"Hey Vick!" Jake said as he pushed the double doors open. Sara had departed, saying something about a personal call. He shrugged and moved on to see what the medical examiner had to offer.
He entered and there was no one there. The desk lamp was on, as usual, probably overheating. He saw a clean lab and no Vick.
"Vick?" He shouted again. "Vicky?"
No answer.
He walked through the lab, looking around, making sure she wasn't in the inner reaches of the facility.
When he got back to her desk, he shook his head. His blue eyes swept her desk, looking for a note of any kind. Nothing.
He turned to leave and ran straight into-
"Jake!"
"Vick, where've you been?" he asked.
She rolled her eyes. "What, concerned?" She asked.
"Well you're usually down here…" He said as she sat down at her desk with a bag. He could smell the Chinese food. And he could see the sauce leaking through the bottom of the bag.
"Damn!" She said as she lifted the bag. A splotch of reddish brown covered a sheet of paper.
Jake sampled the sauce on the paper. "Sweet and sour?"
Vick nodded. "The delivery guy was new, didn't want to come down. I had to go all the way over there."
"Well, uh you have anything about that new gun shot wound?" He asked as she tore into her food.
Chewing, she nodded. Jake looked at her expectantly as she swallowed.
"yeah, I do. Uh the gunshot wounds were pretty normal, nothing new there. He wasn't on drugs, at least none when he died."
"So he didn't overdose." Jake said. He nodded. "Anything else?"
"Not really. I mean as bodies go, he's pretty standard. There was a tattoo though, but it wasn't really anything medical." She frowned. "It was actually really weird."
"Why?"
"Well look at this." She said, getting up. She licked the sauce off her finger and wiped it on a napkin. She plucked a pair of latex gloves from a nearby box and pulled the metal handle of the freezers. It opened with an echoing clank and she pulled out the gurney with both hands. The autopsied corpse lay, still as a rock.
Vick turned the body enough for Jake to see the tattoo. It was a simple string of numbers, in a dark bluish black color. It was small, almost as if it was trying to hide.
"Doesn't look like any tattoo i've ever seen." He said, shaking his head. "You think he forgot his ATM number or something?"
"I have no clue." She said, stifling a yawn.
Jake took a sheet of paper from Vick's desk and jotted down the string of numbers.
"Thanks, Vick." He said, smiling. She managed a grin and waved as he walked out through the doors.
***
"Yeah?"
"Hey, Pez, I was just at Vicks. She said the body was pretty regular. Did the file say that Luke Tyson had a tattoo?" He asked.
"I don't know." Pez said. "What did you find?"
"Well Tyson had this string of numbers on his back. It was weird. I copied it down, but I don't recognize any of it."
"That's it? His tattoo was numbers on his back?" Pez asked. "yeah, that's pretty weird. I'll meet you back at the station."
"Right." Jake said and hung up.
***
"And what does your partner think?" Irons said, turning in his chair.
"He doesn't know." She said quietly.
"Ahh, the muffled exchange between partners. Wouldn't want to hear me in the background, would we?" He smiled that eerie smile that Sara couldn't stand.
"You know, Sara, the Witchblade glows for a reason. It's not me calling you , but it is rather the Witchblade itself. It needs to get your attention for one reason or another. The rightful wearer of the blade is at an advantage. The Witchblade will take care of you, it will warn you. And it acts according to you and your life. It does that for a reason, to take care of it's user."
"Yeah, i got that already." Sara said. "Anything else?"
Irons momentarily paused to think. He looked back up. "No, not really."
Without further word or glance, Sara turned and walked out of his office.
***
"Soon she will find out." Ian said, walking out of the shadows.
"In time, she'll be ready. She won't find out what she won't believe." Irons said, looking at his second in command.
"If she gets too close..." Ian started.
"--Then let her get too close. Her own persistance will get her there, but her own hesitation will bring her back."
Ian nodded.
***
"Hey, Jake, got anything?" Sara said, walking into the office. She was still catching her breath.
Jake shook his head. "Nothing. This is what i copied off Tyson's back." He handed Sara a slip of paper with a string of 8 digits on it.
She frowned.
"You recognize it?" Jake asked, puzzled.
"No, i don't. No luck chasing it down?" She asked.
"Not even close. As far as i know, it has absolutely no significance. I searched everything, drivers license, social security, I even checked former employers. Nothing." He shook his head and threw the pen he was holding down onto the desk. It clattered against the stapler and landed in between the pencil holder and the phone. "I started checking tattoo parlors a few minutes ago, seeing if anyone might remember why he wanted 8 numbers inked on his back."
