Smolder (10 page)

“Please tell me you are okay?” he asked.

“I’m a little scared and a lot angry.”

“And nauseous?” He tried to make a joke.

“I almost lost that wonderful dinner we had but managed to keep it down.” I paused for a moment. Worried that Josh would be in danger made me wonder if Dmitri would still want to be with me. I didn’t want to lose him because of Travis. “I would understand if you didn’t want to go out with me again.” I felt tears in my eyes as I said it.

“I’m not going to leave you because a crazy person sends you bloody body parts. I knew when I asked you out what kind of patients you work with.” He sounded sincere.

“Thank you. I had a wonderful time last night.”

“Me too, and if I wasn’t at the hospital right now I would come over.”

“My brother is here, so is Lee, and Owen showed up.” I suddenly felt guilty about that.

“Owen likes you. He’s good at his job and has had run-ins here at work with some very unstable people.” He didn’t say it, but I heard concern in his voice.

“I’m not interested in him, Dmitri. I want you to know that.”

“Thank you for telling me that. I’ll feel a little less jealous while I work, and he protects you.” His voice gravelly with emotion.

I wanted to lighten the mood before I hung up. “I promise not to kiss any other boys.”

“I’ll hold you to that.” He laughed and said he had to go check on patients.

There was a huddle in the kitchen when I returned.

“What is this?” I asked.

“All of us wanted to be with you today, so we’re deciding on a movie. Only we can't agree,” Lee answered.

I laughed. “There are DVDs in the den, and I'm sure Josh hooked up the surround sound to the television.”

A full six movie Star Wars marathon won the unanimous vote. With enough popcorn to feed an entire theatre, we lost track of time. It was midnight when the last movie ended, and Lee and Owen got up to leave.

“Lee, you don't have to drive home this late if you don't want. You can stay here,” I offered.

“No, thank you. I have a nice warm bed and a husband to get to.”

She left with a promise to call tomorrow.

Owen hugged me and also promised to call the next day.

Chapter Nine

Sunday passed without incident, and Josh and I kept busy making sure all of the boxes were unpacked and my things organized and coordinated. I'd almost forgotten the incident from Friday night when I walked into work the next day. Lee was her usual cheerful self and handed me a couple of charts for patients I needed to see that morning.

I filled up a coffee cup and went to my desk. In the center sat a huge flower arrangement with azaleas, roses, and daisies. It smelled wonderful, and the card was still sealed. I opened it up and Dmitri had written in barely legible doctor scribble, “Thank you for a wonderful date. I hope to do it again soon. Yours, Dmitri. P.S. Your kisses stayed with me all weekend. P.P.S. Glad you are safe. Please call me immediately if anything like that happens again.” I sat down and reread the card. I was going to thank him for the flowers with kisses, lots of kisses.

My work email was still open from Friday, and a number of doctors had sent messages to ask if I was okay and to offer help. It was a very nice gesture on their part. I wouldn't be taking them up on their offers, but I appreciated them.

Then I got the one that stopped me mid-sip. It was from the attending surgeon in intensive care who wrote that a prisoner from the local jail was severely injured and asked for me by name. I looked through the charts Lee handed me, afraid I would read his name. I was scared to look through them and started to shake as I read the names. It wasn’t him. It took me a minute to calm my breathing down. I know I couldn’t have faced him so soon after Friday night. Even as angry as I was, he frightened me and letting him see that would be a very bad idea.

Another inmate from the prison had gotten into a knife fight and was barely conscious. He’d lost a lot of blood, and they weren't sure he would make it. The doctor noted he would need life support in the next few days if he didn't die from his injuries.

I thought about calling Owen and Josh, but I didn't. They didn't need to be worried any more. I gathered the charts and headed to the unit. My common sense voice started whispering for me to turn and run, and by the time I got to the unit, the thought was loud and angry. I stood outside the doors fighting the instinct to run. Pacing back and forth, I reminded myself Travis was in jail, and even though he apparently had body part courier service, he couldn’t torture me from his cell.

I'm not running.

I took a deep breath and ran my badge through the security lock for the unit. Inside the door was a hospital security guard who nodded at me and pointed to the inmate’s room. Two prison guards stood outside of the all-glass front wall talking with one of the nurses. She remembered me from my tour on Friday and filled me in on the patient’s injuries.

“His ear and right middle finger were cut off. They didn't find them at the scene. He was also missing a toe, and has a strange symbol carved into his chest."

