Black Saturday

Kelly Severide was on the apparatus floor as 81 and Ambo rolled up the apron and pulled into their respective slots. They had been dispatched to a 'person in distress' call and that had been almost an hour ago. As he approached the rig, he saw Casey throw his door open, jump out, and before Severide could say anything, he saw Casey take off running, looking like he was going to be sick. He looked back to the trucks and the next person he saw was Sylvie.

"Brett, what happened? What's wrong with-"

But the blonde paramedic didn't answer, wouldn't look at him and quickly walked past him, clutching her stomach and her lips pursed tightly together, all the color had been drained out of not only her face but it almost looked like it had been drained out of her hair too, she looked like the embodiment of a real ghost.

"What's going on?" Kelly turned to the remaining firefighters. "What happened on that call?"

"Trust me, Severide, you don't want to know," Otis said as he and Cruz also wandered off, looking like they were going to puke.

He was getting nowhere quick and getting frustrated even faster than that, by now even the rest of the guys from Squad, seated at their table, had had their interests piqued by everybody's strange behavior. Kelly walked over to the two older remaining firefighters and demanded to know, "What the hell is going on?"

Mouch was stone faced but his eyes looked hollow. All he said to Kelly was, "Did you ever see 'The Exorcist'?"

Kelly rolled his eyes at the question, not sure what the hell that had to do with anything. "Yeah?"

"Well that would've been a cakewalk compared to what we just went through," and with that, he too walked off.

"Herrmann?" Kelly was just about to start yelling, desperate to get some answers.

Even Christopher looked like he was fighting with everything he had not to be ill right there. He grimly shook his head and told Kelly, "I've seen a lot of horrible things on this job, Severide...but what we saw today, has to cap them all."

"Will somebody tell me what the hell happened today?" he demanded to know.

Herrmann was barely holding himself together as he started to stagger off and said, "Yeah, I'll tell you, first I gotta talk to Boden, and see if he can get Orlovsky down here. After what I just saw, I think we need to have this whole firehouse soaked in holy water, I think we need some sanctification or something."

Kelly could hear Casey violently throwing up before he even entered the bathroom. Everybody else had come and gone but Casey had been in there for almost ten minutes, and it didn't sound like he was going to be out anytime soon either. Severide stood by the sinks and waited, curiously and concernedly, for Casey to finally leave the middle stall. At this rate Severide was surprised Casey still had anything left in him to throw up, but apparently he did, and it was a couple more minutes before he finally heard the toilet flush and saw the door open and Casey walk out, looking as white as a bag of flour.

"Are you okay?" Kelly asked as Casey staggered over to the sink and rinsed his mouth out.

"No," Matt answered simply. He gripped the countertop for a second to support himself, then stepped away and told Kelly, "I have to talk to Boden...and I have to get out of here."

"Go where?" Kelly asked as he followed him out of the bathroom.

"I have to go see someone," Casey said as he stormed down the corridor.

"See who?" Kelly wanted to know.

Voight came down the stairs at the 21st District and was met with his desk sergeant, who had a determined look on her face.

"What is it, Trudy?" he asked.

"Hank, we've known each other for 20 years," Trudy crossed her arms, "and you know I'm a good cop, right?"

"That's true."

"I love being a cop, and I hated like hell that after I took that buckshot to the hip they stuck me behind a desk ever since then."

"I know that, Trudy."

"Nevertheless I come in here every day, on time, I do my job, and I do it damn well because even though I can't go out on patrol or undercover anymore, I still love being a cop and I'm still a damned good one," she told him.

"Nobody's disputing that," Voight said, slightly confused, "so what did you buzz me for?"

"As much as I still love coming in and doing my job every day," Trudy turned a hand in gesture towards her desk, revealing Matt Casey sitting on it, "This annoying paperweight is making that very difficult to do right now."

Voight stepped over towards the desk and noted the gravely serious expression on the younger man's face.

"Lieutenant Casey?" he tested the waters.

"Sergeant Voight," Casey returned curtly.

Voight turned back to his desk sergeant with a confused look on his face.

"Now you see the problem?" Trudy asked. "Ordinarily I'd bust his ass for obstructing with my job, but as determined as he was to see you, I thought it might be worth checking on. He made it clear he wasn't moving until he spoke with you personally."

Voight nodded. "Okay, I'll take it from here." He went over to the desk and asked, "What's going on, Casey?"

"I need to talk to you," Casey hopped off the desk, "Now" he added just as Voight opened his mouth to respond.

"Okay, we'll go upstairs."

"No now, if everybody coming in here has to hear this then that's just the way it is, they need to know what's going on."

"Casey, calm down."

"Don't tell me to..." Casey retched and choked and just made it to the wastebasket before throwing up again.

"Whoa!" Trudy exclaimed as she took a step back.

Voight crouched down beside the lieutenant, who was breathing heavily as the bout of nausea seemed to pass.

"I'm sorry," Casey said as he came up for air.

"It's okay."

