The Brain Vault (Stephanie Chalice Thrillers Book 3) (2 page)

We were now on the looped path I knew would take us directly to the mosaic at the center of the Strawberry Fields memorial. I’d walked it so many times before. My dad was a kid when the Beatles first arrived on the scene back in the sixties. My closet was still filled with his old vinyl albums: Meet the Beatles, Introducing the Beatles, The White Album—he had them all. The songs had become a permanent connection between the two of us; one that transcended time and bridged the gap between the physical and metaphysical world. I can still remember him telling me about the Fab Four. He had an Abbey Road tape in the car that he’d play endlessly. I was just a kid when John Lennon died, but I can still remember how the city was stricken by his murder. It was such an awful and senseless tragedy. It hit my dad really hard—he played his Beatle tapes over and over as if trying to hold onto a shred of the passed artist. Eventually we all moved on, but Lennon’s music would always flow from him through my dad to me, words and music we would keep forever.

“Let me take you down, ‘cause I’m going to Strawberry Fields. Nothing is real…”

At the center of the Strawberry Fields mosaic, partially covering the word IMAGINE, was a man, barely covered by a tattered bed sheet, lying unconscious. Most of his body was visible. Even in the dark, I could see a strange mosaic pattern on his skin. As I got closer, I could see that he was covered with scars over most of his body. My mind jumped to a conclusion, perhaps unsubstantiated, but it looked like a sadistic montage, a pattern that memorialized the torture I suspected this poor soul must have endured. He had sustained a rather large gash on his ankle near the Achilles tendon where blood was still pooling. Even in the out of doors, the man reeked of cigarette smoke.

“He’s still alive,” I shouted. I pressed my ear against his chest to confirm my initial diagnosis. I knew that he was alive because bleeding quickly stops after the heart arrests. His heartbeat was weak and slow—It was nonetheless present. “He’s still with us, but going fast—call for a bus.”

Lido was on his cell phone instantly, requesting help.

I tore the hem off my silk crepe gown and quickly tied a tourniquet around John Doe’s leg, desecrating forever the design genius of Donna Karan. My lifesaving triage technique seemed to do the trick, the bleeding stopped. With God’s help and a well-trained EMT driver, Doe would get to the hospital in time and stay alive. At the same time, tearing away the hem, had transformed my elegant Donna Karan gown into a micro dress, leaving me visible up to the—” The gown was ruined, but I knew a couple of call girls that could make good use of it still—I’m so thrifty.

Lido placed his dinner jacked over Doe’s upper body to keep him warm.

“How does he look?”

“Too close to call. He’s very weak.”

Lido’s eyes were traveling up and down my legs. He whispered in my ear. “Promise you’ll never throw this dress away.” Now, I had a modest collection of hooker skirts and Joan Crawford pumps in the closet that I trotted out when the occasion called for it, but from the reaction I was getting from Lido, I figured one more couldn’t hurt. Lido looked feverish. I could see the carotid artery bulge on his neck. We’d be riding with Doe to the hospital in a few minutes. I didn’t know where we’d find the opportunity, but while a surgical team was patching Doe, we would likely find ourselves entwined in one of the hospital’s on-call rooms—one could only hope.

Time was running out for Doe. While waiting, I continued to scan the portion of his body that Lido’s jacket didn’t cover. There were scars and burn marks over almost every inch of exposed skin.
Thank God you escaped
. I could only imagine what this poor soul had been through. How long had this poor man been imprisoned?

Off in the distance I could hear an ambulance’s electronic yelp drawing closer. I pressed my hand against Doe’s chest. “He’s still with us. Gus, I think you should meet the bus at the park entrance and lead them here. We don’t want to lose any time.”

“Agreed. I’ll be right back.”

I watched Gus as he disappeared into the darkness; his crisp white shirt reflecting moonlight—for a moment, it looked like a ghostly torso disappearing into the tree lined park.

With Gus gone, the park felt eerily silent. I checked Doe again. His heart sounded weak, so I pushed aside Lido’s jacket and examined Doe for other wounds I may have missed, wounds that might prove fatal. I rocked him upward a bit to examine his back. As I did, I noticed a bright white object lying nearby under a shrub. I strained to see it more clearly. As I was doing so, I felt something embedded in Doe’s back. My senses were racing, sight and touch competing, to identify the two objects.

