by Aiden James
“She’s going to be all right,” said Jackie, rising from her chair to join us where we stood. She chuckled sadly, perhaps in response to the perplexed look on my face. “Angie. Angie’s going to be okay. You just missed the doctor who gave us the latest update. They’re planning to move her upstairs to observe her overnight, and he said she’d likely get to go home tomorrow.”
“But she’s lucky she didn’t get hurt worse!” Fiona added, looking up into my face, her eyes darting back and forth as she sought reassurance that everything would work out…that we’d all be okay.
“True. She’s very lucky he didn’t kill her,” added Jackie. She looked like she might start crying as well. Ditto for her life partner, Michelle, sitting next to Justin.
I nodded to him and Tony and Tom, but then froze.
Mr. Ed?
It’d just figure that Dick Tracy would be there, too, tonight. Perhaps that ain’t all bad…as long as he’s making some serious progress in finding this sadistic killer. Hopefully, he’s got a bunch of new leads after what happened to Angie.
“I understand that Angie remembers enough from her attack where she might be able to I.D. the guy,” I said. Just testing the knowledge water. It didn’t matter if the answer came from a ghost hunter or an official homicide detective like Ed Silver. Justin replied first.
“Most of us haven’t seen her yet, but she told Jackie that the dude who attacked her definitely has red hair,” he said, and then looked over at Ed, as if waiting for some confirmation from him.
I could’ve saved him the trouble. Despite being a philanderer, the man does stay along the straight and narrow as far as standard police protocol is concerned. No way in hell would Ed give a confirmation, one way or another, as to the killer’s identity or appearance. At least not to a black man who looks like he might’ve spent time behind bars. For that matter, I doubt he’d have shared anything in my presence if he didn’t regard Fiona with such high esteem. Same thing for Tony, I guess, on account of his ethnic background. That leaves just Tom…until he starts talking. I’d already witnessed Ed sizing him up, likely wondering if he’s queer or not.
True to my estimation, Detective Silver shook his head while tapping his pen on the small steno pad he likes to carry around with him. You’d think he’d have switched to a small recorder eons ago, but he’s still stuck in the twentieth century. Circa 1985, like I mentioned before.
“How did it happen?” I asked, this time looking directly at Ed before turning my attention to Jackie. My way of telling him I could’ve given a rat’s ass if the answer came from his ‘official’ point of view or not. “I guess I should also ask when it happened.”
“Tonight,” said Fiona, sniffling still. A fresh stream of tears grazed my hand as I gently stroked her cheek. “Jackie said she snuck away from Franklin to get some clothes from their apartment in Nashville.”
“That was around four o’clock this afternoon,” added Jackie, her eyes filled with tears as well. “I started to worry when she hadn’t returned by eight, so I called Fiona to see if she’d heard from her…. I guess we both felt something really bad had happened.”
I nodded thoughtfully, not sure what to say. Sure, I could say something along the lines of ‘there-there’ to infuse that male confidence the fairer sex seems to crave now and then. But not a chance of that in said male company—too clichéd and awkward—especially with Mr. Ed here on official police business.
“Apparently, the assailant was waiting inside Jackie and Angie’s apartment,” said Tom, picking up where the ladies left off after an awkward minute of silence. “He jumped her and tied her up, and then drove her SUV to a remote location with Angie bound and gagged in the rear storage compartment.”
“He took her all the way out to Mount Juliet,” added Justin, shaking his head in disbelief. “By the time he got there and pulled her out of the car, it was already getting dark. Jackie said the dude dragged her into a little shack where he had all kinds of knives and shit….like machetes, sickles, and sling blades.”
I must confess I couldn’t suppress the smirk that suddenly appeared on my face, thinking of some Billy Bob Thornton red-haired miscreant saying shit like ‘You need to sit on down here, lil’ girl, uum-hmm!… Gonna teach ya a lesson, I reckon. Sit still while I hit ya on the head with this here lawn mower blade. I sharpened it just this afternoon…uum-hmm! It’ll hurt a bit, I reckon, but y’all be okay once we’re through…uum-hmm!”
