by CJ Lyons
"Sarah's gone," the other boy said, clearly wishing the same fate on Cassie. He slipped the girl's legs onto his lap, moving her bare feet over his crotch. The girl giggled, her head drooping forward as the two men smiled at each other.
"I know. She's in a coma at Three Rivers." Cassie shifted her weight, calculated the distance to the door. How could she get this girl out of here before something happened? "I'm trying to find out who she is so we can notify her parents."
"You a cop? Social worker?" the first boy snapped, his disdain for either profession clear.
She considered lying, thinking it might intimidate them into releasing the inebriated girl. The second boy raised the girl's foot to his mouth and began sucking on her toes, making her squirm in delight.
"What if I was?" Cassie hedged, uncomfortable with these budding sociopaths. Was their behavior the result of drugs or something more pernicious, like the complete lack of a conscience?
The first boy shrugged, his hand opening the girl's blouse, exposing her breasts. "We'd still let you join in on the fun if you wanted." His eyes gleamed with anticipation. "Or," his tongue flicked over his lips, "we could just watch you and Sherry here."
Cassie got to her feet, hauled the girl up with her. The girl was still giggling, her body a dead weight as she struggled to find her balance.
"How about if Sherry and I just go now."
"Then you'd have to discuss the matter with me," a sober voice came from the doorway.
She whirled, dragging Sherry with her. A large, stocky man filled the doorway. He gestured at the two younger men, and they got to their feet and sidled past him, back out into the crowd. Cassie stared at him. She recognized this man. From Three Rivers.
"I know you," he said slowly, ignoring Sherry and focusing his attention on Cassie. "You're Richard King's wife."
Orthopedics, that was where she'd seen him. He was an orderly on Orthopedics, worked with Richard, sometimes came down to the ER to help with fracture patients. What was his name? Victor Trautman, that was it. T-man.
"You checking up on the Mister?" he asked, his head cocked to one side. "He ain't gonna be too happy about that." He nodded to Sherry. "Why don't you let her sleep it off? I think we need to talk, Dr. Hart."
She looked around the room. Everyone else studiously ignored them. No help there.
"Is Richard here?" she asked, assuming a worried tone. "This is his niece. I came to get her before something happened. If you just help me get her outside, I have my car waiting." She poured every ounce of sincerity into her performance. Trautman wavered for a moment, then his eyes hardened.
"Don't ever play poker, Dr. Hart," he said. "You can't lie for shit." He pulled a large chrome plated gun from his waistband. "Drop the girl. Let's go for a walk."
Cassie stared at the gun. Despite the room's chilly temperature, sweat began to pool under her sweater. Sherry squirmed in her grasp, severely limiting their defensive options. But Trautman didn't seem interested in the girl, only Cassie.
Confident of his superior position, Trautman stepped forward, and Cassie saw her opening. She pushed Sherry at him and darted through the door back into the maelstrom of music and gyrating bodies.
She pulled out her cell phone. There was no signal under the metal roof. She plunged through the crowd, ignoring the curses that followed in her wake.
No phone meant no cavalry. Looking around at the glazed stares of the party-goers, she couldn't expect much help from the crowd.
She shuddered, tried to search past the shoulders of gyrating dancers to survey her options. No other exit visible except the front door. Was there a rest room with a convenient window? Bad idea. If she went in and there was no way out, she'd be trapped.
The crowd spun her around, and she saw T-man's head above the others. He was gesturing to men at the door, talking into a small radio.
Cassie ducked down, taking advantage of her short stature as T-man began to scan the throng of dancers. She allowed the tide of gyrating bodies to move her closer to the disc jockey's platform. The noise became deafening, but it was the only corner of the building she hadn't explored for a possible exit.
The DJ had his equipment set up on a chest high platform draped in black muslin. The walls behind him were draped as well, and a silver disco ball spun overhead, dazzling in the strobe lights. Cassie saw T-man turn her way and crouched down low, slipping under the drapes beneath the platform.