Sight won out. The object lying at the base of the shrub was nothing other than a pure, white human skull.
What in God’s name?
I was still reeling from the first discovery when it dawned on me that the object embedded in Doe’s back was a Taser dart. A wire running from the object confirmed my suspicion. My heart rate spiked. I spun around quickly to survey my surroundings, and the hairs on the back of my neck snapped to attention. I was not alone.

And then it hit me. I felt an excruciating pain in the small of my back, as if an electric power line had hit me. I began to shake as the Taser blast racked my body. I tightened my fists to fight it but it was too strong. I had to place my palms against the ground to steady myself. As I did, I heard menacing, adenoid laughter nearby, and the sound of someone approaching from behind me. I was on my hands and knees fighting to stay conscious, trying to keep the muscular spasm from knocking me onto my back. All the time, I heard him drawing closer.

The Taser was still frying my nervous system when I felt his hot breath on my neck dampening my skin with his evil. The sound of his mocking laughter grew louder—it was as if he were in my ears. As I turned to see his face, I heard the sound of others approaching. “Gus.” I cried out his name. Somehow I knew who it was. My stricken voice cried out for my other half, my partner and friend.

“Stephanie?” I heard his voice boom back from somewhere in the park.

Thank God.
“Gus!”

I heard my assailant gasp. Panic set into his labored breathing. He turned and was about to run. I wanted to grab him, do anything to slow him down until Lido arrived.

“Stephanie!” Lido’s voice sounded closer.

“Gus,” my voice was now nothing more than a whisper.

I tried to pull my hand off the ground, but my muscles were unresponsive. They felt rubbery and disconnected. I finally jerked my hand free, but I couldn’t keep my balance and fell over, smacking my head on the rock hard ceramic ground. My assailant was already yards away, slipping into the darkness. I wanted to know him. My eyes drilled through the darkness, but he was already too far away. My brain was struggling to fit the pieces together, but my thoughts just kept bouncing around my head and not making sense. Looking up at the night sky, I saw that dagger moon, hanging low enough to slice through me. It seemed to be falling out of the sky.

“Stephanie!”

Lido sounded just yards away. I couldn’t wait to see his face and know that I was safe. Somewhere, somehow, I must have known it already, and knew that I could drop my guard because the moon began to dim, and then everything went black.

“N
o showboating, Stephanie—get a good strong grip and hold onto the wing strut with both hands.”

“Wing strut? Showboating? What the hell is going on here?” And then the darkness opened up around me and I saw where I was. “Oh, Jesus!” I was thousands of feet up in the air, holding on for dear life, under the wing of a single engine plane with miles of absolutely nothing beneath me. I made the mistake of looking down. “Oh dear God.”

“Huge mistake, Stephanie, focus straight ahead; don’t let your nerves get the better of you.”

“That’s easy for you to say.”

“Think of something that will distract you—Scotsmen playing bagpipes for instance.”

“Scotsmen playing bagpipes; are you insane?” Wait a minute, who am I talking to anyway? I turned my head. “Bear Grylls?” This guy was everywhere. “What in the name of The British Special Forces are we doing here?”

“We’re flying over the African Savanna, Stephanie. Not to worry, I’m going to talk you down, but until we’re over the drop zone, I want you to hold on firmly with both hands.”

“Both hands…
right
.” I grabbed hold of the strut with my free hand just as the plane banked hard to the right. “Better?”

“Much. You wouldn’t want turbulence to shake you loose at the wrong time—God knows where you’d land. You might end up in a jagged ravine or in a crocodile infested river. I once broke my back in three places making a routine jump. I must say, holding on with one hand was awfully cavalier of you. You must have ice water in your veins. Most first timers would be absolutely petrified.”

“Trust me, I’m paralyzed with fear. I don’t think I can do this. I’m going to climb back into the plane.”

“Wrong choice.”

“Why?”

Grylls threw a glance in the direction of the pilot’s chair. It was empty.

“Where’s the—” The plane nosed down just as the words were coming out of my mouth.

“That’s our cue, Stephanie. Ready to go?”

“No!” I was shaking my head frantically.

“Right then—on my count: one, two, three, drop.”

