Falling Into Place

by Scott Young

  The continuous torment also eroded all her remaining reserves of strength, her hope and even her senses. Emily had no idea how long she’d even been at the mercy of this lunatic; the very concept of time was now alien to her. It seemed like she’d never been anywhere else but that room, that she’d spent her whole life with her psychotic captor. Now when she tried to think of Kurt, her happiness with him seemed like a forgotten fantasy from a life she’d never lived at all. It was so hard to picture his face when she closed her eyes. All she could see were those eyes, that facemask and the shadows moving around her, which meant he was back and the nightmare was starting again. Emily no longer remembered a life without pain, inevitably accepting she was going to die in that room.

  The unmistakable sounds of the madman returning brought her to tears once more, the last remaining ounce of resistance dying inside her. Emily prayed to a deity she never believed in for this ordeal to be over; to put her out of her misery. She desperately wanted to die. As her captor silently made his way into the room, she looked up at his shadowy form and begged him to kill her.

  “Please, please, I’m ready,” she whispered softly with tears streaming down her cheeks. “Please end this. I want to die.”

  The man stood in silence, gazing down at the broken, beaten woman before him. Slowly he knelt before her, his eyes locked on hers. Methodically, he removed his facemask and Emily screamed louder and longer than ever before. The man calmly waited for her screams to fade. Once they turned into incoherent sobs and distraught mewling, he took her face in his hands with a gentleness that surprised her.

  “Much like every other so-called normal person, your viewpoint is quite pedestrian, Mrs. Sheppard,” the man said with a smile straight out of a funhouse mirror. “You think in terms of beginnings and endings, not of the infinite expanse that this actuality can be.” He casually wiped the tears from her cheeks with his index fingers. “You see this perhaps as the end of your life, the cessation of your suffering, but it is merely another phase of ultimate existence. This is all simply part of the very essence of what we are.” He moved his hands down her face, resting them on both her shoulders. “Do you finally understand this?”

  Emily felt an eerie calm come over her. The world seemed to move in slow motion as all her anxiety and fear melted away. She stopped crying and smiled as only a child can, before the child learns how unfair and cruel the world can be; how hard life becomes once you grow up. She said serenely, “I do understand now.”

  “You have made me very happy, my dear,” the man whispered softly in her ear. “It is a pleasure to finally meet the real Emily. My name is Mikhail.”

  There was a sudden sharp pain in the right side of Emily’s neck, immediately followed by a feeling of euphoria. She felt the warmth of her blood flowing down her skin. It was a familiar feeling by now, but she innately knew this time was different. Her bleeding was so rapid she knew her jugular vein had to have been pierced. The end had finally come for her. It was comforting, in a way, as Emily strangely felt whole, like she’d found a piece of herself that’d been missing all those years. She knew there was little time before life left her completely. She closed her eyes, smiled broadly and thought of Kurt.

  Police Detective Jefferson Mancini was a dedicated and highly decorated officer of the NYPD, working in the homicide division of Manhattan’s 13th Precinct for the previous six years. In his twelve years on the force he’d seen and been involved in his fair share of bad situations. Like most cops, he’d even caught a few cases that affected him personally: his third grade teacher, Miss McCaffrey’s husband was busted for solicitation; a kid he went to summer camp with, Edwin Nunez, got mugged on the lower East Side; and a girl he had a crush on in college, Joanne Kleinschmidt, died of a heroin overdose in her dingy, little Queens studio apartment. Those instances gave him some pause, causing a day or two of quiet reflection on the random nature of life or brought back bittersweet memories long forgotten. This current situation was in an entirely different league.

  Ever since Emily Sheppard’s body was found under the Brooklyn Bridge, the detective’s world had begun to fray at the edges. The bizarre nature of her abduction and the obvious torture she had endured sent his mind reeling. He felt a mixture of guilt, empathy and sorrow on top of an overwhelming sense of responsibility to find her killer. Truthfully, it was eating him up inside but it was infinitely worse for her husband, Kurt, the police detective’s best friend. Looking across the bar at the drunken, slumped-over form of his long-time buddy, Jeff couldn’t help but think this was the worst it was ever going to get for either of them.

