“Your hunt is over... So be it.”
The creature growled loudly just before it lunged at him. Ivan saw its teeth flash then a bright light obliterated them from his sight. He could hear voices, it seemed, but soon the black shade dropped down on his vision and he surrendered to oblivion.
4
THE TUESDAY NIGHT SOCIAL Club... Diane Weber leaned on the counter near the nurses’ station and looked at the ever-increasing number of sick and injured filling chairs.
Most of them were frequent flyers, almost nightly visitors to the emergency room looking for shelter, comfort, a bed for the night. She glanced down at the pile of charts in front of her, grimacing. That was the worst part about being a nurse manager in the ER... the goddamn paperwork.
Weber reached up, pushed a wisp of her blonde hair back into the twist on the top of her head. She caught her reflection briefly in one of the dark monitors on a nearby crash cart. She still looked damn good for her age. The forties were the new thirties these days and Weber could easily pass even at forty-two. Good genes...
“How is that possible?” The crescendo of the female voice broke into her reverie and Weber’s head snapped around to see the source.
Sam stood at the opposite end of the nurses’ station, the young and obviously effeminate desk clerk wilting beneath the weight of her glare.
“How do you lose a ninety-year-old man? How can a patient just walk out of the ER? Can you explain this, please?”
The desk clerk’s mouth worked with nothing coming out. Weber tried not to smile as she watched. It was so easy to rattle Rey-Rey; he did not tolerate confrontation well.
“Well? I’m waiting. You got anything for me?”
He gulped. “I don’t know, Miss Karolyi.”
“Detective. It’s Detective.” Sam flashed her badge briefly. “Listen...” She trailed off, her eyes traveling down to the nametag on his scrubs. “Rey Morales. I know you’re just a clerk. Is there anyone else here that I could talk to, someone in authority that actually deserves to be yelled at?”
Weber stood up, her statuesque figure drawing plenty of attention as she walked to the other side of the nurses’ station to join them. “Everything all right, Rey?”
The relief on Rey’s face was evident. He smiled weakly and gestured to the nurse manager. “Diane can help you.”
Sam turned to Weber, looking up slightly to meet her gaze. Weber smiled, gestured toward a pair of chairs nearby. “My name is Diane Weber, I’m the nurse manager for the ER. How can I help you?”
“I’m trying to find my grandfather. I dropped him off earlier this afternoon for an appointment with Doctor Benedetto. I received a call a little while ago that he had left, that nobody knows where he is. My grandfather is ninety years old. He’s not spry anymore and he has plenty of health problems. The idea that he’s running around the city at night by himself... I just don’t understand how someone who moves that slow could get away from you all. My grandfather, he—”
Suddenly, a cacophony of noise: ambulance sirens screeching; emergency horns blaring; bystanders yelling, all erupted outside the ER entrance. The electronic doors slammed open and paramedics raced in, shouting for assistance over the din, an elderly man on the transport cart –
“Ivan Karolyi, ninety, attacked by some sort of animal in Battery Park.”
Weber rushed over, followed closely by Sam. The cart paused in the hallway outside the Trauma Four treatment bay.
Sam’s breath caught sharply. Ivan was pale and judging by the amount of blood on the sheets clearly in need of blood. She reached out, carefully grabbed Ivan’s hand.
“Grampy? Oh my God, Grampy, can you hear me?”
Ivan was still. Sam gently squeezed his hand, hoping he could feel her; that he would know she was there. She thought she felt the faintest pressure on her fingers.
Several nurses and techs arrived, followed closely by the attending physician. Sam’s breath caught sharply again, but this time for an entirely different reason.
Doctor Jack Hudson was gorgeous, a living embodiment of tall, dark and handsome, his broad shoulders straining the seams of his white coat. He could be forty, but the smattering of gray in his hair said he could be older. Whatever age he was, he looked good. Really good. Sam shook her head briefly, trying to clear the R-rated images that suddenly were popping into her head. This was not the time or place for that!
