above his left breast pocket.

  “Roll down your window, ma’am.”

  Dana obliged.

  “Where are you headed to this morning?” the officer asked.

  “I’m…I’m a teacher. An English teacher at Henderson,” Dana stuttered.

  “Ma’am, I’m going to need you to carefully turn around here, and head back the way you came. You coming from home?” The officer’s voice was devoid of emotion and very matter-of-fact.

  “Home?” Dana mumbled. “I’m not going home. I need to be at my job, I need to help—”

  “We have everything under control,” Blankenship said, leaning away from the car.

  “You can’t keep me from going into my job.”

  “Ma’am—”

  “You need to let me through right now, I need to be at—”

  “Ma’am,” Blankenship repeated with irritation. “No one is allowed through.”

  “I want to speak to your supervisor.”

  “I don’t have time for this shit,” Blankenship said. He reached for a leather pouch on his belt, unbuttoned it, and pulled out a pair of handcuffs.

  “Are you serious right now?” Dana said.

  “Step out of the car, ma’am.”

  Dana threw her hands up. “Fine. I’ll leave.”

  Blankenship put the cuffs back in their pouch and gave Dana a smug look.

  She pulled the steering wheel as far left as it would turn, and cautiously made a U-turn on the narrow road. As she pointed her car opposite of the barricade, she could see the hazmat workers had moved to the middle of the street. They were zipping up a small black bag where the pair of legs once were.

  Driving carefully, Dana descended Pigeon Hill and headed back towards the town below.

  FOUR

  “What the hell do you think this is all about?” Min asked. He was standing on the stoop of the Cooper’s home, glancing anxiously up and down Elm, waiting for the ambulance to arrive.

  “Precautions. Covering their asses. You know how these things go.” Jim hocked a wad of spit into the lawn beside him, then finished tapping out a text message to Chloe—I’m sorry I couldn’t bring you to class. Long story. Tell you later.

  “Whatever,” Min said. He tugged at his belt. “I mean, I’m not worried about it. I’m up to date with my immunizations.”

  Jim ignored his partner’s whining and stared at his cell phone screen. He hoped for a reply from his daughter before the ambulance arrived; he’d been in enough hospitals to know cell phone reception was spotty at best.

  “Fucking Ingram,” Min continued, oblivious to Jim’s disinterest in having a conversation. “Eighteen hours in and he sends us out for blood work. I just wanna’ get home, you know? I broke up that fight at the mall last week, and Ingram didn’t insist on blood work then. And I’m telling you, I had a much better chance of catching something nasty in the Penny’s clearance outlet than I did from Mr. and Mrs. Fuckin’ Brady back there.”

  Jim nodded politely.

  Just beyond Jim and Min, a crowd of reporters had formed. For the most part they hadn’t been a bother, which surprised Jim since double homicides were such an unheard of rarity in East Violet. Most of the news crews waited patiently on the sidewalk, camera’s aimed at the front door of the Cooper’s home. One reporter, however, was bold enough to press his luck. The reporter leaned over the yellow crime scene tape that sectioned off the front lawn of the house from the street.

  “Officer,” the reporter begged, “Officer can you tell us if—”

  “Behind the line please,” Jim said.

  “Can you tell us if this morning’s murder is related to the recent attacks in New York City?”

  Jim froze. What attacks in New York City?

  Worried about how much Ingram would grind his ass if he said something stupid—or looked stupid, for that matter—Jim responded by saying, “Per department policy, I have no comment. This is an ongoing investigation.”

  An ambulance rolled slowly towards the front of the house with lights flashing but no sirens.

  “Fuck that guy,” Min said as he walked towards the waiting ambulance. He motioned for Jim to follow. “Fucking journalists. Come on.”

  Min ducked under a piece of yellow tape, then held it up so that his partner could clear it easily.

  The ambulance popped up onto the curb between a news van and a fire truck, and the rear doors swung open. A tall, thin man peeked out, his face hidden behind a mint-green surgical mask.

  “You boys Chow and Whiteman?” the man asked, pleasantly.

  Both officers nodded.

  “Great,” the man said, patting two gurneys in the ambulance. “I know you must not be very thrilled, but this is your limousine to East Violet Memorial this morning. Come on in.”

