Okay, keep the following in mind: I'm not a medic, neither a Vietnam War expert. I'm not even an author. Just someone who seems to have too much time on her hands. Which... I don't. So forgive me when it takes another month to get the next and probably last chapter going.
Further notes see part 1)
Chapter 4
Somehow it felt like time was slowing down, intensifying the feeling that the she was losing the reins. Inch by inch they were slipping through her fingers and she had to remind herself that she was a cop, had to keep cool and should definitely not run around like a beheaded chicken about to be stooped into boiling water. She was in a bullpen, familiar grounds. That was helping. There was Hanson next to her… already giving instruction that they needed entry to the morgue NOW and the paramedics on stand-by.
"Jo, get him out of there," Abe pleaded next to her and she looked back at the old man who was looking on the verge collapsing.
"Abe, sit down!" She commanded and led him back to the chair where he sank down shakily. "What do you know? Talk to me!"
She knew she sounded harsher than intended and felt bad about it but she would apologize later.
"I think I know who the man is," Abe said without taking his eyes off the screen.
Jo knew what he was looking at. And as long as there was something to look at they were safe. As long as he was down there in the morgue, bleeding and suffering, he was safe. As long as he kept breathing Henry would be okay. The thought hurt like nothing else and she swallowed the bile that was threatening to embarrass her to no end.
"Go on!" she demanded in a calm voice and was content to see Abe's eyes concentrate on her.
"His name is John… John something… wait… " He closed his eyes, squeezed them shut and she could see the wheels in his head turning, remembering. "John Carson … Carlson. Something like that. I'm not sure."
"Carson," Hanson suddenly stood next to them with Lieutenant Reece in tow. The dark-skinned woman looked at the screen, her expression carefully masked. "John Carson." Hanson repeated with a look at the notebook in his hands. "The name is on the list. But it's crossed out. What does that mean?"
Hanson handed over the small item when Abe threw a questioning glance at it. "May I?" He asked and cradled it for a moment, wiping his fingers over the leathery binding before opening. His eyes scurried over neatly written pages. Dozens of them. The book was almost filled up to the last pages where names were written down in large letters, about 30, Jo guessed, with a dozen or so crossed out and barely readable. Five or six names on each page.
"The book was Teddy's. Everyone used to make fun of it, that it was stupid to write a diary under these circumstances but he kept doing it."
"Teddy?" Lieutentant Reece mouthed without uttering a sound and Jo answered in a calm tone.
"Theodor Billy Walner. Our vic."
"What about the names, Abe? Why is your name on it?"
The old man harrumphed and visibly tried to brace himself. "The names, the crossed out ones, they're dead. We… thought they were killed by the Viet Cong." His gaze went far away, somewhere above Jo's right shoulder as he continued. "There was this rumor in 'Nam, you know. Every soldier knew about it and we were making fun about it. It was ridiculous. "
"Rumor? What rumor?" Jo prompted when Abe's voice drifted off.
"That one dead American was worth 500 American Dollars," he answered steadily, looking at Jo. "They told us it was just a tactical way to demoralize us. I guess we were wrong to suspect it was a myth."
"What has this got to do with our morgue?" Hanson questioned, looking puzzled for a moment before his forehead creased, eyebrows touching. "Are you… are trying to tell us, someone killed his own comrades in the middle of a war for money?"
"Not someone but Teddy!" Abe sighed. "He was a strange guy. Very reserved and … I don't know … off. Never talked much. We always thought he was just shy but then…" He sat up a little straighter and taking another look at the screen (Henrys legs were still there, Lucas still bent over him) he took a deep breath, his voice getting stronger but more tired at the same time. "Then some men wound up dead. There was no investigation. It was the middle of 'Nam for God's sake. But men kept dying and of course the Charlies*1)… The Viet Cong I mean were blamed. It was their specialty… staying hidden. Killing us and thereby never been seen. But… we all suspected something but no one ever dared voicing the accusation."
"TB Walner killed his own comrades, soldiers. And he was being paid for it," Jo summed up, careful and disbelieving simultaneously. "By whom? The Viet Cong?"
