by T S Paul
I’d kept track of the investigation details through the press and some detective magazines I subscribed to. It didn’t hurt to know how the police operated. A girl had to have hobbies, after all.
Selling his car was the first major mistake he made. The very moment he passed over the title, police seized the vehicle. Craven may have cleaned it, washing away any visible evidence, but he’d missed a few hairs. Hair that police and FBI Agents found when they stripped the car down to its component parts. Hairs that matched several of the known kidnapped and murdered girls.
Craven was arrested and placed in a police lineup. I was one of the few witnesses brought in to identify him, but we picked him out. The evidence was still very slim and circumstantial, but a trial date was set, and Craven was jailed locally. Law enforcement spent too much time patting themselves on the back, though. Craven escaped less than two weeks later.
Former President Abraham Lincoln once said that if you represent yourself in court, you have a fool for a client. That was what Floyd Craven set out to do, though. The jail he was kept in was old. Because he had to be allowed library access for his own defense, local officials elected to keep him there rather than in the newish prison on the edge of town. With a careful study of the place, along with some blueprints he somehow managed to smuggle in, Craven was able to discern a flaw in the jail’s security. An old ductwork system in the shower facility led to a defunct heating and cooling system. Craven starved himself to lose weight so he could manage to squeeze through the hole.
His jailers didn’t notice for a full twelve hours that he was gone. Using books and files, Craven had placed a dummy shape in the bed. By the time the manhunt started, he was in New York. By the time they started checking the highways, he had taken passage on a cargo ship bound for Florida.
Stealing a car from the Port of Jacksonville was simple for a man of his skills. Officials were searching south while Craven was driving north. North to the state he’d skipped because of me.
Craven was coming back to North Carolina with murder in his soul.
Eleven
I really wanted to be a nurse. Every waking moment of my life at NC State was spent in class, at the library, or studying. Or a combination of all three. It’s what saved me when Craven returned.
“Aaaaaa!”
The screams are what tore me from my studying fugue. State’s dorms were laid out in a cloverleaf pattern at the four corners of the campus. It was dumb, but they were segregated boy, girl, boy, girl, freshman, sophomore, junior, and senior. All the shouting and screams were coming from the freshman girls’ dorm.
“Dead! They’re dead!”
Clutching my books to my chest, I passed dozens of crying students. Campus police, along with the locals, were attempting to keep everyone from the area.
“What’s happened?” I asked the nearest male student.
With rage-filled eyes he explained, “Everyone on the third floor is dead. Butchered like animals.”
Thud. My books dropped out of my hands and fell to the ground. I barely acknowledged it. “For real? Oh my God! Was it a Vampire attack?”
There were supposed to be some Vampires in our area, but no one I knew would ever admit to seeing one. The great Purge of 1915 exposed the world to the paranormals and almost wiped out the Vampires in the process. The Weres were all locked up, but the Vamps were only rumor.
He shook his head and said, “Nobody knows for sure. The RA found them when no one answered the house phone.” He hugged a silently weeping young girl to his side. “Suzie lives up there, but she was with me when it happened.”
“Do...Do the cops know who did it?” I stuttered out.
“No,” he answered.
Reaching out, I gave the girl a pat on the back. “Take care of her.” Silently, I moved through the crowd, listening as I went. A word spoken here and there helped me blend into the mass of people. The more people I listened to, the more details emerged. Yes, an RA found the first one, but campus security and police discovered the worst of it. Girls found dead in their beds, heads cut off and displayed like trophies.
Craven. It had to be. My little voice, the one that told me to hide and to kill, explained it to me as I walked. He’d returned for revenge, plain and simple. And now, no one was safe from his rage.
“Why is he here?” I growled at Chris.
Hearing the ire in my voice, Chris turned his chair towards me. “Here here, or hospital here?”
Squinting my eyes, I glared at him. “Hospital here. Don’t they have doctors at the prison?”
“Federal prisoner and he’s a veteran. That was the reason the FBI gave to put him here, at least according to the rumor mill downstairs,” Chris explained. For someone who spent almost his entire time at work doing paperwork, Chris gossiped more than an old woman. He knew everything going on in the building.
I blinked at him a couple of times before answering. Clearing my throat, I tried to make my answer light. “At least he’s not on our floor.”
Chris nodded. “He could’ve been, but it’s too open, according to the FBI. They discussed it with Doctor Norton last night.”
Case in point. Chris knew what I had completely missed.
“I’m supposed to be the lead nurse. How is it he tells you this stuff and not me?” I asked him.
“Luck? But it was Christine that told me, not Norton. It’s supposed to be a secret,” Chris replied.
Which explained why the town gossip was telling me. The entire rest of my shift I argued with the voice in my head. Should I or shouldn’t I try and kill him? It might be my only chance to do it. The voice wasn’t really a voice, but more of a feeling. I took psychology both in school and as a special introductory class before starting on the Demon wing, and I did know the difference. I’m not schizophrenic. I just like to kill bad people. Or killers. They were my bread and butter.
