BTK actually means "Being tortured by Kansas"
Chapter 1
Detective Alex Eames drove. She always drove. No particular reason why – it was
just an "Eames-thing."
Today, though, it was different. She drove and drove rapidly. The Kansas wheat
fields flashed by on either side of the NPYD Major Case squad's SUV. Her speed was
inversely related to her partner's deteriorating condition. The sicker he became, the
faster she drove.
Her partner, Bobby Goren, was sitting, slumped in the front seat. He was incredibly
quiet. Too quiet. Bobby was never quiet, except when he was asleep. His eyes were
open, but deeply sunken in his face. Sweat gathered on his brow and his face was deathly
pale – except where fever made his cheeks mottled and red.
Eames vacillated on what to do. Her snarky, in-your-face personality did not deal
well with indecision. After some time had passed she spoke.
"Bobby, are you all right?" she ventured.
Bobby stirred at the sound of her voice. He truly felt ill. The fever was rising by the
minute and there was a miserable pain across both shoulders. Most annoying was the
cough he simply couldn't shake. For the past three days he had felt poorly, but, like
most men, he had ignored the symptoms. Since leaving New York two days ago he had
begun to feel much worse.
"I'm OK, Eames," he rasped just before a bout of painful coughing silenced him.
"Bullshit," was Eames quiet response.
A rest stop sign loomed before them and Eames eased the SUV off the highway. She
pulled out the road map of Kansas to pinpoint their location. Their destination was
Wichita, but she had a sinking feeling they weren't even close. A brief perusal of the
map showed them to be over 150 miles east of Wichita. Further map reading showed
them to be near the town of Coffeyville. The name rang dim bells for Eames.
"Why is Coffeyville so familiar sounding?" she wondered aloud.
"That's the little town that stopped the Dalton Gang in 1892." Bobby promptly
answered, not realizing that Eames was only thinking aloud.
"Sick as you are you're still a flippin' computer," she groused.
A chuckle from Bobby became a choking, gasping coughing spell that seemed to go
on forever. When the coughing finally stopped Bobby was left weak and exhausted.
Sweat ran off his skin and caused his shirt to stick to him.
Eames looked at Bobby with open concern. Never before had she seen him ill. The
time Bobby had been shot didn't seem to count as an illness.
"We're heading for Coffeyville," she said, firmly.
"Why?" Bobby asked. "Wichita's our destination! We don't want to be late for our
prisoner pick-up."
"Bobby, right now you couldn't pick up a kitten, let alone a prisoner. I can't handle a
prisoner and a sick partner. I'm calling our contact in Wichita and telling him we're
gonna be late and then we're going to find an ER," Eames tone brooked no arguments.
Twenty minutes later they rolled into Coffeyville. Eames followed the big H signs
until she found the small hospital. Eames pulled into the emergency room parking area.
Leaving Bobby alone in the SUV she ran into the ER. A moment later a nurse stepped
into view.
"May I help you?" the nurse asked in a no nonsense tone.
After a brief introduction Eames and the nurse took a wheelchair out to the SUV.
Bobby was so ill he was shaking violently. Nurses are not people to tangle with and
Bobby was too sick to put up much resistance. As much as he hated wheelchairs, Bobby
wasn't entirely sure he could have walked into the ER under his own power.
For such a small town Coffeyville's hospital had a well-equipped ER. Bobby was
deposited into an exam room and left briefly alone. Going from the hot day into an air-
conditioned space had left Bobby shivering even more violently.
A different nurse entered the room. She was calm and relaxed. After introducing
herself as Paula she helped Bobby onto the exam table. Her hands were cool and dry,
compared to Bobby's feverish, sweaty skin.
"Where's Eames?" Bobby blurted.
The nurse smiled gently. "Doing paperwork, if I know hospitals. I need to do a
medical history on you. Think you're coherent enough to answer some questions?"
Bobby nodded.
"First, though, I need to examine you. Lie back and unbutton your shirt, please,"
requested the nurse politely.
Bobby was shaking so hard it was difficult to get the buttons undone. The nurse saw
his plight and took pity on him. She made short work of the buttons and then untucked
the shirt, too.
"Are you comfortable? Would you like a blanket?" Paula asked, solicitously.
"A blanket would be great," Bobby said. The word great was hardly out of his mouth
when another bout of coughing began. Before he could do anything else Bobby vomited
violently. The coughing and vomiting were excruciatingly painful. Bobby lay back, too
weak to move. When he found the strength to open his eyes a mortifying sight greeted
him. Both he and the nurse were coated with his vomit. Bobby briefly considered
shooting himself but decided an apology would suffice.