"Do we need to call an ambulance?" Trudy asked.

Casey shook his head. "I'm fine...I'm fine..." shakily he pulled himself to his feet, then he realized he actually was shaking.

Voight's hands were all over him, it took Casey a minute to realize he was feeling his forehead, then his pulse points.

"No fever, you're not high on something are you, Casey?"

"No!"

He felt Voight's arm around his shoulders, strong, tight, wordlessly letting Casey know he was going to do what the sergeant said.

"Come on upstairs, let's figure this out," Hank said as he walked Casey over to the stairs and scanned in.

Casey sat in the chair across from Voight at his desk, and it was several minutes before he could actually even form the words to explain what had happened.

"All we knew about the call was 'person in distress', could mean anything...we go to the address...and it's this building we've driven past hundreds of times, never stopped to think what it was. Up close we find out it's a clinic. And it's not the first time we've been called to an abortion clinic, stuff happens, EMS has to rush them to the hospital because something went wrong during the procedure. And, I still can't figure out why we were called along with Ambo, but right away things aren't adding up."

"What do you mean?" Voight asked.

"All the previous times we respond to calls at a clinic of any kind, the doctor is outside waiting for us, giving us the patient's medical history so we know what we're looking at. The doctor was nowhere to be found, there was nobody out there waiting for us. We go in the door and the receptionist looks surprised to see us, we're trying to figure out who called. Nobody even knows where the doctor is. Finally somebody admits they have a patient in distress, takes us down the hall..."

Casey had already been pale when he came in, he became white as a sheet before he spoke again.

"She couldn't have been anymore than 15...I know it's legal but...actually seeing it you just freeze for a minute. She was about dead, nobody could give us her medical history, explain what happened, anything about her, while the paramedics were working on her, I..."

He remembered marching out of the room and down the hall and back towards the receptionist and he remembered fighting the urge to jump over the desk and throttle her as he used every four letter word in the book, summing it up with an order to get the doctor there immediately.

"I was ready to tear the place apart...this girl is bleeding out and where the hell is the doctor? Why doesn't anybody in the whole place know anything about her to help us out? Guy finally comes up, says he was getting her chart ready for the hospital, which by the way, doesn't have a damn thing on it that helps us know the situation. Hank, you should've seen this guy...he's got this bloody smock on but under that he's got on an expensive suit and shoes that I know cost more than all of us on Truck make in a week. What happened to all those doctors we always hear about who are killing themselves to pay back their med school student loans?"

"You were saying something, Matt?" Voight wanted to get the full story and decided to steer Casey back off the detour.

"Anyway," Casey shook his head, "we're asking very simple questions so the paramedics know how to help her, he can't tell us how far along she is, when she first started having symptoms, when she even came in to the clinic that day, he can't tell us one damn thing to help and she's still in the stirrups bleeding to death. It turned out that she'd had an abortion yesterday, came back today because the pain was so bad and she couldn't stop bleeding, he said they missed something during the procedure. And to hear him say it, you'd think it was some kind of joke."

Voight kept his usual stone face the whole time Casey talked. Over the years the guys at 51 had worked with the 21st District enough to get a basic idea how Voight worked, but Casey was still worried that he hadn't gotten through to the sergeant.

"I follow so far, Matt, but why come to me?" Voight asked.

"Hank...that girl was bleeding out probably half an hour before we got her out of there, if that prick doctor had actually been there or bothered to answer any of the paramedics' questions, she could've been moved out in five minutes tops. Where was he while all that was going on? Why the hell was he hiding? He wasn't getting her chart ready, so what the hell was he doing all that time? He had to know she could die if we didn't move fast enough."

"Who called?" Voight asked.

Casey sighed. "I don't know. Nobody there would admit to calling 911, only one of the women working there even admitted there was a problem. This is not a one-time thing, Voight, I stake my career as a firefighter on that. Everybody in that whole place was cagey, watching our every move, you'd think we were going to find Fidel Castro if we just looked behind the right corner, nobody wanted us looking around too much."

"Were there other patients there?" Voight asked.

"I don't know, it's a big place, while I was screaming at the receptionist, the others were going around opening doors trying to find somebody that could help...and I heard them..." what little color had returned to Casey's face washed out of it again.

"What happened?"

"When we walked in...the place was clean enough, looked on the up and up...but you start opening doors and actually looking around, there're dried blood stains on the floors, roaches, garbage piled waist high in corners, Cruz came out puking, he said there was a tray full of surgical instruments that hadn't been cleaned...maybe ever, whatever was on them dried and stuck to them long ago."

"The doc know they saw any of that?"

"I'm not sure he even cared," Casey said. "The nurses, or whatever they're called, didn't want anyone looking around but they couldn't really stop us. This guy comes up all smiles, acts like everything's just fine. Herrmann doubled back screaming..." Casey lost any and all ability to speak for a few seconds as he tried to process what he'd found out. "What is it they say they do with the babies after the procedures? 'Dispose' of them? Incinerate them?" He grimly shook his head, and swallowed hard, trying not to throw up again. "They were there."