"I don't know. We never had any proof. Just talk. Until now." Unconsciously the grip of his fingers around the notebook hardened and Abe looked down on it, studying every single name, crossed out or not. For a few seconds he stared at his own name. "This is really hard. I usually… don't talk about it."
"It's okay Abe. Just try to remember. What about John Carson? Why is he crossed out when he is obviously down in the morgue?"
It took Abe a few seconds to form the words and when he did he sounded hoarse. Like his body tried to sabotage the spoken truth. "John Carson was shot in the head. We found him on one of our morning routes. We thought he was dead, called in the medics and … went on. It was… it wasn't a nice view. And then, a few hours later, Peter stepped on a landmine. There was nothing left of him and we knew we had lost two good men within 12 hours. Later we found out that John had been alive when the medics arrived but after that… never heard of him again. I didn't know he was alive at all."
"Okay," Hanson summed up. "We have a dead serial killer on the table, killed by one of his almost-victims. A serial killer who got paid to kill his own men and never spent the money. Why? Remorse?"
Jo slowly nodded. "Possibly."
"So then why was he killed now?"
"Because John knew who had tried to kill him but had kept his demons at bay," Abe replied, his eyes back on the screen, watching as the broken man stood in one corner of the room, swaying lightly and gesturing wildly at no one.
"He's lost his mind then?" Reece spoke out loud what the others were thinking.
"You can't keep up the illusion of normalcy forever when you carry around this kind of knowledge. Maybe medication kept him more or less from going mad over the years but sooner or later everyone breaks." Abe sighed gravely. "It's usually the dead ones who get the easy way out while the living ones have to suffer."
The old man looked into her eyes and she had the impression he didn't merely talk about John Carson.
oOoOo
Lucas Wahl was used to blood. He was used to a lot of things regarding the human body. Mutilation, disembowelment, ripped of arms, legs, heads. He had seen countless motorcycle accident victims, burn victims; rotten, bloated, mummified corpses. One time there was the case of a man whose skin of arm and shoulder had been ripped off by an accident in a large automobile factory. It was safe to say he was used to everything that related to bodily damage. Of course, he usually only got to see them after the person had died of its injuries and couldn't complain. So when he pressed down on the hole that had been ripped in his boss' torso and the man gave a pained scream he almost jumped up in fright and panic.
Almost.
He pressed down harder, feeling strangely dismayed by the way the blood was still warm on his skin. The flesh under his unrelenting fingers was twitching and moving, protesting against the additional pain that was being inflicted on it by the pressure. During his studies he had worked in several hospital units and the reason why he had eventually chosen a path as medical examiner came back to him with a vengeance.
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry…," he kept repeating as he watched his boss grit his teeth.
Cutting open someone who didn't care anymore was much MUCH easier than trying to keep someone alive.
The puncture wound was small and just below Henry's ribs on the right side. He had no idea how deep the wound was but he knew the efficiency of a scalpel's blade. It cut through the flesh like it was butter and could do lots of damage no matter how small the entry wound. The deeper the wound, the higher the possibility of vital parts of the liver or other organs being damaged.
"Liver laceration, grade III, probably higher," Henry pressed between clenched teeth. "Keep pressure on the wound. Right lungs could be affected. Not sure yet. It's hard… to breath."
"Then stop talking!" Lucas ordered, apologizing again for ordering his boss around. "Sorry, boss."
"Stop apologizing!" Henry ordered back.
"Sorry," he replied automatically and flinched when Henry tried to sit up straighter, lifting himself up with his hands pressed against the cold floor and thereby trying in vain to take pressure off his injured side. "I'm not used to my patients trying to defend themselves."
"Well you can't do much wrong when your patient is dead," Henry dead-panned and Lucas swallowed, his mouth suddenly gone dry. "Sorry."
"It's okay, I'm…" Suddenly Henry's eyes widened and a loud, echoing crash made Lucas swirl his head around in fright, expecting an attack. He had almost forgotten about the other man who was momentarily on a rampage through the morgue. The loud crash was the sound of another metal tray crashing against the doors on the other side of the room, far enough from their position near Henrys office that Lucas was more or less positive that the old man's attention wasn't momentarily on himself and Henry.
