Revenge Part 2
Revenge Part 2
Inside the confines of the van she regained consciousness only to find her arms and legs tied spread eagle to what she did not know. Fear gripped her as she struggled to free herself thinking she was in the torture chamber of a sadomasochistic demon. Her heart pounded in her chest, and the screams that emanated from her throat were stifled by the gag in her mouth. She felt pain all over not knowing what he had been doing to her body. She looked down to see her blouse had been torn open and her bra was missing, along with her skirt and panties. She shook her head and pulled violently at the bindings demanding release, and then she felt the blow of the gloved fist smash into her face. The pain was excruciating leaving her disoriented. She stopped resisting trying to get her bearings. She had to think, use her mind to get out of what seemed like a hopeless situation. She was at his mercy. He had the power over life and death, and she knew from all the cases she'd worked it was usually death that ended most similar struggles. She thought of the irony, to give years to law enforcement, peering over victims meting out clues at a crime scene with the mission of finding a murderer, and now it would be one of her colleagues staring at her tortured corpse, and in a location considered to be the safest in the city, on her own turf at Parker Center. A scream manifesting from the deepest recess of her soul made its way to her mouth registering the overwhelming terror bursting from within. She was going to die here. She felt another blow to her head, and this time she barely held consciousness. She was sobbing, and had she been able to speak she would have been begging for her life.
There was no doubt in her mind he was a monster for what he did, deriving pleasure from her intense pain. She knew the fear in her eyes only goaded him to more wicked acts. Her tormented body was shrieking from the stick he had beaten her with and she recoiled at the thought of any other tools of abuse he'd use against her. She knew she had been sexually assaulted, but couldn't remember it, thinking she'd been unconscious at the time. He placed the serrated blade of the large hunter's knife to her neck causing her to gasp into the gag. She knew he would slit her throat and her life would be over. The point flitted against her carotid artery and then he made a three inch grazing cut causing her to bleed. "Do not struggle against me, or I'll go deeper," he said, his head was donned in a leather mask, and the smell of his breath and reeking body odor caused bile to rise in her throat. He manhandled her breasts evoking groans of agony to escape her, the pain numbing, and then she felt his mouth biting hard breaking her skin. He was a despicable creature capable of inflicting vile acts, but this she had not anticipated. He reached down and cut free the straps holding her legs. He flipped her over causing her body to contort harshly since her arms were still bound, and then she felt it, the pain so insidious and excruciating stars danced in her eyes, and she sobbed hoping to black out to free herself from this misery, and the last thing to transverse her mind was the baby she would never hold.
She came to and was on her back again, and he was over her with his leather mask pressed into her face and he spoke in a growl, "Paybacks are hell, aren't they," he laughed demonically having enjoyed brutalizing her, "now you know what it's like to be fucked over. Just so you know I'm making a deal with you, I'm going to let you live, but I'll be doing this again someday. I'll stalk you and wait for a convenient time. You'll be thinking of me the rest of your life, Chief Johnson. That's my little agreement with you. And I'm good for my word, just like you." He laughed sinisterly.
She knew the eyes. She had seen them before but couldn't place them. From his words he was someone she'd come in contact with along the way, obviously seeking revenge against her. Was it Atlanta, D.C or LA? There had been so many damn cases she didn't know, and with that thought she felt the sting of the stun gun on her chest.
Sergeant Gabriel didn't think he was going to be long finishing the last details on the Reed case, but he was so engrossed in his work that when he looked at his watch ninety minutes had ticked away. Laundry and packing were on the agenda for the evening and with his flight leaving at 5:30 he'd more than likely be up all night. He took his report to Chief Johnson's office and dropped it in the wire basket. She always scrutinized every report before giving her stamp of approval. Every detective in the squad was exceptionally qualified, and she needlessly proofed reports clearly demonstrating her overworking micromanagement style controlling a case down to the last dotted I and crossed T.