I bought a house locally when I started this job. My days of renting were over the moment I graduated from NC State. Grandfather had set me up. It might have been a guilty reaction or as a way to keep me at arm’s length, but he paid my tuition and gave me a lump sum for graduation. If I was careful and not too extravagant, the money would last me for years.
Like at the house in Dickerson, I had a secret place. If Grandfather knew of my attic hiding place, he never spoke of it. My little voice did whisper that one reason he left the country and returned to his family home in England was because of me. Did he know I was the one that killed Grandmother? I wasn’t sure. Frances knew, though. I could see it in her eyes when I said goodbye. It was easy to forget sometimes that she was a Were who could tell the difference between human scents. Humans are scared of what they don’t understand, and when they’re scared, they kill. It was surprising to me that Were skills were underused by law enforcement. I understood the whole reservation thing, but I sure wasn’t going to complain about it.
The house originally was a three-bedroom row style house with a postage-stamp sized backyard. I had just enough room for a grill and a couple of potted plants. It was far too exposed from the rear to do any planning or practicing in. I’d hired a local construction firm to shorten one of the bedrooms in order to make the middle room’s closet twice as big, and right in the center of the house. I’d explained I wanted a storm shelter since there wasn’t a basement. On the side, over several months, I hired a few out of work non-union day laborers from the outskirts of town to modify both the closet and the now smaller bedroom. Now hidden between the two bedrooms was a secret room. Both bedrooms’ closets were closed off by false walls, giving me just enough room in the middle. Unless you were looking at the original plans, you’d never see it. And all it cost me was a couple of cases of beer and a bit of under the table cash!
Pulling out my notebooks, I dug into the idea of killing Craven.
Level six was the most secure in the hospital, and to even get up there I’d need an elevator key. Because the floor was reserved for the worst of the worst, there was a full st
aff, including another strike team up there. No matter how many attempted escapes or other incidents, we’d never seen that strike team. They were supposed to be the elite of the elite.
My little voice told me to do it. We’d never have another chance like it again, not for Floyd. He was on the state’s death row, but as long as he stayed useful to the FBI and the police, he wasn’t going anywhere. It was fate he was so close to me this week.
Tapping my pen against the floor map I cursed to myself. Two ways in and only two ways out. If an alarm was raised or I was caught, it was going to be a one-way mission for me. There was the roof to consider, but with a seventy-plus foot drop it wasn’t a survivable way down. Elevator or stairs, and there was a security gate with a guard on the stairs. My cover was going to have to be absolutely perfect to pull it off. This death was going to be so much fun!
Twelve
Saturday night was surprisingly the hospital’s slowest night. At least for intakes and number of nurses on hand. We were there for veterans and active duty personnel, not emergencies right off the street. That doesn’t mean we didn’t get them, though. The city’s other hospitals would often unload indigent patients and other non-payers on us. Nurses down in the emergency room needed to be skilled in figuring out if a patient belonged or not. Which is why I chose to come in very early that night.
Parking my tiny Ford Pinto at the back of the building near the emergency exits, I shoved my purse under the seat. I wouldn’t need it tonight, and security would for sure search it if I had it with me. Instead, I put a couple of tools in my pockets. If stopped, I could ditch them.
“Nurse Vogel, I didn’t know you were working,” the security guard asked when I stepped through the employee door. His desk was just to the right, sandwiched in between the restrooms and the emergency room.
Pausing for a split second, I tried to remember his name. Seeing my confusion, he fiddled with the nametag on his chest. “Sorry...Hi, Peter. I get you guys confused sometimes.”
“It’s the same for us, way too many nurses in this place,” he replied with a smile. “But those of us on nights know who’s special and who isn’t.”
“Thanks, Peter. We do appreciate all you do, you know.” I smiled back at him flirtatiously. “I need to run up and sign off on a couple of things, plus I left my wallet in the locker.”
“Good thing you don’t have a car then, that could get you into some trouble!” he replied.
“True.” I motioned to his desk. “Do I really need to sign in?”
Glancing at the clipboard in front of him, Peter just waved me toward the door. “Don’t worry about it. Just don’t take too long. My relief might not be so easy.”
Thanking him, I pulled on the door even as he buzzed me in. Next stop, the main cafeteria. I needed a way onto six.
“I still don’t understand your constant obsession with this woman,” Hermod commented to the large man beside him as he stared into the shield before him. The metal shield boss magically showed the inside of the hospital in full color, the picture better than a Hollywood movie. “You’ve watched her since she was born. There are so many more interesting towns than backwoods North Carolina. What you see in her boggles my mind. We could be watching Kim Novak or Grace Kelly right now.”
“She’s important to our cause. These modern men and women don’t have what we need to do the job. They’re weak, and the sight of blood scares them too much,” the dark man replied. Tipping the shield to one side, he cocked his head for a better look. The shield boss, a large metal circle in the center of the chunk of wood, was the size of a large dinner plate.
