Flynt
A soft rhythmic beeping sounded in the background. An expensive looking machine with a petite black screen in the corner traced out angular lines of green phosphor in sync with the tempo. A twisted bundle of brightly colored electrical cables ran along the floor to a bed in the center of the room. A figure lay upon that bed, motionless except for a subtle rising and falling of the chest.
The bastard's still breathing...
Detective Flynt clenched his fists, the skin of his hands white and bloodless where it stretched tight over his knuckles. He had been the first one to come upon the macabre scene, and his instincts took over before he had a chance to apply conscious thought.
"Man down!" He shouted into the empty hallway. "I need assistance!" He ripped off his coat and wrapped it around the still gushing wound in the orderly's neck, folding it over and twisting tightly to add compression. The blood seeped through, despite the compress, and Flynt knew time was short. He drew in a deep breath and bellowed for aid once more, his voice deep and resonant.
This time his call was answered with the patter of running footsteps and concerned voices.
"I hope that emergency Doc you had is still on duty," Flynt spoke from his position on the floor, looking up as a host of institution staff rounded the corner, "and I hope he's got blood, lots and lots of blood..."
The staff took over then, moving as one creature, someone flourished a rolling gurney from behind a locked door and then they were rushing back the way they'd come, pattering feet and concerned voices receding just as quickly as they'd arrived.
Leaving Flynt all alone in the hallway, coat-less and covered up to his elbows in Blue's blood.
The smart thing would have been to figure out who had attacked him, and where they had gone. Smarter still to see the droplets of blood and shattered glass marking the floor and how it led to an emergency exit; to notice the patina of dust rubbed away by the handholds of some daring escapists.
But Flynt was done with playing things the smart way. He was still at odds with himself over rescuing this monster from a fate he had very clearly deserved.
What he needed now wasn't the myriad clues scattered around him, if only he'd choose to see them. No, Flynt didn't even want to be assigned to this case at the moment, much less solve it. What he needed now was a sink, a sink and a bar.
He had walked back the way he'd come, passing by the gatekeepers wordlessly, as they knew him by sight now. He palmed the massive warped double doors open and fumbled in his pants pocket for his car keys, sending out a silent thanks that he never kept them in his overcoat.
He selected the cruiser key and opened the door, relaxing his bulk into the leather interior as he keyed the ignition and drove exactly the way he felt, like a bat out of hell.
He pointed the headlights towards the nearest glimmer of neon. He remembered parking and getting out, nodding to the bouncer on his way in and ordering a beer and a shot.
Then another beer and a shot.
And then it was just shots.
And now he was here, in the Intensive Care wing of Brattleboro Hospital, staring at the man he'd just saved, and wishing he hadn't.
"You goddamned monster," he growled, "you couldn't leave well enough alone, could ya?"
No response from a comatose Blue sprawled out on the bed.
Somewhere between the first beer and the last shot, Flynt understood what had happened. Maybe it was his innate detective instincts solving the case even though his heart wasn't in it. Maybe it was just Flynt being hopeful that the girls had escaped the nightmare they'd been forced to call home. Either way, he had the truth of it.
"Where are they?" Flynt demanded, stepping towards the bed and wrapping his fingers around the thin material of Blue's hospital gown. The faint beeping surrounding the bed began to speed up in tempo.
The detective's teeth shone in a feral grin. "So you know I'm here, do ya?"
He looked over to where an IV line was pumping large doses of painkillers and sedatives into Blue's bloodstream. He pinched the line clamp shut and waited.
Flynt was rewarded as Blue's eyes shot open and he started to howl in pain. The noise was muffled abruptly as the detective clamped a hand over his mouth and instructed him in a harsh whisper.
"There's no one here but me now, Jones." Flynt told him. "Scream and you die. Are you gonna be quiet now?"
Blue's eyes widened in fear and his adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed, but he nodded. Flynt's captive was still, but the monitors around him beeped incessantly. his heart pounding so fast there was scarcely a pause between each tone.
"So now," Flynt counseled, "you're gonna tell me everything; what happened, what they did to you, and where they went. Nice and slow, right?"
Another nod.
The detective took his hand away but kept it close, in case Blue tried to yell for help. When he remained calm, Flynt kept one hand clenched in the thin hospital garb and waited for him to speak.
Blue began his story, his voice wavering slightly. "When-"
A noise behind Flynt startled both of them.
Police Captain Turner slammed the door open as he entered the room, interrupting Flynt's interrogation. His commanding presence and the two officers flanking him filled the tiny ICU.
"What in the name of the seven blue Hells is going on here, Detective?" He waited, urging Flynt to fill the expectant silence.
"I was questioning this suspect, sir." Flynt replied as he stepped back from the bed. He didn't dare look up at his Captain's face.
"He attacked me!" Blue yelped as he backed away from Flynt into a mess of tangled hospital sheets. He raised an accusatory finger at the detective.
The Captain was incredulous, stepping forward to look Flynt in the eye and glean the truth of this matter. As he did, the sharp tang of whiskey filled the air and Turner turned his face away with a sneer of disgust.
"Are you drunk?" He asked his detective, a severe frown pulling down his jowls and carving deep lines into his forbidding countenance.
"No, sir." Flynt reported, bending the truth only slightly. The rush of anger and adrenaline during his assault on Blue had sobered him up fairly thoroughly.
Captain Turner took one look between his detective and the patient and made a decision. "You're off this case, Detective."
"Sir?" Flynt questioned, this case had become his life and he wasn't about to abandon it.
"You never reported in after you went back to Lennox, and now I find you here, attacking the man you just saved? You're too close to it, Flynt. It's become too much and I'm pulling you out." He looked at his man's bedraggled form. "When was the last time you used your days off and took a vacation?"