  The two men met in Junior High School, bonding over sci-fi movies, comic books, the N.Y. Mets and, of course, girls. During their teenage years, they were inseparable, despite their many differences. Jeff was a star athlete, tall, muscular with the dark hair and the good looks of a teen heartthrob, while Kurt was a quiet, average-looking, introspective dreamer with a sharp mind and a quick wit. Kurt and Jeff became a team early on and nothing could break them apart. They watched each other’s back even when their precocious natures got them into hot water.

  As they grew and matured, so did their friendship. It was a bond stronger than family. Even when Jeff entered the Police Academy while Kurt started at NYU, they managed to stay important to each other, getting together at least once a week to share various aspects of their new lives. In fact, whenever something relevant or memorable happened to Jeff Mancini, Kurt Sheppard was always there with a grin, a wisecrack, unconditional love and support. Jeff desperately wanted to be there for his friend now that Kurt needed him more than ever.

  “I didn’t want to call anybody else, Jeff,” the bartender said softly at the far end of the tavern, looking back over his shoulder at Kurt Sheppard, who was in one of the booths along the wall. “He’s been in here every night since Emily went missing. Usually, he nurses three or four beers before heading home, but tonight he was out of control. I had to cut him off about an hour ago, even took his keys just to be safe. He was pretty pissed for a while but then he just kinda petered out over there. Figured you’d want to handle it yourself.”

  “Thanks, Mitch,” Jeff replied, slipping him a twenty for the consideration.

  “Up and at ‘em, dude. Time to go home,” Jeff said loudly as he tried to prop up his friend, who was pretty much dead weight due to his level of intoxication. The detective lost his grip and Kurt’s head slammed against the mahogany table with a startling “Thud.”

  “Ooooow,” Kurt mumbled, roused from his stupor by the pain.

  “Come on, buddy. Let’s get you outta here,” Jeff chided as he reached for the drunken man’s arm. Kurt regained enough of his senses to finally recognize his long-time friend. He stared up at him while trying to focus his thoughts as Jeff continued to try to coax him upright.

  “Wha –? Get outta here? You get outta here!” Kurt yelled, pulling his arm away roughly, accidentally slamming his hand into the wall. “Ow! Dammit!” he said, shaking his hand, before turning back to Jeff stone-faced. “Don’t you have a killer to find, buddy? What you wastin’ time harassing drunks for?!”

  Jeff knew it was the alcohol talking rather than his best friend, but the words still cut deeply. He spoke softly, “Kurt, come on, bud, you know I’m doing everything I can, but right now we have to get you home to bed. I’m not about to leave you alone when you need my help.”

  “Emily needed your help! Where were you when she needed you, Jeff! When we needed you! Where were you then?” Kurt screamed as tears began to roll down his cheeks. He repeatedly slammed his fists on the table, causing all his empties to fall and shatter on the floor. The distraught man then buried his face in his arms on the table.

  The few remaining patrons watched the tableau with various amounts of interest, scorn and bemusement. Mitch, the bartender, began to inch closer, but Jeff waved him away with one hand. He put his other hand on his friend’s shoulder, causing Kurt to look up, his face red with anger and inebriation. It
was then that he saw Jeff was crying too and his countenance instantly changed from rage to sorrow. “I-I’m trying, man. I –” Jeff whispered.

  Kurt covered Jeff’s hand with his own as he said through sobs, “I’m sorry. I know you loved her too. I just miss her so much, Jeff. So much. I don’t know how to go on. Sometimes I can – I can still hear her voice calling to me. I don’t want to live without her. I don’t. I – I wish I could’ve died with her,” Kurt said, desperately.

  The police detective had no words that would even remotely comfort his buddy, so he sat down next to his friend, put his arm around him and hugged him until they both were all cried out. He then drove Kurt home, got him settled into bed and, despite it being almost 2 a.m., went back to the precinct to go over the case once more.