"Sorry," he muttered, miserably.
Paula appeared nonplussed. Apparently this was a frequent occurrence.
"That's OK, Mr….what did you say your name was, again?" Paula asked.
"Goren," Bobby answered. "And I really am sorry."
"I keep an extra change of scrubs around for just such happenings. Let's get you
examined so I can go change, shall we?" Paula's calm was unshakable.
The nurse listened to Bobby's heart and lungs, felt the glands in his neck, and looked
in his ears, eyes and up his nose. Her touch was light, gentle and fast. Bobby relaxed
under touch.
After the exam the nurse said, 'I'm sending in a lab tech for a blood sample, and then
a doctor will see you. I'm going to go change and I'll be back in a jiffy." Her cheery
demeanor bolstered Bobby's gloom, considerably.
The lab tech, Janet, was in almost immediately. Having been through numerous
"random" drug tests for the department Bobby knew a good lab tech when he
encountered one. Janet was friendly and efficient and accurate. Her blood draw was
completed in less than two minutes and she was on her way.
Bobby held the cotton in the crook of his elbow until he was sure the bleeding had
stopped. Given the sad state of his clothes – sweat soaked and vomit spattered – what
harm could a little blood do?
The cubicle door slid open to admit a portable x-ray unit and a radiography tech. He
was as efficient as the lab tech and also as quick. The x-ray was completed and Bobby
was left alone, again.
Thanks to years in law enforcement Bobby had been to many ERs. While he waited
to see what would happen next Bobby's mind began to wander to ER experiences of the
past. Over the years he had been shot, stabbed, slammed against the wall and had once
put his fist into a wall. The best ER that he had experienced was at Belleview. That trip
had netted him twelve stitches and a date with an uninhibited nurse. The worst ER
experience was at St. Vincent's. Not only did Bobby get the wrong pain med, which he
had informed them he was allergic to, but that nurse turned out to be a man in drag.
Between the fever and the memory Bobby shuddered, again. So far the Coffeyville ER
was getting good marks in Bobby's book for sheer speed, alone.
Until the cubicle door opened. In walked a doctor who appeared to be in his fifties
. He introduced himself as Dr. Church. The gentleness of the other people disappeared.
Dr. Church was fast but rough. Bobby felt his tension level begin to build. The
percussive exam of his chest should have been painless, but wasn't. Dr. Church's exam
left Bobby feeling shaken and annoyed.
"Let me guess," Bobby ventured. "You were in the military?"
"How'd you guess?" the surprised doctor asked.
Deciding he didn't need to go into his past Bobby shrugged and said, "Lucky guess."
Dr. Church began speaking briskly, "Your x-rays and blood test show severe
bronchitis edging into pneumonisitis. You're a pretty sick man. You need to be admitted
for IV antibiotics and respiratory therapy. You should be well enough to go home in two
or three days."
At that moment Alex Eames opened the cubicle's sliding door. "May I come in?" she asked.
"Who are you?" asked the doctor rudely. "If you're not immediate family get the hell
out of here!"
At that moment Bobby had decided he had had enough of Dr. Church. He could
tolerate rough exams and a bossy attitude, but you don't mess with his partner.
"She is my partner, my best friend, and the only family I have and I'm not staying in
your fucking hospital another minute!" The combination of trying to yell with bronchitis
was a mistake. The coughing spell that began caused the world to go gray and out of
focus. When Bobby's eyes reopened he was aware of two things: Dr. Church leaning
over him and his ID hitting Bobby in the nose, and that he was wearing an oxygen mask.
The oxygen mask was good. The ID was bad. Bobby had been able to read it. It said,
"Dr. Church: Gynecologist." Bobby reached up and pulled off the mast and gasped,
"Eames!"
"Bobby," Eames spoke, "try to relax and let them treat you."
"Eames! Why am I being treated by a gynecologist?"
"Huh?" Eames asked.
"His ID says he's a gynecologist," Bobby gasped, painfully. "Last time I checked I
didn't have a – "
"Stop right there, Goren!" Eames ordered. "I don't know what's going on, but I'll
find out." Eames rounded on Dr. Church in full Eames snarky-gone-pissed mode. "I don't
know how small towns operate their ERs, but why is a gynecologist treating a man? If
this is how things go around here I'm sorry we chose this screwed up place. He's too
sick to be moved elsewhere, but we're not staying! Now, do something for him so we
can get the hell outta here."