"I just took one the other-"
"That was five years ago, Flynt," the Captain interrupted, "your honeymoon when you were still married. When you had a life."
Flynt seethed, but kept his mouth shut.
"You have two choices, Detective, either I send you back to the station and chain you to a desk for a few weeks, or you take some of that hard earned vacation time and use it." The Captain waited.
"I'll be in touch." Was Flynt's answer, grabbing his hat. One of the officers bracketing Captain Turner stood in his way. "Am I dismissed, sir?"
"Your weapon, Detective."
Flynt unholstered his gun and extra clip and dropped it into the outstretched hands of the waiting officer. With a growl, he shoved past him and out the door of the ICU.
Flynt rounded the corner and slumped against the wall, feeling his life, and his purpose, crumbling around him. Without this case, without these girls, what meaning did his life have? He didn't have anything worthwhile to go home to, just an empty apartment and a fridge full of condiments and takeout boxes.
Then an idea struck him.
He needed to make a phone call, one answer was all he needed, then he'd tell the Chief he was taking his vacation after all. He glanced at the front desk as he walked past it, suddenly re-energized. He saw the night receptionist seated by the phone, filing her perfectly shaped nails. *No*, he decided, *too public.*
Positioned just outside the entrance to the lobby was a phone booth. Flynt stepped inside, shutting the door as he selected a coin from within his pocket. He fished his moleskine out of his front shirt pocket and thumbed to a well worn page, it listed two numbers and a name. He debated, and then chose the one he'd never dialed before. Flynt picked up the receiver. A coin plunked into the steel belly of the machine and the line went live in his ear. He fitted a finger into the dialer and spun, impatiently watching the rotary spin as he spoke the next number under his breath. Finally the last number dialed and a faint ringing sounded in his ear. He counted the rings, cringing as they hit the double digits but needing to contact the person at the other end of the line.
"Hello?" A voice answered, groggy with sleep.
"Doctor." Flynt said.
"Who is this?" She asked, her mind still a bit hazy.
"It's Detective Flynt." He answered. *Or maybe just 'Flynt' from now on, if this crazy plan of mine actually works.*
Vera was instantly alert. "Detective, has there been a break in the case, Briar, Raquelle?"
"No, no, nothing of that sort." *At least not yet...* He realized he was fumbling his words and took a breath to settle himself.
"I need some information."
"Well of course, Detective, we've gone over their files and in the morning we can-"
"There will be no 'in the morning' for me, Doctor, I'm off the case." He interrupted her, hating himself.
"But why?" She asked him. "You've done nothing but exceptional work when it comes to my case."
"I..." Flynt paused, reluctant to admit the downfall caused by his fool temper. "I forcefully interrogated Jones."
"But isn't he in-"
"The Intensive Care Unit at Brattleboro Hospital after the attack, yes."
She hissed in sympathy. "Then we have a problem."
"That's the short of it, yes."
"Then why this phone call," she cut to the chase,"if you're off the case?"
"Captain Turner offered me two options, vacation leave or desk work."
"Of the two you chose...?"
"To take my vacation leave." He finished.
"And you are...inviting me?" She queried.
Flynt laughed, despite himself, "That might be a bit suspicious, Doctor, especially after I tell you the location I plan on visiting."
"What location would that be, Detective?"
"I was hoping you could tell me." Flynt gathered his courage. "The files contained information about where the two sisters were found. Though what I found very odd was that there was no mention of the hometown they were born in."
"Sometimes patient histories are incomplete, Detective." Vera was vague, hesitant to give this man, a proven ally but still a relative unknown, information known only to her.
"I'm well aware of that, Doctor, I was wondering if they had revealed that information to someone they felt safe with, someone like you."
Vera considered his request, weighing the options and probable consequences. "If you go there, Flynt, and you find them, what would you do? Imprison them again? Leave them to perish in a life of never ending torture and abuse?"
Why was he going? Flynt didn't rightly know himself. He just knew that he had to get there, had to find them before any of the others did. Once he found them he could-
What, Flynt, protect them from harm? A voice inside his head sneered. They're all murderers, emotionless butchers, just like you.
"I want-" he faltered, "I want to help them, Vera." He realized he'd never said her name out loud before.
A long pause on the other end of the line, and then a singular word.
"Plainfield." She told him. "They come from Plainfield, Connecticut."
Furious scribbling sounded over the phone a the detective wrote down the city. "Thank you, Doctor, thank you so much."
"You're welcome." A short pause, and then, "Flynt, what is your first name?" Vera asked him, curious.
Flynt was taken aback, he hated his first name. "Why?" He asked, suddenly defensive.
"It's not on your card." She informed him. "And I wanted to know."
"Oh." He winced, blushing as he said his name. "It's Lancelot..."
"Really?" She asked in disbelief, an eyebrow raising. "Hmm, I suppose Briar's not the only one aptly named for this journey."
"I'd appreciate if you kept that information to yourself, Doctor." The detective sounded positively sheepish.
"Don't worry, Flynt, your secret's safe with me." She assured him.
"Thank you Doctor, and goodnight, you probably won't be seeing me for quite some time."
"You're welcome," she told him, "and Flynt..." She continued, hesitating for just a moment. "You can call me Vera, anyone who makes midnight phone calls to confess the need to rescue my girls from danger has earned that."
A warm feeling, wholly surprising and unexpected, filled the detective and he found himself at unaccustomed ease. "Goodnight, Vera." He bid her farewell, hanging up the receiver with a soft click.
At the other end of the line, Vera did the same, smiling to herself as she turned away from the telephone. My very own Lancelot*, she mused, *off to do battle with dragons.