  At 7:13 a.m. the next morning, Jeff Mancini was rousted from a fitful slumber by the ringing phone on his desk. He was greeted by the mocking laughter and derisive comments of his fellow officers who’d been having a grand old time at his expense. His shirt was littered with post-it notes saying “Sleeping Ugly,”

  “Kids, Don’t let this happen to you” and “Do Not Feed the Animal,” among other sophomoric attempts at humor. As he reached for the receiver, he instinctively gave the room his middle finger, holding it high above his head for everyone to see.

  “Mancini,” Jeff said, removing the Post-its as he cradled the receiver on his left shoulder. “Hey, Caroline. Hmmm? Yeah, okay. I’ll be right there.” Jeff grabbed his coat and headed toward the door, saying, “When my partner shows up, can one of you comedians tell him I went to see the M.E.?”

  “Crawley’s in with Cap,” Detective Timmons said between bites of a cruller. “Been in there for the last ten minutes or so.”

  Detective Mancini changed course in mid-stride, heading for Captain Mulvaney’s office. Just as he turned the corner, he heard the Captain shout “Damn it, Crawley!” which stopped Mancini in his tracks. The office door was slightly ajar, so he crept quietly up to the door frame and listened. He always got a kick out of hearing his buddy, Kevin, get reamed out. He wondered what it was about this time. Maybe the new female morgue assistant he’s been trying to get with? What’s her name? Marcy? Marnie?

  “Maggie needs to be reminded why she was given this opportunity. As much as I like initiative, too much of it can lead to problems. She needs to understand that,” Mulvaney continued, calmer now. “Why don’t you take care of that for me, Kevin m’lad? You seem to have a certain rapport with the lass.”

  “Not a problem, Skip,” Kevin Crawley replied. “Anything else?”

  Mancini began to tiptoe away, sensing the meeting was coming to an end, when Mulvaney added, “Yeah, make sure that partner of yours doesn’t start sniffing around where he’s not supposed to. This Sheppard case could take him places he doesn’t belong. Make sure he doesn’t get to those places.”

  Jeff was stunned for a moment, frozen in place, but quickly his instincts kicked in. The detective slipped quietly into the break room before his partner opened the door to the Captain’s office.

  Jeff’s mind reeled from what he’d overheard. He felt anger, confusion, betrayal and a myriad of other emotions as he tried to understand what just happened. Did the Captain really order his partner to purposely interfere with Emily’s murder investigation? If so, why? Was he somehow connected? How was that even possible? And why would Crawley go along with it? Did he know more about it than he was letting on? There were too many questions without answers. Jeff considered his partner a friend, so he wanted to give him the benefit of the doubt.

  Kevin Crawley was of Irish descent, standing at 5’8’ with short cropped blonde hair and a small military-type moustache. He’d served in the U.S. Army during the first Gulf War, maintaining the look all these years. Crawley worked homicide for the past ten years, becoming partners with Mancini after Jeff’s first partner retired four years earlier. Jeff respected and admired the way Crawley went about his business, with tenacity and fairness for all perps, as well as compassion for the victims and their families. To think he might be involved in something shady didn’t add up.

  Right now, Jeff knew there was absolutely nothing he could do about what he’d heard, so he decided to play it cool. Mancini compartmentalized these thoughts as best he could and refocused on the job at hand. The police detective took a few deep breaths, calmed his mind and grabbed two Styrofoam cups. Minutes later, he emerged with fresh coffees and met Crawley at his desk.

  “Figured you’d need this after your pow-wow with Mulvaney,” he said with a smirk. “Want to tell me what this butt-chewing was for or is it still too raw?”

  “Just the usual,” Crawly answered. “I’m a screw-up and it isn’t going unnoticed. However, I will somehow manage to go on.”

  “Well then let’s pay a visit to our friendly neighborhood medical examiner. Caroline’s got something for us,” Mancini said as he headed toward the door again, his uneasiness growing. Minutes later, he was no less shaky, but he put on a happy face.

  “What ya got, Caroline?” Mancini’s baritone voice boomed as he walked through the morgue doors with a big smile, Kevin Crawley close behind.