"What do you mean, there where?" Voight asked.

"In trash bags...in buckets...lined up all over the floor...Herrmann...he came back and looked like he was going to take the receptionist's head off just because she was there...I mean it's impossible that they don't have any idea what he's doing, that makes them just as guilty, right? How could anybody work there, and see this, and not report it?"

"Did you get the doctor's name?" Voight asked.

Casey wordlessly reached in his pocket and shoved a business card across the desk. "They really think you're going to refer people to this guy, there were about 50 cards on the front desk."

Voight picked up the card. "Dr. Nathan Goodson."

"That name mean anything to you?" Matt asked.

"Vaguely, heard it mentioned at some of the public functions I've had to attend, never heard anybody say what he specialized in," Voight said, "and since I don't go to doctors, I never asked what it was he does."

"Hank...this is a licensed doctor, a certified doctor, how the hell is he allowed to run his licensed clinic like some back alley butcher shop?" Casey wanted to know.

"Good question, if what you say is true, and I'm not questioning that, it sounds like this has been going on for a while, so where the hell is the Department of Health? They're supposed to inspect those places every year."

"Trust me, nobody is inspecting that place," Casey said. "Who's responsible for this?"

"I'll look into it," Voight told him. "You said this isn't the first time you guys responded to an abortion clinic...this isn't the first time you responded to one like this either, is it?"

Casey looked down and shook his head.

"There was another one shortly after I graduated the academy," Casey told him. "Same thing, 'person in distress', we get there...the paramedics can't even get through the front door with the gurney because it's too narrow, they're told to go around to the back door. One of the nurses was there, the back door was locked, nobody knew where the key was, nobody even remembered the last time the back door was unlocked. We bust down the door, paramedics go in...nobody was even trying to fool anyone that walked in. As soon as we set foot in the place, the smell...there were stains all over the floor, some still fresh, the place was dingy so you couldn't see a lot of stuff, half of the lights didn't even work, by the time the paramedics got to the procedure room, the woman was already dead. I looked down and I about threw up, there was a streak of blood that went from the corridor to the operating table...I was standing in it and didn't realize it."

Voight leaned back in his chair as he took in the younger man's story.

"What happened?" he asked, knowing that that wasn't all there was to Casey's recollection.

It was a few seconds before Matt could actually answer, he just stared ahead with a frozen look in his eyes.

"My lieutenant yelled at me to grow up and get a grip," Casey finally answered. "I looked around at the guys got a couple more years on the job than me and they all looked like they were going to be sick too. He was the only one that could stomach being there. He said to get used to it because we'd be getting a lot more calls like that, the neighborhood was lousy with chop shops like that, they responded to them all the time."

"Did you?"

Casey shook his head. "I got transferred to 51 before I had to be a part of that again. And since then, the only calls we've gotten have been to legitimate, by-the-book places."

Casey felt Voight's eyes boring a hole into him, he decided to beat the sergeant to the punch.

"Everybody thinks because I always wanted kids that I can't be non-subjective about this," Casey said. "I always had to prove I could do my job no matter what, we always have to disassociate from the people we try and save on the job no matter what...but maybe they're right. I can be okay with it as long as I'm not there and I'm not seeing what happens or the aftermath of it, as long as I don't have to think about what's happening...nobody can walk away from what happened today and not think about it."

"The issue isn't your personal bias," Voight told him. "But if we look into this case and actually go after this guy and arrest him based on information obtained by your sayso, we have to make sure the defense can't spin it around as being your own beliefs interfering with a legitimate doctor's work."

"There is nothing legitimate about this, everybody knows what they saw," Casey said, "And if the board of health or whoever isn't going there to keep an eye on things, that's not just a corrupt doctor, that's a conspiracy and you know it, Hank."

"I know," he replied, "and we're going to find out what's going on, in the meantime don't go trying to deal with this yourself, we're already going to kick over a hornet's nest, I don't need you riling them up. We want to catch them offguard before they have time to clean house."

Casey nodded. "I understand. I just...I needed to make sure you realized how serious this is."

"Trust me, Casey," Voight told him, "When we nail this guy, he gets tossed in gen pop, the murderers and rapists of Cook County are gonna eat him for lunch."

"Good," was all Casey said in response. He stood up and found his legs were still shaking.

"What're you doing here?" Casey asked Severide as he walked out of the district.

"What'd he say?" Kelly asked.

"He said he'd look into it, and he'd better, if he doesn't I'm going to fix that 'doctor' myself," Casey said as he walked to his truck.

"This really got you shaken up, didn't it?" Severide asked as he followed Casey to the curb.

"I thought that was obvious for everyone," Casey said.

"Nobody else stormed off to see Voight," Kelly pointed out.

Casey turned to him, and said only, "If I'm going to tell you, what I just told Voight...I need a stiff drink, and not at Molly's."

"I know a place," Kelly told him.