Hermod leaned back against the rooftop housing, making himself more comfortable. “She’s a killer. Are you so sure of yourself this time? Do we really want someone that kills for pleasure in our ranks? She killed her own grandmother, for Hel’s sake!”
Lowering the shield, the much larger man stepped closer to Hermod. “You forget yourself. Is this how you show respect to me? She’s perfect for the job. Those in the Wing need exposure in the beginning. Genevieve will be able to jump right in. If you’d taken the time, as I have, to watch her, you would see that.”
Holding up his hands in a placating manner, Hermod showed subservience. “Milord, I apologize. It’s for the good of the flight that I say these things, that’s all. Some traditions need to be respected. Who will train her in the art of the sword?”
The big man snorted. “And who was it that began those traditions? All training falls to you, and you know it. Now enough. A pivotal point approaches and I don’t want to miss it.”
“Fine. When we’re done can I have one of these?” Hermod asked as he ran his hand over the shield’s edge. “It would make my job so much easier.”
Giving his subject a withering look, the lord shook his head. “We’ve discussed this before. If you can convince Eitri to make another, you may have it. But not until then. I don’t care if you’re missing Ed Sullivan, either. It’s a viewer, not a television.”
“You only have it because of that Tolkien guy. You liked the idea of a Palantir too much,” Hermod commented.
“Do you mind? My show’s on,” Odin, Lord of Asgard, pointed at the shield with a scowl. “Shut your trap!”
Giving his boss a silent glare, Hermod turned his attention to the small image of the nurse on the shield boss.
My timing was spot on. Half of each shift was eating or socializing tonight. While the Demon Ward was my assigned floor, I filled in all over the hospital, except on six. That was the only hole in my plan, not having actually been up there in person.
“Gen!” A woman at one of the tables yelled my name.
I was in luck. The person I was looking for was here. Bluffing my way onto the floor was just a bit easier now.
“Marcia! Nice to see you! How’s Jonathan?” I put on a big smile as I approached the table.
Marcia and Jonathan were a youngish couple I’d met when I first came to the city. I’d been alone, and they were a bright light on a gloomy day. When we’d gotten together it had only been at their house, never mine. Burning that bridge with them was going to hurt, but killing Craven was more important to me than friendships.
“He’s good. We’re having a party next week to celebrate his promotion at work! Please tell me you’ll come?” Marcia stood and gave me a hug.
Leaning into the hug, I gave her a squeeze with one arm even as I unclipped her hospital badge with the other. Whispering into her ear I replied, “I’d love to. Count on it.”
Releasing me, she smiled again. “We’ll set a place for you. Bring a date.”
I laughed at that. “Who? I work all the time.”
“Don’t give me that, Gen. You’re a real knockout. One afternoon and we’ll fix you up great. A bit of makeup here, a nice top there, there is so much potential!” Marcia gave me a few light touches showing me where she thought I needed improvement.
“We’ll see about that. I could ask Chris to come with me,” I commented.
“Paper pusher Chris, the man who never leaves a file untouched? That Chris? You can do way better than him, Gen,” Marcia said with a laugh.
“He’s not that bad. You have to get to know him, is all,” I replied, half defending my coworker.
Marcia snorted. “Been there. Trust me. You forget I fill in as much as you do. He’s a turd. What about Johann on two? He’s a cutie.”
“If you like men with hair coming out of their ears, eew,” I replied giving her a disgusted look. “I never, ever, want to know just how hairy he is.” Making a show of looking at my watch I begged off. “Speaking of paperwork, I need to run upstairs for a bit. I’ll call you next week for times, ok?”
“Sure, I’ll hold you to that. Nice seeing you!” Marcia waved me off.
Feeling like a heel, I rushed off toward the elevators. No matter what happened upstairs tonight, our friendship would be over. The police and the hospital would find out her badge had been used.
The main reason I loo
ked for Marcia was our similarity in build and face. Too often we’d been mistaken for each other early on in our careers. Unless they really scrutinized the badge, I should be able to slip by security. Night shift was when things were the most lax, after all.
Patting my hospital coat, I checked my pockets a final time as I stepped into the elevator. I’d practiced what I was about to do at one of the department stores downtown, but never here. Way too risky. Surprise needed to be on my side.
Getting off on level five, I checked the area around the doors carefully. This floor was used for overflow and long-term care patients. Unlike the other floors, only a single nurse worked this one. There was a booth, not unlike a guard shack, with panels full of lights and dials. It was used to monitor those on life support. Nobody liked working up here.
Reaching into my pockets, I pulled out first a screwdriver and then a door stopper wedge. Bending down, I carefully put the screwdriver in the door, track point down. When I’d practiced this, I found that the sensitivity of the doors wouldn’t allow the elevator to move if they didn’t close. A safety thing that I could take advantage of. On five, nobody would notice for a long time. Visitors up here were few and far between. The one and only time I’d drawn duty here, I had to bring my own lunch, since the monitors were not supposed to be left alone for even a minute.