The images from the box in my kitchen flashed in front of me. I felt lightheaded and dizzy, my vision became blurry, and I started to feel nauseous, so I grabbed onto the counter at the nurses' station. I slowed my breathing and straightened up.

“What symbol is on his chest?” I asked.

“It looks like a cursive E,” she replied.

I stood frozen in place. She talked more but I didn't hear a word. I just nodded when she paused and waited for her to finish.

As I turned to call Owen, one of the guards said with pride, “If we can find out who did this we catch 'The Carver'.”

“Who?” A killer with a nickname wasn’t good. One whose latest victim asked for me by name was awful.

“The Carver, Doctor. Savannah’s only serial killer. He's killed thirty-four people in the last twenty years, and the police never had a clue to who he is. Now, we know we have him in jail,” he explained.

He was happy about that. I dialed Owen's cell number and went straight to voicemail. Aware that the local police would be called anyway, I used the card for the woman cop and called her number.

She answered immediately.

“Officer, this is Dr. Ellie Quinn. We have a patient in the ICU who asked to see me. He’s a prisoner from the jail. One of the security guards here informed me his injuries fit the MO of The Carver. He’s missing the parts that were sent to me.”

“Fuck! Don't move. I'll be right there.” And she hung up on me.

I still stared at the screen of my smart phone when Owen walked in. I repeated what I told her, and let him know I'd already called the police. He nodded, blanched, and left the unit.

Now what?

For the first time in my career, I didn't want to go see a patient. Whether it was fear of him, or what he would say, or what he knew, or that I would be next, I couldn't say. It could have been all of those at once. I decided a serial killer wasn’t going to stop me from doing my job. The poor man in the room had been tortured, and if he needed my help, I’d do whatever I could for him.

With a deep breath, I put my phone on silent and entered the patient's room. Rooms in the unit had full glass fronts that faced the nurses' station, but the rest of the walls were normal, offering some privacy.

“Good morning, I'm Dr. Quinn. You asked to see me?” I hoped I sounded less scared than I felt.

He turned to me, and his eyes filled with tears. “He is coming for you,” he whispered.

I held onto the sides of the bed. “He already let me know that, sir. What can I help you with?”

“He said his wife was the reason he didn't kill every day, and with her gone, he would start again.” He closed his eyes, and he wheezed from the effort. “I fought him. I want my family to know I fought back.” He looked up at me. “He hates you. I don't know why, but he hates you. When the other inmates found out he killed before, they teased him about getting locked up by a shrink. You have to make sure he never gets out. He'll never stop.”

By this time, I had tears in my eyes. I hurt for this man. He suffered and still managed to fight back, and I felt partly responsible. I knew there weren’t enough words to describe my emotions. I wanted to ease his pain and take back the suffering.

Any mask that I wore each time I entered a room to give the patient time to tell me their story without feeling judged, guilty, or criticized, dropped away from me. I stood there as Ellie, caring human being overwhelmed with emotion. “I'll do everything I can to make sure he never leaves alive. So will my friends.”

“He doesn't have anyone else. No family or friends came to see him on visiting day, and there were no phone calls for him.”

“You kept an eye on him.” I wasn’t surprised. Inmates knew how to watch each other better than most. It was a necessary survival skill.

“I was his cell mate. He had six family pictures on the wall, arranged in a circle around a large photo of his wife. I asked him about her his first night in, and he threw me at the wall. I spent most of last week in and out of the infirmary. Until this last time.” There was a strength and pride to his voice.

He should be proud. I’d have melted into a puddle on the floor.

“I am so sorry you had to go through this. Is it okay if I ask why you were locked up?” I wondered what crime got you the honored place as a cellmate for a serial killer. I wanted him to be a murderer or rapist, someone who I could distance myself from emotionally and alleviate the sorrow I felt.

“I sold marijuana to pay the bills after I was laid off. It kept the house and car payments going. My wife's job barely covered the rest.” He struggled to breathe, and the oxygen alarm sounded.

I stepped out of the room as the nurses rushed in to try and keep him alive. The female officer—West, her nametag said—waited for me. She stood rigid with her arms crossed in front of her. She was close to six feet tall with brown hair pulled back into a severe bun. Minimal makeup couldn’t hide that she was naturally beautiful with brown eyes and tanned skin. It was clear from the way her uniform fit that she worked out regularly. She could easily bench press me, and so I kept at arm’s length when I approached her.