"Good thinking. Was there any previous record of tattoos?" Sara asked.
Jake frowned and leaned forward. He picked up the file and flipped through it, searching with his eyes. He looked at Sara.
He shook his head. "None."
"When was that record made?" She asked.
"When he went back to school, in 1997 after the accident."
Sara nodded slowly. "So he got a tattoo after the accident, when he went back to school."
"But wasn't the accident in 95?" Jake asked, trying to locate the right information in his file.
Sara shifted in her seat. "So where was he after 1995 to 1997?" She asked, pondering the question herself.
"His mother, didn't she mention that he went to rehab?" He asked, pointing a finger down at the file. "I have absolutely no record of him from after the accident, when he was discharged from the hospital for minor injuries in December, until 1997, when he was accepted back into NYU."
"So he was gone for an entire year. Rehab?" She asked.
"Let's start calling." Jake said. He shrugged and he and Sara started to dial.
***
Jake slept peacefully on his couch as the laptop in front of him glowed; it's screen saver clicking on after he had fallen asleep.
Suddenly a screen popped up.
You have mail, it said. An accompanying beep shook Jake out of his rest.
He squinted at the spiraling neon colored balls in his screen saver and pressed a key. The computer metamorphosed back into it's original screen and he sat up as he checked his new email message.
To: McCartey@ xxxx.com
From: Archangel@ xxxx.com
Received: 07.01.01 3:12 am
I know what you're looking for. The numbers. Check River Springs Rehabilitation Center, you'll find it there. The numbers are something they use, but you will never be able to ask them about it. They will deny everything you say and they will take the evidence out. Get the evidence before you go. Find the information on your own before you talk to them.
As tired as he was, Jake's mind was already working at full speed, calculating and working out details.
Finally, he shook his head and fell back onto the couch, fast asleep, leaving the open email to sit idle.
A few minutes later, his screen saver returned.
***
"I got an email last night." Jake said, sitting down at his desk. Across from him, Sara was already digging into the work of finding Tyson's tattoo.
"From who?" She asked.
"I got home and I started to post messages at different message boards, asking if anyone knew anything about numbers. I got to this board for former rehab patients, a support group. And I posted, asking if anyone knew anything about an 8 digit string of numbers, and I got this email from someone who told me to check River Springs Rehabilitation Center."
"So?" Sara asked.
"So I did. And I didn't find anything special, it's not like they advertise right on the front about their great deal for treatment and an 8 digit code, but I did find something very interesting."
He handed her a computer printout.
"What do you know? Our friend, Dr. Francis is a consultant." She said.
"Exactly. And I did some more digging with the help of my friendly NYPD jurisdiction, and there were two Luke Tysons admitted into River Springs in the past 10 years. But only one of them was admitted during 1996. In February of 1996, Luke Tyler Tyson was admitted into River Springs."
Sara smiled. "The same Luke Tyler Tyson that is now a corpse down in Vick's office."
"Right."
"At least we know where he was." She said.
"So I called them back and arranged for us to go down there."
"Great. And where's our pal Dr. Francis at this time?" She asked.
"We got lucky. Today is one of the days he consults down there." Jake grinned and picked up his jacket.
He entered and there was no one there. The desk lamp was on, as usual, probably overheating. He saw a clean lab and no Vick.
"Vick?" He shouted again. "Vicky?"
No answer.
He walked through the lab, looking around, making sure she wasn't in the inner reaches of the facility.
When he got back to her desk, he shook his head. His blue eyes swept her desk, looking for a note of any kind. Nothing.
He turned to leave and ran straight into-
"Jake!"
"Vick, where've you been?" he asked.
She rolled her eyes. "What, concerned?" She asked.
"Well you're usually down here…" He said as she sat down at her desk with a bag. He could smell the Chinese food. And he could see the sauce leaking through the bottom of the bag.
"Damn!" She said as she lifted the bag. A splotch of reddish brown covered a sheet of paper.
Jake sampled the sauce on the paper. "Sweet and sour?"
Vick nodded. "The delivery guy was new, didn't want to come down. I had to go all the way over there."
"Well, uh you have anything about that new gun shot wound?" He asked as she tore into her food.
Chewing, she nodded. Jake looked at her expectantly as she swallowed.
"yeah, I do. Uh the gunshot wounds were pretty normal, nothing new there. He wasn't on drugs, at least none when he died."
"So he didn't overdose." Jake said. He nodded. "Anything else?"