Hudson finished his cursory look at Ivan and jerked his head toward Trauma Four. “LISTEN UP, PEOPLE! I want trauma labs, type-and-cross for two units whole blood, two units packed RBC’s, two peripheral lines, a central line tray, wound cultures, irrigation and dressing trays...” Hudson looked around at the group of nurses, techs and doctors in the room. “WELL? What are we waiting for? LET’S GO!”
The group moved almost in unison, some rushing to get supplies, others moving equipment into the room. Hudson grabbed a clipboard and the chart materials the paramedics offered him, glancing at the top page. He glanced up and noticed Sam.
He stared at her, through her, even. It was that kind of look that... Sam felt a weird feeling of déjà vu wash over her, like she’d looked in those eyes before.
“Miss?”
Sam felt her stomach flutter. He was talking to her, and he had an accent, a British accent.
“I am sorry, but you’ll need to leave.” Sam blinked rapidly and followed his gaze down to her hand, which was still clutching Ivan’s.
“Right. Sorry.” Sam stumbled as she moved back away from Ivan and toward the door. “Um, Doctor?” Hudson turned to her, his expression a blend of expectation and annoyance. “He’s on a blood thinner and blood pressure medication. And he’s allergic to morphine.”
Hudson’s expression softened, replaced by a look of understanding. He nodded an acknowledgment and she heard him speaking as he disappeared into Trauma Four. “The patient is on anti-coagulant and anti-hypertensives, so make sure we get a PT with labs and watch his blood pressure. And give him Demerol for the pain! Hold all other narcotics!”
Sam watched the doorway, the tears that she had held at bay all this time threatening to finally spill over. Weber stepped over to her, taking her arm gently and motioning toward the waiting area.
“Come with me, Detective. C’mon. You can see him as soon as he’s stable.”
Sam glanced at Weber briefly, her gaze returning to the doorway. She nodded, gulping back the sob in her throat. There would be a time for that, later, when Ivan was okay and she could go home and let out the tears and the panic and the fear, far from the eyes of others.
She allowed Weber to guide her along and the pair walked toward the waiting area.
THE ER WAS EMPTIER, calm, quiet. A gloomy peace this morning with it brings...
Sam rubbed the bridge of her nose, repositioned her cell phone to talk. “I appreciate it, Len, I really do, but I need to be here, and alone. I’ll keep you posted, okay?” She looked up just in time to see Hudson approach the nurses’ station. “Len, the doctor’s out, I’ve gotta go.”
Sam quickly pocketed her cell and hurried over to intercept Hudson. “How is he?” Hudson looked at her, his expression blank. “Ivan Karolyi? Animal attack in Battery Park?”
Realization dawned on Hudson, breaking across his handsome face like sunshine. “The Romanian gentleman. He’s lost a lot of blood, but he’s also very lucky. We have generous blood donors in this city. He’s critical but stable. It’s rather incredible.”
“He’s always been strong.”
Hudson smiled, looking at Sam closely for the first time. “I can tell you take excellent care of him, Miss...”
Sam squirmed internally beneath his gaze. Hot, hot, hot, yum yum... “Sam Karolyi. Detective Sam Karolyi. Can I see him?”
In response, Hudson gestured for her to walk with him. The two walked toward the Trauma Four treatment bay. “He’s asleep, effects of the Demerol. It’s lucky you were here. We would never have known about his allergy. Why isn’t that on his medical aler
t tag?”
Sam chuckled, rolled her eyes. “It should be, it’s on mine.”
“You have the same allergy?”
Sam shrugged, “I guess so. My dad had it. After he died, Ivan gave me dad’s bracelet, said I should wear it just to be safe.”
“So, you’ve never actually taken an opioid?” Hudson frowned slightly, puzzled.
Sam shook her head slowly. “Not that I can remember. Why?”
“Well, in order to have an allergy, you need to be exposed to the allergen at least once before.”
“I guess I must have been, then. I don’t know, I don’t remember.”
Hudson stopped her outside of the room, his expression eager and intense. Sam’s stomach lurched slightly, butterflies taking flight. Whatever he had to say, it was not about Ivan.
“Your grandfather is of Gypsy heritage, isn’t he?” Okay, maybe I was wrong.
“Yes, we’re Roma.”
“I realize this is a terrible time —” Oh my god, he is going to ask me out! “But I’m involved in a University project regarding familial and cultural bloodlines. Genetics and all.”