The pounding, driving beat of the music rattled her fillings as she crawled to the rear of the DJ's station. Dust swirled around her, and she sneezed, but had no fear anyone would hear her. She thought briefly about staying here in her dark but noisy shelter but knew it would be one of the first places T-man would look when he didn't find her in the crowd.
Cassie tried her phone again. Still no signal. She edged out from the back of the platform. The DJ, ears protected by bulky headphones, swaying to the beat as he rapped with the crowd, didn't notice her behind him. She looked around. Amen--a door!
She crept over to it. The drapes partially hid it, and the shadows would hopefully do the rest. She hugged the black fabric around her, trying to blend in with the darkness as she edged the door open and darted through it.
Cassie took a deep breath of fresh air and oriented herself. She was facing the bridge. Wind whipped across the river and cut through her clothes. She didn't stop to zip her jacket, but turned and ran.
She pulled out her cell phone once more as she rounded the corner of the building. She collided with a young man fumbling with the zipper of his jeans, and the phone went flying.
"Sorry, man," he mumbled without looking at her, "just looking for a place to take a leak."
Before she could chase after the phone, Trautman stepped from the shadows and aimed the gun at her. "Hold it, doc."
Staring into the maw of the large gun, Cassie did as she was told.
"Not here," Trautman growled at the drunken reveler who blinked and staggered away. "C'mon doc, let's find someplace private to talk."
He wrapped his arm around her waist, the hand with the gun tucked inside her jacket, aimed at her heart. Together they walked through the dark, away from the Barn and toward the bridge.
"Wanna tell me who sent you down here?" he asked.
Cassie's jaw clenched with fear as he propelled her toward the river. She remembered Jane Doe's frozen form when they pulled her from the water. Did the same fate await her? Only she might be weighted down with the lead of several bullets.
"The girl in these photos," she told Trautman as he hauled her over the guide rail and onto the chopped up pavement.
He stopped under the lone functioning streetlight and looked at the photos of Jane Doe. A frown creased his brow. "Where is she?" he demanded, his free hand reaching over to squeeze her face. "That bitch stole my stash."
Cassie searched the deserted bridge and the road that ran past it. Just one car, she prayed. That was all she needed, one person to pass this way.
"When was that?" she asked.
He shook her hard and began dragging her up onto the bridge. "Don't play games with me," his voice raised over the roar of the wind as they climbed the slope. "You know damned well it was Sunday. Damned strawberry said she'd do me for a hit of FX. I threw her down on a slag heap and told her she'd fucking well do her best, then I'd decide what it was worth. We was in the middle of it when the bitch hit me on the head with a brick."
He pulled back a sheaf of dingy yellow hair, revealing an ugly bruise above his right temple. A little harder or lower and it might have been fatal.
Too bad for her it wasn't. She searched in vain for any sign of traffic. Trautman saw what she was doing and laughed.
"Relax, doc. Ain't no one coming up here, not with the construction."
They reached the apex of the bridge, the deep hungry waters of the Ohio swirling below. Trautman bent her over the railing, pushing her head forward to look down on the water.
"Where's Sarah?" he asked. "That bitch and
I have some unfinished business."
Cassie grabbed the railing with both hands, straining against his greater weight to no avail. She'd have better luck moving Mount Washington with a butter knife.
"I'll take you to her," she lied, trying to gain time.
He spun her back to face him and brandished the gun once more. "Tell me where she is or you're going for a swim. Tell me now!"
CHAPTER 36
Drake parked the Intrepid alongside the old Westinghouse warehouse, beside Hart's Subaru. The engine cold to touch. He looked over to the rave club, its lights blazing, several groups performing impromptu dances outside the front door. Movement on the bridge behind it caught his eye.
A large figure moved into the light of a street lamp. From here it looked like Trautman. A woman was with him. Christ, it was Hart.
Then he saw the gun.
A car turned off Route 51, raising Cassie's hopes. Would they come near enough to see her?
"You don't need the gun," she told Trautman. "I'll take you to her."