“Why did you talk to a suspect without me? Didn't I tell you to stay put?”

She was angry.

So was I. “Stop lecturing me. I don't answer to you, or any cop. Understood? That man was tortured because they put Travis in the same cell. That was it.”

She started to ask me something, but I wasn't in the mood. “I'm done answering questions for right now. If you want to interrogate a victim, again, wait until the nurses tell you he’s strong enough to take it.”

I walked away to get some air taking the elevator to the first floor and stepping outside. Everything looked normal, but for me it was different now. I had to get Josh out of town, even if it meant smacking him with a pot and shoving him into his girlfriend’s car. A serial killer was a new situation to me, but my promise not to have my job threaten people I love was the same.

I called Josh. “Pack your bags and get out of town. It's not safe anymore.”

“You had better explain yourself before I drive over there to talk you out of this. My girlfriend just packed up a month's worth of my stuff and got it mailed this afternoon.”

He was as stubborn as I.

“Josh, Travis is a serial killer. There is a man dying in our intensive care unit because he happened to be his cell mate.” My throat closed up as I envisioned Josh lying there, mangled by that monster.

“I'm not leaving you, El. I promised Mom,” he whispered.

“You promised Mom?”

I didn't know this. He and Mom spent a lot of time together when she was sick because Dad needed to keep working for the insurance coverage. There were advantages to a flexible schedule and a well-paying job.

“She asked me to protect you. You know her, she thought you would do something stupid and get your heart broken again.”

He didn't say it, but we both understood she didn't imagine this situation.

“You don't have to stay.” I wanted him to leave and be safe no matter what happened. But it was his choice. “If anything happens to you, I'm done for.”

“Enough with the drama, sis. You will survive. It's your gift.”

He hung up before I could reply.

“He's staying,” a melodious Russian accent whispered.

It wasn't a question. Dmitri came up behind me putting his hands on my shoulders. I leaned into him wanting to turn around and bury my face in his chest until the danger ended.

“I wouldn't leave my sister, even if it meant I would be killed. I imagine your brother feels the same.”

“He made a promise to our mother before she died. He keeps his word.” I paused. “And what you said.”

“Come here, my sweet.” Dmitri pulled me into his arms and held on tight.

My tension eased up somewhat, and I caught a whiff of cologne.

Nice. Smells good in scrubs. That's a gift.

“Did you hear?” I asked with my face an inch from his chest.

He shook as he laughed. “Yes. He’s a serial killer and has marked you for death.”

“You say that so casually.”

He rubbed my back, and I rested my head on his chest.

“I don't take this casually. This is serious, and that’s why I would rather joke about it than think of you lying upstairs in that bed.” His voice lowered, and he whispered the last part like the thought of me there was something he didn’t want to say out loud.

“Would you take care of me?” I asked.

“Absolutely. Even if wild horses tore you limb from limb, I would find all the pieces and sew them back together. I would even put them back in their original place.”

He laughed nervously, and I joined in. This was absurd. If I couldn't laugh at it I would need to visit the psychiatrist and fill up my medicine cabinet. We heard a cough behind us, and turned to see Owen coming toward us.

“I called the police chief, and he phoned the jail. Travis is now in solitary confinement and under twenty-four-hour surveillance video. The chief ran for his job a few years ago on the promise of catching this guy. Now that he's in jail, he'll monitor it because his reputation is on the line.”

When we didn't say anything, he continued. “The chief takes his word seriously. He gave it that this guy would never see daylight again.”

“So I'm safe?” I was a little stunned. “It doesn't feel that way.”

Owen shook his head. “You’re safe from him physically, yes. And with no access to phone or mail, you shouldn’t get any more deliveries.”

“So why are you so worried?” Dmitri asked.

“The chief will give a press conference to announce 'The Carver' is in jail and will be tried for all of his crimes.” He paused and seemed to think for a few minutes. “It just doesn't feel right. I know we catch some of the worst criminals in unrelated crimes, but something tells me the killing isn't over.”

“That'll help me sleep better,” I said with a bite.

Dmitri squeezed me.

Owen sighed. “Ellie, I think you are safe. At least for now. He can't get to you, and when his full roster of victims comes out on the news, he'll be lucky to survive one night in jail. Even in solitary.”

“He killed kids,” I supposed.

“Yes, he raped and killed children after cutting out their tongues.”