Oh... Sam pulled herself together quickly and took a deep breath before replying, “Maybe, when my grandfather is better...”
“Of course, no worries.” Hudson reached in his coat pocket, pulling out a business card. “Here is my office number.” He reached into his pocket, taking out a pen. He quickly scribbled on the back of the card before handing it to Sam. “My personal mobile number as well. Let me know.”
Sam looked at the card a moment before pocketing it. Hudson gestured toward the doorway. “Go ahead. We’ll be moving him upstairs to a room shortly.”
Sam slowly pushed open the door and stepped into the dimly lit room. It had been cleaned somewhat, but evidence of the trauma that had been seen was still visible. Empty blood bags filled the small sink area, bloodstained tubing sticking out at odd angles. Pale yellow disposable gowns stuck out from the top of the trash bin, their pleasant color marred by reddish-brown bloodstains. Pasty-colored latex gloves were everywhere: in the trash, on the floor, hanging from a portable tray table.
Ivan lay still and quiet on the cart in the center of the room. His breathing was raspy and labored and his skin had a grayish cast to it. Several IV’s were hanging beside him and a cardiac monitor beeped in a steady rhythm with the heartbeat it was tracking. Nasal cannula prongs in his nose, long green tubing connecting to the flowmeter supplying oxygen from the in-wall source. The sheet covering him was clean and white, though a few traces of blood marred its pristine clean-ness.
A wave of nausea crashed over Sam as her gaze passed from the debris around her to her grandfather, then back to the debris. She staggered slightly, reaching out for something, anything, to stop her from falling. She grabbed the edge of the cart, jostling it.
The movement was enough to stir Ivan. His eyes opened ever so slightly, his lips moving to speak.
Sam fought the urge to vomit and moved to her grandfather’s side. “Hey, Grampy, it’s Sam.”
Ivan focused in on his granddaughter. “Where... am I?”
“You’re in the hospital. Something attacked you in the park. The doctor said you’re going to be just fine, but you need to rest. I’m sorry I woke you up.”
Ivan managed a faint smile. “Ah, Samantha. I was resting my eyes. I feel very... tired.”
“I would imagine so.” Sam pulled over a stool, sitting down beside the cart. She reached up, taking her grandfather’s hand carefully in her own. He felt so fragile, so barely-there. She took a deep breath, trying to shake the tears that threatened to spill over at any moment. Don’t cry, dammit! You’ll upset him!
She knew the only way to stop from emoting would be to refocus her attention and ask him the question she’d been dying to ask since the paramedics first barreled through the ER doors with him on the cart.
“Grampy? What happened?”
Ivan quickly averted his eyes, unable or unwilling to answer. Sam wasn’t sure which it was, but knew if she pushed him, she would find out. “What did you see, Grampy? Tell me.”
Ivan closed his eyes and barely, just barely, managed to shake his head in response.
The doors swung open and a pair of male orderlies entered with a transport cart, followed moments later by Diane Weber. Ivan opened his eyes, looking first at the orderlies, then at Weber. His gaze lingered on her for a moment, his eyebrows moving into a frown.
“It’s okay, Grampy. They’re going to take you to a room now.” Sam looked at Weber expectantly. “Right?”
Weber nodded and began to disconnect some of the equipment in preparation for the move. “That’s right. There’s a room ready for you now, Mr. Karolyi.”
Ivan looked at Sam for a moment then closed his eyes. Sam watched Weber finish with the equipment. The orderlies stepped in, quickly and carefully lifting Ivan over onto the transport cart. They started toward the door.
“You’ll be able to see him tomorrow, Detective Karolyi.” Weber paused beside her as the orderlies maneuvered the cart through the doorway and into the hallway. Once the transport cart was in the hallway and headed for the elevator, Weber and Sam followed.
“Visiting hours are not until the afternoon, but if you come by earlier, I’ll leave word at the nurse’s station to let you in.”
Sam nodded, watched as they wheeled her grandfather into the elevator. “I’ll be back in a few hours, Grampy. You get some sleep, okay?”