The old man started yelling incoherently, crying and begging, while holding his head. Another loud crash followed as he slipped on a piece of equipment and stumbled. His shoulder crashed against the cabinet near the entrance and the large furnishing shook for a moment before coming back to a halt.
Henry's left hand grabbed his wrist, pressed his fingers in flesh in a weak attempt to remove his arms from pressing down on the wound. "Lucas! Get yourself in safety."
"Safety?" He replied nonplussed. "It's not like I can walk out of here, boss. And…"
"Get into my office, lock up the door! Hide! He'll forget you're here when he can't see you." Henry sounded anxious but resolute which made Lucas nervous. There was an urgency in his superior's voice that made the hair in his neck rise.
"I have to keep pressure on…"
"No, you need to get yourself out the line of fire."
"No, I'm not leaving you here. Not going to happen." He was determined. Terribly afraid but also determined.
"All due respect for your self-abandonment but this is bordering on subordination."
"Can't see anyone disciplining me here," Lucas retorted, surprised that his voice sounded much more steady and strong than he was feeling. Then, in a rush of adrenalin that had his head swimming, he added: "So shut up and let me safe your life."
The expression in Henry's face would have been funny if it hadn't been for the small trace bloody bubbles that escaped with Henrys pained moan of exasperation.
"Oh God!" Lucas murmured and pressed down harder, ignoring the pounding in his head that had risen a notch or two.
oOoOo
"This is a terrible idea!" Jo repeated, looking sideways at Lieutenant Reece's stony face while they were following Abe. The old man's step – rather shaky when he had heaved himself off the chair he'd been sitting at for the last hour – were now determinedly aiming towards the large door that lead into the basement. Somehow, the thought of using the elevator sent chills down Jo's neck and it seemed like Abe felt the same way. "We have no idea how Carson might react. He might…"
"He might what? Attack our medical Examiners?"
"Well, yes!"
"Too late for that, Detective. We can't afford to do nothing. And if there's a chance of redirecting Carson's anger towards someone or something else than two injured men … that's our chance. Especially when that someone is behind bulletproof glass."
"I don't like it."
"You don't have to like it. Deal with it! Understood?"
"Yes Ma'am," Jo replied, crestfallen. The Lieutenant nodded at her and Abe then turned towards Hanson who was holding the receiver of his phone into the air with his hand clamped over the mouthpiece. "The CDC wants an update," he informed her, holding out the device for her to take it.
Jo turned towards Abe who was watching her with an expression she couldn't quite decipher.
"It's going to be fine," the old man assured, giving her a crooked smile. "Henry is tough."
"What if not?" She lowered her voice, making sure no one was around to hear them. "What if he dies and goes poof on camera? Not to forget Lucas."
Abe did not reply, instead opened the heavy door and made his way down the stairs. Jo close on his heels.
The oh-so-helpful IT guy had promised them entry to the morgue in 20 minutes – give or take. Which, Jo thought, was about two hours too late. They couldn't afford to wait, she knew that. They had to act. Even if it was to just bridge the gap of 20 minutes. But she also knew that whatever they did was an equation with enough variables to solve the Big Bang Theory. They reached the bottom landing and Abe had his hands on the handle, about to open the door and step into sight of the morgue.
"Abraham… wait!"
"He will be fine. They will be."
"You don't know that."
"No, I don't but there isn't much I can do about that, my dear." He opened the door and went through.
oOoOo
The heavy door behind him swung back slowly with a swooshing sound but without the residing click that indicated that the door had closed. Abe stood for a moment, orienting himself. He'd been here before once or twice and he knew the layout. The entry to the morgue was about 10 feet to his left and with the whole front being glass he had a full view to the inside. Having the scene on a wide screen was bad enough but now it seemed even worse.
It was loud, though slightly muffled. The banging, the clashing, the screaming. Pained sounds of a hurt animal. And they didn't come from either Lucas or his father. They came from John.
The old man - for a second Abe stumbled over the fact that he considered his old comrade an old man; he couldn't actually be much older than himself – was yelling at the wall. Only God knew what it was he saw there but it must've been bad.
"John!" Abe begun but his voice was dismayingly small. "John!" He said again, firmer now and stepped closer to the glass front. The moment his counterpart saw him he reacted badly enough that Abe almost jumped.