Trautman's laugh was high-pitched for such a large man. The glare of the street lamp revealed violaceus craters of inflamed acne pockmarking his face. Steroid abuser? That was almost as frightening as the gun he held so casually.
Her gut twisted with fear. She forced herself to focus, watch for any opportunity to escape. He slid the gun into his pocket, and she momentarily relaxed. Then he grabbed her hair, pulling her head back so that she that she had no choice but to look into the empty, dark void of his eyes. An ugly smile stretched his mouth.
"No, you'll tell me, now," he said, slapping her so hard her ears rang. "Where is she?"
As his palm connected with her face a second time, he released her hair. The force of the blow sent her flying into the railing. Trautman laughed again. She pushed herself upright, leaning her weight against the railing, as if she were too stunned to stand on her own. Before his laughter died, Cassie rammed a knee into his groin.
Trautman staggered back, his hands dropping to his crotch. She raced past him, setting her sights on the road. T-man was faster. He grabbed her around the waist and dragged her back to the railing.
Effortlessly, he raised her up high, her legs dangling uselessly. Cassie gulped in a lungful of the frigid night air. She stared down at the water far below.
"Bitch!" Trautman shrieked. He leaned back, ready to heave her over the side.
Cassie shot her hand down, aiming at his eyes with her outstretched fingers. Her index finger popped through tissue into viscous, jelly-like liquid. She gagged at the sensation that shuddered through her but forced herself to not pull her strike.
Trautman screamed in pain and dropped her, his hands clawing at his face.
She bounced off the top railing. The impact jarred through her, snatching her breath. She flailed, tried to gain a handhold, foothold, anything to stop her free fall. Her hands scraped over the twisted steel, searching, grasping. But she kept falling, slipping, her legs kicking against air.
She clawed against the side of the bridge, refused to give an inch. A small rim of metal, no more than a few inches wide, stopped her. Cassie locked her fingers around the ledge. She dangled, her entire weight supported by the muscles of ten digits.
Muscles that strained with agony. She forced herself to stop kicking. When she opened her eyes, all she could see was the metal spider web that formed the underbelly of the bridge. She looked down and immediately regretted it as a wave of nausea ripped through her. The river was a black vortex, hungry for her arrival.
Wind whipped mercilessly beneath the bridge, drowning out the chattering of her teeth. She tried tilting her head up but that sent a searing pain through her back and shoulder muscles. Instead she kept her gaze forward, focusing all her energy on her fingers above her. Trautman's screams died down to a primeval wail. She didn't want to think about what she'd done to him--she'd think about it later, after she got off this bridge.
Which wasn't going to happen unless she moved one of her hands, began to climb. She heaved in several deep breaths, trying to convince her fingers to loosen their precious hold. Her hands burned with the cold, her arms were trembling.
Die trying. The wind carried Gram Rosa's whisper to her ears. Why did the old woman have to always be right? Cassie gulped down one last breath and transferred her weight to her right arm. She stretched her left hand, ignoring the screaming that tore through her right shoulder, and tried to find a more secure handhold. Her fingers hit a solid wall of steel. Her breath came in jagged gasps as she tried to stretch further. Nothing.
Just as her right hand was about to give away, she grabbed the ledge again with both hands. Clenched her fingers tight against the ice-cold steel.
"Hold on!" a man's voice shouted, muffled by the wind.
She didn't waste energy on an answer. She wasn't even certain she hadn't imagined it. Her fingers were numb now. Cramps spasmed her arms and back. Sooner or later her grip would break. Her breath caught as she choked on tears of rage and frustration. What would kill her, the fall or the freezing water?
There was movement at the railing, and she dared to swing her glance up. Drake straddled the railing, extending an arm to her. She hadn't imagined it--he was there.
"Take my hand," he shouted.
She could not move, much less make the Herculean effort necessary to reach an arm up to meet his.
"C'mon, you can do it," he coaxed. "Don't be afraid."
"Not. Afraid." The words stuttered past her chattering teeth. "Frozen."