  Caroline Mooney had worked as the medical examiner for the 13th Precinct since she’d moved to New York City from Denver, Colorado, a little over 2 years before. Slightly less than 6 months after her arrival, she had a very short, very passionate fling with Detective Jeff Mancini. Both eventually realized they weren’t a good fit, but they remained close and, aside from the infrequent booty call, strictly platonic and professional since their break-up. Caroline knew Mancini respected her both as an M.E. and, more importantly, as a person. She liked and respected him as well; too much to allow personal matters to interfere with their working relationship.

  “Well, good morning to you too, Detective Mancini,” Mooney replied dryly before smiling and turning to Mancini’s partner. “How are you, Crawley? Staying out of trouble?”

  “You know me, Mooney. I do what I do,” Crawley smirked.

  “Just make sure you don’t do whatever it is you do in my morgue. Keep away from Maggie during work hours. This isn’t some two- bit pick up joint.” she said, throwing him a menacing look. “Do me that favor, okay? Don’t shit where I eat.”

  Crawley smiled broadly, “You sure do talk real purdy, Miss Mooney.”

  Fully aware she was getting nowhere with the unrepentant man- child, the medical examiner turned to Mancini and said, “Moving on to the reason I asked you down here, Jeff.”

  Mooney was well aware how important the Sheppard case was to her former paramour. She also wanted to close this case quickly, so despite her ever-increasing workload, Mooney fast-tracked the autopsy. Caroline had liked the woman instantly, having met Emily on two occasions during her dalliance with the detective. Emily instantly dubbed their pairing “Mooncini,” like one of those celebrity couples, and the M.E. enjoyed the time she’d spent with the Sheppards immensely. For a brief moment, she smiled wistfully at the memory of a new love and new friends, but her demeanor became serious as she brought up the forensic results on the large computer screen over her desk.

  “The full autopsy confirmed the initial findings,” the medical examiner began. “COD was massive blood loss. I’ve taken a mold of the neck wound, hoping to identify the murder weapon. The wound measured approximately 17 by 8 centimeters and seems to have been delivered by multiple blows, one of which severed the jugular artery. All damage was inflicted just prior to death.” Caroline noticed Jeff wince at the details and could see his eyes begin to water, so she decided to talk to him like a friend instead of a cop. “Okay, I’ll cut to the chase. When Mrs. Shephard was brought in she’d almost completely bled out. There wasn’t much blood left to analyze, but I managed to extract some from the superior vena cava. What I found was beyond me,” she said, sympathy in her eyes.

  “What do you mean beyond you?” Jeff asked, pulling himself together.

  “I mean, this isn’t the first time I�
�ve examined a body where massive blood loss was COD and we both know I am damn good at my job, but these results left me dumbfounded,” Mooney replied. “Her blood showed signs of three separate disorders: both hemolytic and aplastic anemia, as well as thrombocytopenia. I’ve never seen anything like it.”

  Crawly and Mancini looked at each other with confusion. “What?” they said in unison.

  “I’m sorry,” Caroline said, changing the display on the screen to show a human circulatory system. “Basically what that means is that not only did she have a severe decrease in red blood cells, which would be somewhat understandable if she was dehydrated and tortured, but her bone marrow also stopped replenishing her cells at an adequate rate. Personally, I’ve never heard of these two conditions existing simultaneously. On top of that, her platelet count was drastically low. If this was a pre-existing condition, with the number of cuts inflicted during her capture, she would have bled to death much earlier. It’s almost as if these disorders began minutes before she died. I’ve found nothing to account for these findings and believe me, I’ve looked. Furthermore, any and all biological problems that would cause any one of these three conditions would appear in other areas of her system, but there were absolutely no signs of them anywhere in Emily Sheppard’s body.”

  Jeff Mancini furrowed his brow for a moment before saying, “Best guess?”

  Caroline frowned. “You should know me better than that by now. I don’t guess, but when I don’t know something, I’m not too proud to ask for help.” Caroline picked up a pad and began writing. “I sent samples of Emily’s blood to the most brilliant hematologist in the country, Dr. Rebecca Miller of Gene-Tech International, here in the city. I’ve attended more than a few of her seminars and spoken with her afterward a couple of times. If anyone can figure this out, it’s her.” She handed the contact information to Detective Mancini. As the two men were leaving, she added, “I think you’ll like her, Jeff. She’s just your cup of tea.”