"NO! Go away! Leave me alone!" Some mumbled gibberish, then, "It's all your fault!"
John grabbed the side of a cupboard and pulled, as if trying to barricade himself from the imagined ghosts of the past. "No! Go away!"
Abe finally had the strength to look further into the room which looked like a battlefield of scattered glittering equipment. The white sheet which had covered the body of Walner had fallen and lay entangled on the floor. Back against the wall near his father's office Henry and Lucas were still sitting on the floor. Lucas still bent over his father's torso, pressing down on it. Hidden on the screen so far it was now apparent that John had indeed injured his father. His right side was covered in blood. Not bad enough that he was in immediate danger of blood-loss but bad enough that Abe could see that it could mean anything or nothing.
But his father was alive. That was all that counted for now. And for the first time in life Abraham feared – actually feared – the implications of his only relative's imminent death. And he wished he could talk to him. Make him understand. Abe had not lied when he'd told Jo he didn't know whether Henry was aware of the fact that the river was frozen. It wasn't like they planned ahead the numerous deaths his father encountered to speculate about possible outcome.
Maybe Abe should start doing just that. Make his father see that his death could have consequences that didn't involve reports for improper public nakedness. Maybe he'd get one of those nifty chalkboards where he could write down important notes like
Pay electricity bill.
Pick up stuff from dry cleaning
Don't die - Lake is frozen
Love, Abe
Abe could feel a hysteric bubble of laughter rise up in his throat and his eyes met with his father's.
Abraham, Henry's lips formed silently and from the distance Abe could see blood dripping over his lips. So, the injury was not a mere flesh wound.
That was bad. Really bad.
Lucas looked up as well, his face a grimace of both consternation and tenacity. He nodded barely perceptible and Abe wasn't quite sure what the small movement meant. A greeting? A "things are going to be fine"? A promise?
Abe looked back to John who was stumbling, holding himself upright against the wall like a drunken seaman trying to find his way home. He was trembling, shaking with an intensity that Abe wondered how he could be possibly standing at all. And he was distancing himself from the front wall, thereby getting closer to Henry and Lucas, who were eyeing him fearfully. Abe could see the way Lucas's eyes wandered to the office door and he knew the young man was torn between staying with his fallen boss and getting himself to safety. But he stayed, stubbornly, while John was getting closer to them, unpredictably staggering in their direction.
Abe stepped closer and pounded against the window panes that didn't budge a bit.
"No, John. Come here, talk to me."
The other man didn't even to hear him, caught in his delusion, the scalpel still clutched in his fingers. It did not glint anymore, being crusted with dried blood. Abe suppressed the need to vomit and yelled once more "John, dammit!" His yell left behind a film of condensed breath on the glass.
Less than four feet were left between John and the two men on the floor.
"Attention, soldier!" Abe hollered out of reflex and to his astonishment John stood still, his body tensing under an automatic reaction born out the instinct for survival.
Critical seconds passed and Abe feared the peaceful moment would break into pieces like a firecracker at New Year's Eve.
Lucas cowered over Henry, staring at their attacker with a defiant expression. Now it was his turn to keep a protective stance, while Abe held his breath, waiting for another unexpected turn of events. Nothing happened for a few more seconds until John slowly turned his head, looking at Abe with eyes as round as saucers. His lips were trembling, the sharp weapon between his fingers twitching unconsciously.
"I know you…You are on the list?" John asked in an awed tone and it was more a statement than a question. His voice was muffled and Abe more read from his former comrade's lips than actually heard it. "You..." John's face fell, terrified and close to tears. "You are one of them." The last words merely whispered. But Abe didn't have to hear the words to know what he was talking about.
"Yes, yes I am." Abe swallowed, not sure whether he was talking to stall time or because he wanted to know more. Wanted to understand. "Yes, it's me.. uhm... Abe. Abe Morgan. Do you…" He was aware of the hammering of his heart, the perspiration on his hairline. "You remember me." It wasn't a question, more a statement, but John answered anyway.
"Abe?" John seemed to shrink and his energy poured out of him like the light out of a dying supernova. "Am I… dead?"