But then I looked over at Fiona and Jackie again...my smirk immediately disappeared. They now cried even harder. Angie damn near died, and who’s to say the next one among us would be so fortunate?
“How did she escape?” I asked, turning again to the males for an answer.
This time Ed did speak up, surprising me and from what I could tell, Fiona.
“Her assailant made a mistake by loosening her bonds just enough when she complained about needing to relieve her bladder. Excuse me, ladies,” he said. He paused while looking past me, to where he focused completely on one lady, my wife. “No doubt the perpetrator underestimated her strength. Once free from her bonds, Angie fought back, despite being hit several times with a blunt object and sliced up with a cleaver he carried in his suit.”
“Suit? Was it black?”
I hated sounding coy, but I didn’t want to carry my previous assumptions if they proved incorrect.
“Yes, it was,” he said, eyeing me seriously for a moment. I hoped to God he didn’t suddenly think the dude was me. “She described it as a fighting outfit…like the ninja get-up you told your wife about, Jimmy.”
Okay, I felt a little relieved, based on how he spoke my name just then. At least he didn’t say something like ‘Yes, it was a ninja suit, Senor Jimmy—your stinking ninja suit!’
“So, what happened next?” I asked, needing just a few more details to put together events and the most likely timeline for them. “Fiona told me how Jackie brought her here, but I’m sure there’s more to it than just that.”
“She called me from a cell phone belonging to a motorist she flagged down near I-40,” said Jackie, and Ed seemed quite comfortable letting her take over. “Luckily Interstate 840 got me there within an hour. But had I known about the bruises and cuts she had, I would’ve insisted she take an ambulance to the nearest hospital. She never let on how bad it was for her.”
“So, why did she want to come to this place?” I asked, unable to hide my disdain. This particular hospital proved fatal to several people close to me, including Fiona’s maternal grandmother. “That had to be her idea…right?”
“Yes,” she replied, grimacing in a way that let me know she didn’t think much more of Summit than I did. “She said they had done a good job setting an ankle sprain for her a year ago.”
We all nodded quietly, although Michelle rolled her eyes a little. It damn near made me laugh out loud. Not about Angie’s current physical state, but I’d say her mental state might not be in tip-top shape. Definitely not, if we considered her criteria for choosing a hospital.
“I picked her up around ten-fifteen, and then we arrived here in the emergency room about eleven,” said Jackie. “Angie seemed a little incoherent up until we got here, and then she got upset when they wanted to keep her overnight.”
“So, she’s ready to go home, huh?” I said, chuckling at that fiery personality of Angie’s—always bucking the system. “With all the conditioning she does, I imagine she’ll heal pretty fast from her injuries.”
“Other than one deep bruise on her left shoulder, she should be okay right away,” Ed added. “The biggest thing is the cuts that required stitches, which she’ll have for at least a week.”
“Well, since hands and arms can heal pretty fast, she’s lucky the killer missed her face,” Jackie observed, which told me more about how the attack played out. The wounds on Angie’s hands and arms were probably defense injuries. Good thing, again, that she escaped and ran away…. I now wondered where Angie’s SUV had been abandoned.
“Ed, has the Wilson County Sheriff found Angie’s truck yet?”
Fiona posed this question, which made me think she’d picked up on my silent musing just then.
“Not yet,” he advised, flipping through his steno pad as if the answer would suddenly appear there. He should really upgrade to a Blackberry or some other data device, since at this point an Etch-a-Sketch would do him more good. “We’ll need more concise information from her before I can pursue the manpower necessary to track it down,” he continued. “Hopefully I can get in to see her before they move her, or kick us out.”
I think Fiona said something about a relaxed curfew in this waiting room when I called her from the highway earlier. It just boils down to who wants to stay here on the slim chance of seeing Angie before daybreak.