  Jim and Min carefully pulled themselves up onto the chrome bumper of the ambulance and then inside. They each took a seat atop gurneys opposite one another. The masked man closed the doors behind them, then took a seat between them towards the front of the vehicle. Once seated, he gave the driver’s cabin of the ambulance a firm whack with his hand, and the vehicle took off.

  “And you are?” Min finally asked.

  “Oh, yes, of course. I’m sorry. My name is Dr. Merrill—”

  “A doctor, huh?” Jim asked. “Paramedics take the day off?”

  “Hah, well, yes,” Dr. Merill answered nervously. “Consider this a special circumstance. You want to be cleared by the best, and that’s me.”

  Jim fidgeted. It didn’t make sense to be riding in an ambulance with a doctor, unless something horrible had happened. It made him uneasy.

  “Five star treatment, eh, Jim?” Min quipped.

  “Very well, gentlemen. I have a few questions I’m going to ask while I take a look at you, and it’s critical that you answer them honestly, please?” The doctor snapped on a pair of latex gloves and pulled a pen flashlight from his front coat pocket. “First off, who came into direct contact with the deceased this morning?”

  “Well, I did,” Min answered. He raised his hand slightly, as if he was answering a question for a grade school teacher.

  “M’kay, describe that encounter to me,” the doctor said. He shined a light from one of Min’s pupils to the other.

  “The female victim was having difficulty breathing. She was in shock after being beaten. I administered chest compressions followed by mouth to mouth resuscitation.” Min spoke firmly and deliberately, ignoring a sour knot starting to form in the pit of his stomach.

  Doctor Merrill let out a long “hm” followed by a click of his tongue. “And I’m correct in assuming you were wearing gloves and using a mouth shield while you did this?”

  Min shook his head. “They were back in the car. She was in bad shape, doc. I didn’t want to waste anytime running back to my cruiser.”

  Furling his eyebrows, Doctor Merrill turned to Jim.

  “And how about you?” the doctor said.

  “I never touched her.”

  “Not at all?” The doctor asked curiously.

  “Nope.” Jim said.

  “What about any blood at the crime scene? Did you come into contact with that?”

  “Nope. Nothing.”

  “Forgive me, officer,” Dr. Merrill said charmingly. “It’s just that…” the doctor pointed at some dried, splotchy blood stains on Jim’s uniform.

  “Cut myself shaving this morning. Now how about telling me what the hell this is all about?” Jim demanded. “What exa
ctly was in that lady’s blood that’s got you all worked up?”

  Doctor Merrill sighed and folded his hands on his lap. “You know, the gentleman back there who died, he was a colleague of mine. Dr. Cooper. And, he had a lot of high-risk patients these past few days. Until his autopsy comes back clean, we have to rule out any possible health risks to your partner and yourself. That’s all, officer.”

  Jim paused, searching for the right words to describe what he had seen that morning. “We shot him, doc. We shot him and he just kept attacking his wife, like it was nothin’. Afterwards we had to do the same thing to her. What was in their blood that made this happen?”

  Doctor Merrill just laughed. “Yes officer, there was something in their blood that caused their abnormal behavior. It’s called adrenaline. I can’t speculate on why Dr. Cooper so senselessly attacked his wife; I wasn’t there. But I can assure you that both Dr. Cooper’s adrenal gland, as well as his wife’s, had emptied every last drop between the time you showed up and the time they passed. Surely you’ve encountered such things before in your line of work.”

  Jim thought. There was a junkie the year before that he busted behind a gas station. He was so jacked up that Jim’s taser cooked him for fifteen seconds before he dropped; it shouldn’t have taken more than five. There was one other time, a few years before that, when Jim and Min wrestled a drunk to the ground outside of the Frosty Boot downtown. Jim had broken the assailants nose before he submitted to being cuffed. Still, after a mostly quiet decade of police work, Jim was certain he had never seen anything like what he saw on the floor of Dr. Cooper’s kitchen.

  For the rest of the ride to the hospital, Doctor Merrill continued a basic examination of the two officers: tongue depressors went in mouths, blood pressure cuffs were wrapped around biceps, lights were shone in ears. Between each inspection, the doctor would scribble a line or two of notes into a pocket notebook.

  “Uh-oh,” Doctor Merrill said as he examined Jim’s right ear. “The light is shining through to the other side!”