He knew something was up seeing her flushed face. It was never hot in her office, and if it had been she would've taken off her blazer. She must have forgotten he was a detective. Well schooled in reading people, he could spot her lie a mile away. He decided not to call her on it since he suspected it was something with Fritz. Over the past few years he'd come to know her quite well, and she conveniently changed the subject at the mention of Fritz's name. More often than not it's what hasn't been said that is most telling. Who exactly stays late on a Friday night with the start of a holiday weekend anyway? Everyone wants to get the heck out of Dodge, unless you're intentionally staying. And she didn't bother to say goodbye when she left. She and Fritz were in a fight there was no doubt in his mind. He noticed the drawer to her desk was left open. He thought it unusual since she normally locked it tight. He leaned over to close it and found it heaping with candy bars and had to smile. He heard his stomach growl and reached to take one, but thought better of it since she undoubtedly had them catalogued, and it wouldn't be right to prowl around in her desk anyway. He closed the drawer, and turned to go.
Sergeant Gabriel had been a basement dweller, and it was his least favorite of parking places. The hour was late and the garage was empty except for his black Jeep 4x4 calling his name. Making his way to the SUV he heard the start of a car engine in a realm above him thinking some other poor bastard had been working late too. He started his car and checked his phone while the engine warmed. He saw that Irene had left a text message for him to call when he had a minute. He hit the speed dial on his phone, but was disappointed in having to leave a voice message. He backed out of the space and began the circle up two levels for the exit. As he turned the corner with one level to go he noticed the Chief's light blue Crown Vic sitting in a space ahead. He thought it odd, being under the impression she had left the office well ahead of him. Approaching the car he noticed the interior dome light was illuminated, and as he passed, the driver's door was slightly ajar and what appeared to be a cell phone scattered in pieces on the concrete. His heart jumped out of his chest knowing something was definitely amiss. He put his car in park taking his cell with him, and rushed to the Chief's driver's door. He gasped as he peered through the window seeing her naked on the seat bloodied and beaten and he wasn't sure if she was alive. "Oh, my God…Oh my God, Chief," he said, as he opened the car door. He called out her name, and she moved her hand to her face and moaned. Thank God she wasn't dead. He was halfway in the car, but stepped out and placed the "officer down, in need of assistance" call. In two minutes the cavalry would arrive. He rushed to the passenger side and opened the door and checked the cut on her neck. Coagulated blood was oozing from the wound and he took the clean handkerchief from his coat pocket and applied pressure. He could see puffiness and bruising form over her fair complexion. Her lip was split and bleeding and a trickle of blood pooled around her left nostril. She was groggy from the beating and coming to she opened her eyes and whispered, "Sergeant Gabriel, help me. I'm hurt." She reached her hand in a gesture for his and he quickly gave it to her.
"Chief," he said, close to her ear, "I'm here, it's gonna be OK, just hang in there." He gently caressed the side of her face with the palm of his hand. He didn't know what else to do for her. He quickly glanced at her body and was repulsed at her injuries. Tears sprang to his eyes and then he spoke close to her ear, choking out the words, "hang in there, it'll be all right I have help coming."
Tears pooled in Brenda's eyes and slid down the side of her face, "my baby, God, please let my baby be alright." She kept repeating it, and Gabriel found it hard to maintain his composure.
"Chief, it'll be all right. Don't worry," he said, his voice breaking up. He continued caressing the side of her face unable to speak unemotionally, and felt his own tears slipping from his eyes.
In the matter of minutes the garage was swarming with LAPD uniforms and EMT's. They quickly loaded the Chief in an ambulance taking her to Cedars Sinai Hospital, and the investigation to the ghastly crime against one of their own had begun.
Fritz was glad he called and told her the words he said he'd never stop saying, but it was the depth of sadness he heard in her voice that had him bewildered wishing she was already home so he could take her into his arms and apologize. They needed to talk, and she seemed willing. He wanted to get to the bottom of her aggravation, which he understood to be him, along with the unwelcome pregnancy. He hoped somehow he could make her happy, but in his present dispirited mood it seemed an impossible task. He looked at his watch and thought she'd be home just before one A.M. and he set about clearing the table of his gun cleaning supplies. His nine year run of perfection had come to a screeching halt. He even had a cheering section, a group of agents wanting to see a record set. Never had the annual weapons qualification meant so much, and he was determined to earn his perfect score for the tenth year in a row. He used his Heckler and Koch 45 caliber universal self loading pistol, a semi-automatic, which was like an extension of his right hand. In fact he looked at his sidearm as a permanent part of his body, significant as his heart and lungs. He was never without it since it saved his life too many times. He had to acquire special permission to carry the H&K since it wasn't department issue, and although the Sig Sauer was a reputable weapon the German made H&K not only fit his hand better, but had an excellent record for reliability and safety. When it counted most he didn't want a gun that jammed or exploded into his hand in the event of an ammunition overload.