“I’d like to see her too,” said Justin, to which Tom and Tony echoed similar desires.
Man, it didn’t take long for Ed to react, turning toward all three of them, scowling. Maybe Justin did this on purpose. One could only hope.
“Guys, I don’t think anyone is going to get past Attila the Hun over there tonight,” said Jackie, motioning to a fairly stout nurse wearing a blonde wig.
Manning the main reception desk on this floor like a Trojan sentry, the nurse looked unapproachable. Like she’d either bite a dude’s head off or castrate him—or both—if any of us guys dared to interrupt her relative solitude. She probably wasn’t a lot of fun for the ladies either.
“What’s Angie doing in the ICU anyway?” I asked, voicing one of the first questions that entered my mind once I found out that none of her injuries were life-threatening.
“It’s just precaution on the hospital’s part,” said Ed, straightening in his chair, perhaps ready to leave. “Your wife will tell you that Angie refused x-rays or even a standard full body exam. Nobody here wants to get sued.”
“Michelle and I will stay tonight, and we can let everyone know when more updates come and when they move her upstairs,” said Jackie. “So, why don’t the rest of you go home?”
Jackie’s suggestion sounded good to me. I had no doubt Angie would be okay. The guys also agreed to leave, although Ed seemed the most reluctant. Thankfully, Fiona told me she was ready to go.
By then it was almost 1:30 a.m.
Fiona and Jackie hugged everyone in our group, urging the guys to stay safe and not stray from each other until this thing got sorted out. They even offered a hug to Ed, which I think surprised him, though I’m sure any personal space invasion from my wife was a welcome intrusion for him.
After all goodbyes were said, Fiona peeked around the corner near Nurse Vicious’s workstation, to make sure that Angie would be okay. I think seeing the uniformed officer sitting outside her semi-private room finally put her mind at ease.
With my wife wearing a faint smile for the first time that night, she and I walked hand in hand until we reached the parking garage where the Camaro awaited us.
***
“So, what’s up, hon?” she asked me, preparing to lean back in the passenger seat. We had just exited the Hospital’s parking garage. “This was the last rehearsal tonight, right? Are y’all ready for the party this weekend?”
She seemed almost like her normal self: vivacious and filled with such joy and love for life—her hallmarks. But without even talking about it, I knew she was absolutely terrified by what tomorrow might bring.
“Yeah, it went really well tonight,” I confirmed. “I can hardly wait until Saturday night!”
No half-hearted enthusiasm, though I did try to downplay it a little. I mean, we’re on the verge of some great success with our paranormal group, too. But, music has been my first love for damn near twenty-five years—long before I ever got involved in paranormal investigations. Of course, my love of music pales in comparison to the devotion I feel toward my wife and kids. They’ll always be number one, and the rest falls in line after that.
Yet, as excited as I’ve felt about Saturday’s gig, in no way do I want to pull our attention from what’s going on around us right now. The slightest misstep and we could end up in far worse shape than Angie.
This made me think about my earlier musing, about the killer being someone we know—someone in our immediate circle of friends. Granted, that could mean at least a hundred candidates if you consider all of Fiona’s friends…hell, it could be as high as several hundred if we thought long and hard about it.
“Hey, babe, I’ve been thinking—“
“About the fact the killer could be someone we know?”
“Yeah, how did you…never mind. That’s right. I think it’s somebody we know well—someone you and I’d consider a friend.”
“Well, it’s not what Ed thinks,” she said, snickering, though her tone sounded cynical and a bit forlorn. “He thinks Vito Travini has come back, and his earlier assumption that he finished his killing spree and headed back to Jersey was incorrect. His support comes from the fact Mr. Travini has yet to meet with his parole officer, and other mafia families are rumored to be looking for him as well. Ed says it doesn’t make sense to any of the authorities back east, since he has a sizable fortune to manage out there…just waiting for him. And without absolute proof, he would never be held accountable for the killings here.”