"Hold on. I'm coming."
Cassie hung there, unable to control the shaking in her arms, powerless to stop her fingers from slipping.
A red hightop landed between her hands. She felt Drake's strong hands grasp her wrist. Still she could not let go, her fingers locked into rigor.
"All right," he said as if discussing directions to Ikea. "This is how we're gonna do this." She raised her gaze and saw his blue eyes staring down from the darkness. His face alternately glowed red then silver as colored lights played off his features. Despite his grip on her, she felt as if she was falling.
And she was. Pain jolted through her arm as her fingers tore away from their precarious grasp on the steel. Suddenly she was dangling in the air, the river below roaring its welcome.
CHAPTER 37
Cassie dropped lower for a heart wrenching moment. Drake gave a grunt of pain.
"Okay, we'll do it the hard way." He began to hoist her up. With one final heave, he propelled her to a level where she could roll her leg and hip on top of the steel beam.
"Almost there," Drake whispered, his voice hoarse with straining. Cassie barely heard him, she was too busy appreciating the solid surface supporting her. He never let go, even though she was in a less precarious position, his fingers warm against her frozen skin. About the only part of her that did feel warm.
He climbed back over the railing. Once his feet were safely on the other side, he lifted Cassie over the railing. They both collapsed onto the metal grating on the other side.
"What took you so long?" Her words emerged in a low rasp, as if not even her vocal cords had escaped the punishment the rest of her muscles had suffered. She swallowed, trying to force down the wave of hysteria that threatened to consume her.
Drake cut her a look, his eyes wide, his brow furrowed, and a snorted a short laugh. He circled an arm around her.
She leaned against his warmth, her entire body quaking, out of control. There was blood on her, but she felt nothing. Yet. There would be hell to pay in the morning. But at least there would be a morning.
A few feet away, in the middle of the road, Trautman writhed in pain, his ragged moaning piercing the night. Blood streaked his face. Cassie's stomach roiled in nausea. She had done that--she had brought a man to his knees in pain, most likely destroyed his vision. She held her hands up, inspected them as if they belonged to a stranger. Trautman's blood mingled with her own.
"Trautman didn't kill Fran," she told Dra
ke, her voice almost back to normal.
He sighed as if reluctant to return to reality. "You sure?"
"He's much taller, bigger than the man I saw."
Rolling off Drake, Cassie knelt on the pavement, trying to control the nausea that wracked through her, wrenching muscles that already seared with pain. Her ears roared with her gasps as she fought to breathe. Below the metal grating, the river churned, echoing her vertigo, mocking her. She'd been so stupid.
"Are you all right?" Drake's voice broke through her haze. "An ambulance is on the way. Are you hurt?"
She ignored him, focusing on squelching the revolution in her stomach. She took a deep breath, cleared her vision and began to rise to her feet. She needed to check on Trautman. Drake's hands helped her up. Her vision darkened for a second, then she was steady once more.
"I'm fine," she lied.
"What the hell were you thinking?" She knew Drake must be shouting because his voice cut clearly through the ringing in her ears. "You could have been killed! Didn't I tell you to leave the detective work to me?"
Cassie blinked up at him, unable to find the words to answer him. Especially since she knew he was right.
She was saved by the blare of more sirens. A patrol car and ambulance arrived, bouncing past the construction debris at the foot of the bridge, then screeching to a halt beside them. Drake's mouth opened, clamped shut again. He spun on his heel to intercept the other police officers.
The first paramedic recognized Cassie and approached her, but she waved him off and sent him over to Trautman. "Bilateral eye trauma," she told him, surprised by how normal her voice sounded. "The globe may be ruptured."
It took both of the medics to move the drug dealer's hands away from his eyes in order to assess the damage. "Yeah, looks like one is gone," one of them told her as he grabbed supplies from the squad. "Might be able to save the other." He looked at her, appraisal in his eyes. "He's saying you did it, doc."
Cassie nodded. "Yeah, I did."