Dr. Church recoiled in surprise. Most people were so awed by a "doctor" that they
rarely talked back to his abrasive style. "All Coffeyville doctors do ER rotations.
Pediatricians, GPs, internists, everybody." In a weak attempt at humor he gestured at
Bobby and said, "Gynecologist does begin with guy."
In the dead silence that followed Dr. Church decided that these people needed to go.
He spoke again, "If you really don't want to stay I'll shoot you full of antibiotics, give
you a prescription for oral antibiotics, and let you go. You really do need respiratory
therapy, but hot showers will help nearly as much. You'll need to find a hotel for tonight
and fill the prescription tomorrow. Will that work for you?"
Bobby and Eames exchanged glances. It wasn't a great alternative, but it would work.
"Fair enough."
Dr. Church stood and said, "I'll be back in a minute."
After his departure Eames approached Bobby. "Sorry I got you stuck in this pissant,
podunk town."
Bobby opened his eyes and smiled. "It's OK, Eames. Frankly, I feel so awful I'm
kinda glad to be here."
"You really must feel like shit to say that, Bobby," mused Eames.
Dr. Church returned. He was carrying syringes and prescriptions. Dr. Church had
Bobby roll onto his stomach and proceeded to inject Rocefin, a fast-acting antibiotic, into
both of Bobby's hips. Bobby had been correct in his assessment of Dr. Church: he was
rough.
While Bobby buttoned his shirt Dr. Church gave Eames terse instructions. "Get this
prescription filled tomorrow. See that he finishes all of it. Have him take a hot shower as
often as possible and have him sleep propped up. I don't know what your sleeping
arrangements are, but you need to stay with him tonight. If he begins having trouble
breathing call 911 or bring him back here. I'll be on for the whole weekend.
Questions?"
"Got it!" Eames spoke sharply. "Any you," she gestured at Bobby, "had better get
your ass well, and soon."
In a few minutes Bobby and Eames were settled back into the SUV. Bobby was too
exhausted to do anything but sit mutely.
Eames found a Best Western hotel. Leaving Bobby in the vehicle she ran into the
hotel to request a room with two double beds. Their luck continued and there was only
one room available. It had only one king size bed, of course. Eames, fighting to control
her temper, took it.
Returning to the SUV Eames opened the passenger door. "Bobby, can you walk a
little way?"
Bobby nodded, wearily. Getting out of the SUV took tremendous effort. Eames took
his hand and draped it around her shoulders. "Lean on me, Bobby, so we can get you
inside."
Bobby, who was a foot taller and 100 pounds heavier, tried not to lean on Eames any
more than he had to. By the time they found their room Bobby was sweating and
gasping miserably.
Eames plunked Bobby into the nearest chair and headed into the bathroom. She
turned on the shower as hot as she thought he could tolerate it and then returned to Bobby.
"Bobby, you need a hot shower. Can you manage on your own?" Eames asked.
Bobby was able to focus on what Eames was saying. "Yeah, I think so…"
Eames figured they were both adults. "Come on, Bobby," she said. "You need a
shower as per that bizarre doctor's orders. You need to let me help you."
Bobby rose unsteadily to his feet and headed to the bathroom. Eames followed closely
behind. In the bathroom Eames unbuttoned Bobby's shirt and then had him sit on the
toilet lid to remove his shoes and socks. Helping him to his feet Eames stripped the rest
of Bobby's clothes from his unresisting body and guided him into the shower. While
Bobby showered Eames unloaded their luggage.
After about 10 minutes Eames tapped on the bathroom door. "Bobby, you 'bout done
in there?"
The water was shut off and Bobby said weakly, "Eames, can you hand me a towel,
please?"
Eames picked up two towels and opened the shower door. Keeping her eyes trained
on his face Eames handed Bobby one towel which he wrapped around his hips. The
second towel went around his shoulders. He stood still for a few moments fighting the
fatigue that threatened to engulf him.
"Bobby, can you walk into the bedroom?" Eames queried gently.
Bobby nodded slowly and went into the hotel bedroom. He stood silently looking
around for the first time.
"Eames," he said. "Where's the other bed?"
Eames laughed. "This is the only room available, Bobby. I'm sure we can manage."
Being the honorable person that he is Bobby instantly said, "That's OK, Eames. I'll
take the floor."