Grylls let go and began freefalling. As he did, the plane began to plummet. “Oh Christ…
Geronimo
.” Now, I admit the first few seconds were terrifying, but then the adrenaline spike leveled off and I realized that falling through the air was kind of cool. I mean I was still alive and I did have a parachute. “I have a parachute, right?” Grylls was next to me, his face fluttering violently against the wind. “You look like your face is going to fly off.”

“Never has before.”

The British: so droll. “So what about the parachute, have I got one or am I destined to become a street pizza?”

“Packed it myself.” With that, Grylls reached over and pulled my ripcord. “Enjoy the ride, Stephanie. The view’s spectacular.”

I bounced hard in my harness as the parachute filled with wind. Grylls on the other hand was dropping fast, and growing tinier and tinier by the second. Oh God, there it goes—I finally saw his parachute open. I was hoping he’d wait for me down there. The African Savanna didn’t sound like the type of place I’d want to navigate on my own. The ground was growing larger as I looked downward, coming at me fast.

“Stephanie, Stephanie?”

I heard Lido’s voice. It sounded distant, too distant to pay attention to. I almost didn’t hear it. I just knew he was calling me. And then I was back.

“Stephanie, you scared the hell out of me.”

I saw Lido through narrow slits. My head ached like hell as I opened my eyes. It took a second before I realized that I was in the hospital. “What am I doing here?”

“You smacked your head pretty good. You’ve got a concussion.”

Gus hugged me. His warm skin felt good against my cheek, but I only gave myself a second to savor his embrace. The light outside told me it was morning. “Doe, did he make it?”

Lido nodded.

“I was out all night?”

“Uh huh. I found you flat on your back, lying next to Doe. What the hell happened?”

“I was—” I was only minimally miserable, until I felt the bile rise toward my mouth. I looked around frantically for something to hurl into. I grabbed a plastic water pitcher and let go. It took a moment before I came up for air. Lido looked as if he had just seen me eviscerated. He was pounding the hell out of the nurse’s call button and looking like he needed a hit of oxygen himself.

“Are you okay?”

I nodded but remained silent. I wasn’t exactly feeling my oats and needed a moment to regroup. Hospital staff’s great when they know they’re taking care of a cop. A nurse came flying through the door.

“She’s awake,” Lido announced.

The nurse took in the scene before her. “Relax, I’ve got it,” she said to Lido, “Go get some air—you look worse than she does.”

I smiled in spite of the way I was feeling.

“I’m Greta,” the nurse said. She ripped open a pack of wipes and started cleaning my face like I was a baby. “Sorry I wasn’t in the room when you woke up.” She took the smelly pitcher of spew from me. “Do you still feel like vomiting? How do you feel?”

“Like I’ve been run over by a truck.”

“You may be nauseous for a while. You’ve got a huge lump on your noggin.” She turned to Lido. “Seriously, handsome, amscray. I’ll take care of the lady cop. Why don’t you get yourself a cup of New York’s worst coffee. Anything will taste good in the condition you’re in.”

Greta looked to be in her late fifties. She was thin, blond, and looked like she had been on the victorious side of many a bar brawl.

“I’ll be back in a couple of minutes,” Gus said.

“I seem to be in good hands. Take your time.”

We both watched until Gus was out the door. Greta cleaned me up a bit more and then checked my blood pressure.

“He’s a good man,” she said. “Stayed up all night running back and forth between here and the ICU. Tell me, where do you find a man like that? I’ve been married three times—never latched onto a man worth keeping.”

Greta’s comment warmed my heart, but I kept my mouth shut. I wasn’t up to snuff and didn’t want to say anything I’d end up regretting. Greta glanced at me over the top of her glasses as she pumped the blood pressure cuff. Her look indicated that she was waiting for me to fess up.

“Not talking?”

I shook my head.

“No need to.”

“Excuse me?”

“Look, Honey, I’ve been nursing for thirty years. I’ve seen couples married for decades where the husbands weren’t as concerned about their spouses as Detective Lido is about you. Your blood pressure’s fine. If you don’t mind me asking, you came in here wearing one of the shortest gowns I’ve ever seen—you working some kind of decoy detail?”

“You asking if I was dressed as a hooker?”

“Yeah, I see that on TV all the time.”

“No, I tore the hem off my dress to make a tourniquet for John Doe.”