Ivan opened his eyes again, looking back at Sam. Weber stepped into the elevator, and Ivan’s gaze once more looked at her, then quickly back to Sam. Ivan’s mouth was moving; he was saying something, but Sam couldn’t make it out. The elevator doors slowly closed.
Sam stood in the hallway in front of the closed elevator doors for a long moment. She needed a good night’s sleep. She needed to eat something. She needed a cigarette.
Sam turned, heading out the ER doors and toward the sidewalk. She dug into her pockets as she walked toward Park Row, locating her cigarettes and quickly lighting one.
Wonder what he was trying to say? Sam thought back to the moment, watching his lips move as she replayed the scene in her mind. Something about the lips’ movement was very familiar. She’d seen the movement of his mouth saying it before... whatever it was.
Sam took another drag on the cigarette and suddenly didn’t feel tired or hungry in more. She felt curious. She could jump on the 6 train up ahead, hop off at Bowling Green... Sam took one more drag from her cigarette and tossed it, disappearing down into the subway.
As she descended the stairs to the platform, it finally hit her. When she was little, and Ivan used to tell his stories... that’s when he said it. They were funny stories, tales of his native Romania, scary and horrific by many people’s standards, folk tales, tales of magic and monsters. Funny that he would say that word, though. He always seemed to dislike that word when he said it.
Wind barreled out of the dark tunnel, herald of the approaching train. Sam stared at her reflection in the passing windows as the train rushed in, mouthing the Romanian word that her grandfather feared so...
Varcolac... Varcolac...
5
WEDNESDAY OCTOBER 16th
BATTERY PARK PROMENADE
Sam leaned against the railing, her back to the dark expanse of New York Harbor. It was quiet and very dark. One of the nearby lampposts had evidently burned out, leaving a vacuum of darkness on the promenade. Anything could be lurking in that thick shadow. Anything.
Sam shivered, lit a cigarette. She’d decided she had to go there. She’d needed to see the place where Ivan was attacked with her own eyes. It was the detective in her... no, it was the granddaughter. Ivan was the only family she had left. It was both.
She knew this was where it happened; even if she hadn’t seen the debris left behind by the paramedics and the spots of blood scattered on the ground, somehow, she still would have known.
Walking quickly, Sam traveled along the p
romenade toward the Hudson. It was quicker to walk home from here than try to catch the “6” and essentially double-back. Ivan would have yelled at her for walking in the dark alone. Ivan... Sam fought back the tears that welled up, swallowed hard to try and dislodge the lump that had sprung up there. All the dangers in this city – gangs, shootings, muggings – and her grandfather is attacked by an animal. The weirdest thing was that whatever it was, it got away. No, it left.
Since she’d been a cop, Sam had been at a few dog attack scenes, had backed-up Humane Law Enforcement Officers at some dog fight busts when she was a rookie. If an attack was going on, the dog didn’t leave the scene, didn’t leave the victim, whether that victim was human or a fellow animal. Once they started, nine times out of ten you would have to kill them to stop them, then pry them off. Even in death, they would not let go.
Why did this dog leave? I mean, it had to have been a dog. Somebody would have noticed a wolf, a coyote, or a cougar or some exotic... and it still would not have left the scene. It doesn’t make any sense.
Sam’s thoughts were interrupted by the sounds of an engine, a boat engine. She turned just in time to see a police boat zip by as it sped down the Hudson into the harbor. She watched as it passed the islands and headed toward the Verrazano-Narrows Bridge glimmering in the distance, finally disappearing into the fog beneath the structure.
Sam shivered in the cold air, her breath frosting before her. Only October and it seemed like winter already. Sam took a deep breath, blew it out forcefully, making another frosty puff of vapor.
A sharp scream pierced the silence. Sam instinctively reached for her sidearm, then bent to pull the Lorcin from beneath her pant leg.
She checked her weapon, making sure it was loaded and ready. She wished she had her Glock, but Ivan’s “Noisy Cricket” was going to have to do.
Sam looked at Castle Clinton and the blackness beyond. She frowned – and whirled around. The Merchant Marine bronze loomed in the shadows, seeming to float above the water. The entire area was still; nothing and no one there and yet...
The Bloodline Series Box Set Page 4