Suddenly, the whole day came crashing down on Eames. The snarky temper flared
and she found herself nearly shouting at Bobby, "No, you will not take the floor and
neither will I! We can share a king size bed just fine. I want you to get in that bed – and
I do mean now!"
Bobby looked at her with a look somewhere between amusement and hurt. "Could I
get dressed first?" he asked, pleasantly, gesturing at the towels.
That kinda took the steam out of Eames. "God, Bobby, I'm sorry. Sure, what do you
normally wear?" Eames regretted her outburst.
"There's a pair of sleep pants and a t-shirt in my suitcase," Bobby directed.
Eames opened his suitcase and rooted through his belongings. A moment later she
handed him the sleep pants and t-shirt.
Bobby sat on the edge of the bed and bent to put on the sleep pants. The bend caused
such pain that he sat up, gasping sharply.
"Bobby, what is it?" Eames asked.
Bobby grinned sheepishly and said, "My ass! Dr. Church was none too gentle with
those shots."
Eames knelt at his feet and gently slipped the pants onto his feet, over his knees and
up to mid-thigh where the towel ended. "Stand up for me, Bobby, so we can finish
getting you dressed."
Bobby stood and removed his towels. With Eames competent help he was soon
dressed and settled into bed. Pillows under his head and the remote nearby, Bobby was
as comfortable as he had been in several days. It was only then that he took a good look
at Eames. She looked tired and very pale. Was she getting sick, too?
"Eames, are you OK?" Bobby asked.
"Yeah, just tired and a little hungry. When did I last eat?" she wondered aloud.
"Bobby, there's a Chinese restaurant right across the street. I'm going to go get
something to eat. Could I bring you something?"
A smile broke over Bobby's tired face. "No, thanks."
Eames crossed the street and entered The Bamboo Garden. A short Chinese man
greeted her politely. "We closing soon. Buffet still open," he spoke in halting English.
A buffet was not exactly what Eames had in mind, but the luscious aromas made her
ravenous.
"Could I get a to-go box?" she asked.
"Sure, sure," the Asian man said.
Eames spooned up lo-mein, moo goo gai pan, egg rolls and crab ran goons. She saw a
vat of egg drop soup and decided a bowl of soup might make Bobby feel better. Another
employee, a short, pretty daughter of the owner brought Eames a Styrofoam cup with a
lid. Eames filled it with the hot soup.
Eames paid for the food, thanked Mr. Hi and Becca, and returned to the hotel. She
found Bobby watching the History Channel. He was watching a program on World War
Eames put the food on the table and approached Bobby.
"I didn't know the History Channel had stuff on World War II," Eames joked.
Bobby, missing the joke completely, spoke earnestly, "Oh, yes, the History channel
has lots of – "
"Bobby, I was just being a smart-ass. I brought you some egg drop soup. Try to eat
some of it."
Since Eames had totally forgotten utensils Bobby just drank the soup. It was the best
egg drop soup Bobby had ever eaten. Slightly salty, subtly seasoned and just the right
amount of thickening. Perfect. As he drank the soup he watched Eames. She was totally
exhausted and Bobby felt a twinge of guilt. This was all his fault.
"Eames, I'm sorry for all this," Bobby apologized, sadly.
"Save it, Goren!" Eames snapped. "None of this is your fault. Shit just happens and
you know it. I'm off to the shower and then it's bedtime for both of us."
While Eames showered, brushed and dressed for bed Bobby worried about the
sleeping arrangements. Their relationship had always been platonic and they tried to
discourage the rumor mill at work. Now, whoever read the the charges of the
department MasterCard would find a charge for only one room, not two. Even as Bobby
contemplated how to address this issue Eames exited the bathroom. To Bobby she
looked awesome in boxers and a t-shirt. Eames turned off the lights and settled into bed
beside Bobby. Her eyes closed and she fell asleep almost immediately. Another twinge
of guilt pricked at Bobby: she was only this tired because of him.
Bobby lay awake for a while before also falling asleep. But in the night he awakened
suddenly. Nausea engulfed him. Bobby managed to get out of bed and to the toilet
before vomiting again. Coughing accompanied the vomiting as well as a lot of pain.
Bobby forced himself to look in the toilet and was relieved to see only phlegm. He
realized that the pain and fullness in his chest was much better. Apparently the Roecfin
was working. He turned around and found Eames in the doorway, looking worried.
"You OK?" she asked.
"Actually, yeah," he answered. "Let's go back to bed."
This time his sleep was peaceful and restful.
Tbc…