He wanted and early start to fire a few practice rounds, but chose to be with Brenda instead. He wasn't regretful about that, only the argument and anger they had left each other with, and he took it to the range with him. Qualifying meant meeting the standards in marksmanship with engaging targets in particular ways, such as shooting at several marks at once, or on the move maneuvering around barriers and the most difficult, at least for him, was using his weak hand. It wasn't an easy assignment since each event was timed, and Fritz had taken pride in the fact he'd scored well for so many years, but thinking about Brenda he lacked the concentration needed and flat out missed a target, the whole sheet entirely and dually noted the gasp coming from his audience. His final score was a ninety nine and it was a major disappointment. He knew he'd forever be known as the guy who choked under pressure, but was moved when his fellow agents came to congratulate him anyway. The only reason for this he fathomed was that he could shoot far better than any one of them.
He cleaned his gun earlier in the evening tearing it apart and removing the black carbon dust within the barrel and working parts. Take care of your weapon and it will take care of you couldn't be truer. He was meticulous with cleaning and oiling his gun after each practice session at the range, which occurred a few times each month, and he always grabbed Brenda's nine millimeter Sig and cleaned it too. Even though her gun wasn't used very often he wanted to make sure it remained in good working order, dirt was the biggest culprit for a gun not firing and he never wanted her in a situation where this occurred.
He picked up his extra magazine and filled it with Winchester Ranger T's, 45 caliber bullets used mainly by those in law enforcement. They were known as "man stoppers" in that they could take out a criminal with one hit. Upon impact the bullets would mushroom open and razor-like "talon" edges could rip and carve a large hole into the person immediately taking out vital organs sending them to the ground disabling them from returning fire. Fritz couldn't begin to guess the number of law enforcement lives saved by the use of these bullets alone, and with that they were the only ones he put in his weapon.
He was worried. She should have been home thirty minutes ago, and her cell went directly to voice mail. He called her office number hoping she was still there perhaps sidetracked by something unexpected, which had always been her convenient excuse. But he ruled that out since she sounded exceptionally tired and ready to come home. Uneasiness settled over him and with the passing of ten more minutes and his inability to contact her he retrieved his jacket and headed for the door. Thinking her car was broken down on the side of the road, or a worse scenario that she'd been hurt in a car accident, he intended to find her. He opened the door to an LAPD uniform who was ready to ring the bell. Fritz stood frozen unable to speak. He felt the blood drain from his face and his stomach rolled because this could only mean bad news. He tried to remain calm and listen through the roaring in his ears hoping he wouldn't say she was killed in a car accident.
He was matter of fact, "Agent Howard, I'm Officer Wenzel, LAPD. I'm here to inform you that your wife has been injured and I'm to escort you to Cedar's Sinai."
Fritz thinking she'd been in a car accident asked quickly, "How bad is she?"
"I'm sorry, Sir. I wasn't given any details. I was told to bring you to Cedars. The orders came from Chief Pope," he said, earnestly.
"Chief Pope," Fritz asked confused, "Was she involved in a car accident?"
"No, Sir," said Officer Wenzel. He spoke slowly and grudgingly, "Chief Johnson was assaulted in the parking garage at Parker Center. I was given no other information regarding her condition, only to bring you to the hospital."
He couldn't deny being relieved that Brenda wasn't killed, but tension coursed through his veins at the thought of her being assaulted. How… and what type of injuries did she sustain? "What kind of assault are we talking here," he gasped.
"I'm sorry, sir. I can't tell you anything because I don't know."
He sounded forthright and honest so Fritz didn't push him. It was just like Pope to send an uninformed officer, forgoing an immediate phone call to him directly. "I don't need Pope's escort," Fritz blurted out, "I can drive myself." The loving husband, the one that meant most to her was the last to know, and more than likely her whole squad was there trying to solve the crime. The slightest mark of anger was writing itself on his heart and he was doing his best to wipe it away. He didn't need this right now. He locked the door and stepped onto the porch. He could feel a trickle of sweat run down his back, and a slick sheen had formed over his brow.