Abe's mouth went dry. He was too old for this kind of drama.
"No, John, you're not dead. We are not dead. You are alive. Don't you see? Look around."
For a moment John's fervor wavered in synch with his physical rush before he braced himself.
"He killed me." His eyes wandered to the dead body who wasn't even provided with the dignity of a sheet covering his cooling remains. "He shot me. Straight in the head." He paused and Abe didn't dare breathing, afraid of losing his attention. "Said he was doing what was best for me and that… we couldn't go on like this."
"I know…" Abe answered and felt his father's eyes on himself. "Those days… they were bad. I remember."
"Bad?" John huffed disbelievingly. "Bad was my mum's turkey." He laughed, hysterically.
"What happened, John." Abe stressed. "What happened before he shot you?"
Behind the curtain of stringy hair John's eyes seemed to clear up a little.
"Teddy said it was for the best. That he was helping us to get out of here. He said, he…" Another raspy laughter. "…wanted to save us."
Somehow, the situation was even made worse when Abe realized that it all made sense. Sense in a way that only those could understand who had gone through the hell Vietnam had been. All those weeks and months… retrospectively they had been nothing more than a constant situation of impending death. Death by an ambush, death by a stray bullet, death by a land mine, death by random machete. Abe's mind was flooded with memories of himself feeling jealous of his dead comrades who had left him and the other survivors behind. They had found a way to escape the constant misery. It was an excruciatingly painful memory that was only being topped by the feeling of guilt when he had come home, alive and physically unharmed.
The only reason he hadn't succumbed to his dark thoughts was sitting behind this transparent wall, bleeding all over and unaware of the actual danger beyond dying.
"Nothing can hurt you and Teddy is dead. Look at him. He's the dead one now. John, you are alive. You are safe now and you are alive."
John slowly turned his head to look at the dead man but there was no recognition in his eyes. Just confusion.
"No…" Slowly he shook his head. "No. I'm not. They wouldn't be here if I were."
"Who? Who is here?"
"The list, don't you see? They want the list. They want their names back. And their lives. Their chance that was wasted to him." John gestured at Teddy. "I have to give it to them."
Abe swallowed. "You just did, John."
Behind him Abe could hear movement, the slow grinding sound of the heavy door being opened and he was about to panic. Not now, he was this close to getting to John but then he realized the arriving of the cavalry could only mean one thing.
It was hard to refrain from ripping the door open and rush inside. So, slowly, he reached out his hand and put it against the bar to open it. He pushed softly, then a little harder and the moment the door opened inwardly there an almost inaudible whizzing sound.
He pushed harder then heard Jo's voice behind. "Abe, don't"
He kept walking, almost creeping and pushed the door more open, inch by inch.
"You did it John. The truth is what gives them rest now. Us, you and me. Please, just put the scalpel down and we can talk. Tell me more about it. We have the list. We now have all the names. We even have the money. It's all there…" Abe's words slurred, his tongue stumbling over the need to keep talking while his thoughts wandered to count his options as well as his distance to John. But who was he kidding. He was an old man. It wasn't like he could jump over those tables and tackle John before the other man could reach Lucas and his father. All he had was words. And he intended to use them with all his might, thank you very much.
"Abraham," his father's voice sounded weak yet commanding but he ignored it.
"Please, John. Don't hurt them anymore."
John started moaning, his left hand finding the side of his head. The hand with the bloody scalpel dangerously close to Lucas. Then he stumbled sideways, almost falling over Henry's outstretched legs and his feet got caught in the fallen sheet. Roaring in anger he fell down hard.
Lucas shrieked, Henry cried out and the situation got faster out of control than Abe could get his legs to move. Scrambling back on his knees John started hissing something unintelligible, his attention now on the two helpless men next to him.
Abe's fear made his stomach cramp. "NO!" Then his ear drums exploded simultaneously with his cry of anguish as next to him a gun was cocked and released.
*1) Viet Cong was commonly shortened to VC, which in the NATO phonetic alphabet is pronounced "Victor-Charlie", which gave rise to the further shortened, "Charlie" designation (Source: . /2013/04/why-the-viet-cong-were-called-charlie-during-the-vietnam-war/)