“Are you saying he could get away with this?”
I tried not to sound too incredulous.
“Yes. But it isn’t him…at least not him working alone.”
The ideas floating around my head began to swirl faster.
“So, if he’s really involved, do you think he’s developed a taste for a new level of violence?” I asked, taking my eyes off the road to look toward her for a moment.
“Possibly,” she said. Her tone was now indifferent, which told me that she tried to gain further insight via her gifts. She kept her focus on the road ahead, either to make sure I didn’t crash the car, or more likely, because she didn’t want to face my penetrating gaze. “But, if the guy I keep seeing isn’t related to Vito Travini in any way, then I feel the killer could very well be somebody we know…someone we’d never suspect. Which means it can’t be the people I normally read for, since their lives and motives are an open book to me.”
“How in the hell are we supposed to figure this out?” I mumbled, still trying to wrap my mind around it all. I brought my attention back to the road. “What if we don’t learn the truth until it’s too late?”
“Welcome to my world, hon,” she told me, releasing a low sigh. This was her naked truth...the worst; her tone now reflective of how she really felt about everything. Despondent, it was like she really had no clue. That sucks…real bad, actually. “I had another dream last night about Candi.”
“You did?” I was all ears then, even though I’d been formulating more questions for her about the previous subject.
“She was riding on a river boat, like the General Jackson,” she said. “She stood on the deck, looking down at me…. I sat in a rowboat, trying to get close enough to climb on board with her. She kept saying, ‘this ain’t for you’ and then she told me to go visit her house again—the same stuff she said in the last dream.”
“I thought that was more about mafia stuff and what we later learned about Travini,” I said, trying to recall what Fiona had said before.
“Yeah, I thought so, too,” she agreed. “Even Candi acknowledged this in my dream. Then she said there’s something else in the house—in her bedroom, to be precise—that will shed enough light on who the killer is.”
“Well, that brings us back to where we were with this a week and a half ago,” I said. “How do we get into her place? I’ll bet it’s guarded more than ever, after all that’s happened.”
“Jackie said there have been all kinds of people trying to get a closer look at the estate—mostly fans of Candi’s,” she said, motioning for me to not miss our exit to Goodlettsville. “It might not be possible to get into the house, but Jackie also told me that Candi’s mom is still here in town. I
had a nice visit with Shirley at the funeral service, so maybe she wouldn’t mind us taking a look inside Candi’s former home. From what I understand, Candi left everything to her mom.”
“Well, okay then. Were you planning to call her tomorrow?”
“It’s already on my list of things to do,” she said, chuckling at my persistence…the control-freak side of me. “I think you should call out from work tomorrow.”
“We’ll see,” I told her, and I think my readiness to consider playing hooky from work surprised her. But, I’ve still got a few more vacation days left.
Besides, now that the killer’s focus had shifted to our ghost hunting gang, how can I justify leaving my wife and kids’ safety to the lone officer charged to protect Stella’s place? Not to mention Dick Tracy still hasn’t arranged any protection for me and the guys in our gang, especially going to and from work.
It meant stepping outside the boundaries of our arranged protection at our own risk...a risk probably not worth taking.
Chapter Twenty-four
Time really drags on when one’s forced to stay put.
No one can swim forever in Stella’s secluded water haven unless they don’t mind looking like a Post Raisin character, and she’s definitely not into the racy TV programming I prefer. With football season still more than a month away, there’s only so much Oprah and The View I can take. I’m pretty sure it’s been the same stir-craziness for Fiona, but she so loves doting on our boys and chatting with her auntie that she could easily outlast me. In fact, I’d bet everything I’m worth that our separate interpretations of the past thirty-eight hours are one hundred and eighty degrees apart.
Not that I mind hanging out with my kids, lovely wife, and even Stella, but everybody needs a break now and then. Even in the little paradise surrounding me, where finding time and space to practice my chops uninterrupted isn’t an easy deal.