"Not really. I mean as bodies go, he's pretty standard. There was a tattoo though, but it wasn't really anything medical." She frowned. "It was actually really weird."
"Why?"
"Well look at this." She said, getting up. She licked the sauce off her finger and wiped it on a napkin. She plucked a pair of latex gloves from a nearby box and pulled the metal handle of the freezers. It opened with an echoing clank and she pulled out the gurney with both hands. The autopsied corpse lay, still as a rock.
Vick turned the body enough for Jake to see the tattoo. It was a simple string of numbers, in a dark bluish black color. It was small, almost as if it was trying to hide.
"Doesn't look like any tattoo i've ever seen." He said, shaking his head. "You think he forgot his ATM number or something?"
"I have no clue." She said, stifling a yawn.
Jake took a sheet of paper from Vick's desk and jotted down the string of numbers.
"Thanks, Vick." He said, smiling. She managed a grin and waved as he walked out through the doors.
***
"Yeah?"
"Hey, Pez, I was just at Vicks. She said the body was pretty regular. Did the file say that Luke Tyson had a tattoo?" He asked.
"I don't know." Pez said. "What did you find?"
"Well Tyson had this string of numbers on his back. It was weird. I copied it down, but I don't recognize any of it."
"That's it? His tattoo was numbers on his back?" Pez asked. "yeah, that's pretty weird. I'll meet you back at the station."
"Right." Jake said and hung up.
***
"And what does your partner think?" Irons said, turning in his chair.
"He doesn't know." She said quietly.
"Ahh, the muffled exchange between partners. Wouldn't want to hear me in the background, would we?" He smiled that eerie smile that Sara couldn't stand.
"You know, Sara, the Witchblade glows for a reason. It's not me calling you , but it is rather the Witchblade itself. It needs to get your attention for one reason or another. The rightful wearer of the blade is at an advantage. The Witchblade will take care of you, it will warn you. And it acts according to you and your life. It does that for a reason, to take care of it's user."
"Yeah, i got that already." Sara said. "Anything else?"
Irons momentarily paused to think. He looked back up. "No, not really."
Without further word or glance, Sara turned and walked out of his office.
***
"Soon she will find out." Ian said, walking out of the shadows.
"In time, she'll be ready. She won't find out what she won't believe." Irons said, looking at his second in command.
"If she gets too close..." Ian started.
"--Then let her get too close. Her own persistance will get her there, but her own hesitation will bring her back."
Ian nodded.
***
"Hey, Jake, got anything?" Sara said, walking into the office. She was still catching her breath.
Jake shook his head. "Nothing. This is what i copied off Tyson's back." He handed Sara a slip of paper with a string of 8 digits on it.
She frowned.
"You recognize it?" Jake asked, puzzled.
"No, i don't. No luck chasing it down?" She asked.
"Not even close. As far as i know, it has absolutely no significance. I searched everything, drivers license, social security, I even checked former employers. Nothing." He shook his head and threw the pen he was holding down onto the desk. It clattered against the stapler and landed in between the pencil holder and the phone. "I started checking tattoo parlors a few minutes ago, seeing if anyone might remember why he wanted 8 numbers inked on his back."
"Good thinking. Was there any previous record of tattoos?" Sara asked.
Jake frowned and leaned forward. He picked up the file and flipped through it, searching with his eyes. He looked at Sara.
He shook his head. "None."
"When was that record made?" She asked.
"When he went back to school, in 1997 after the accident."
Sara nodded slowly. "So he got a tattoo after the accident, when he went back to school."
"But wasn't the accident in 95?" Jake asked, trying to locate the right information in his file.
Sara shifted in her seat. "So where was he after 1995 to 1997?" She asked, pondering the question herself.
"His mother, didn't she mention that he went to rehab?" He asked, pointing a finger down at the file. "I have absolutely no record of him from after the accident, when he was discharged from the hospital for minor injuries in December, until 1997, when he was accepted back into NYU."
"So he was gone for an entire year. Rehab?" She asked.
"Let's start calling." Jake said. He shrugged and he and Sara started to dial.
***
Jake slept peacefully on his couch as the laptop in front of him glowed; it's screen saver clicking on after he had fallen asleep.
Suddenly a screen popped up.
You have mail, it said. An accompanying beep shook Jake out of his rest.
He squinted at the spiraling neon colored balls in his screen saver and pressed a key. The computer metamorphosed back into it's original screen and he sat up as he checked his new email message.
To: McCartey@ xxxx.com
From: Archangel@ xxxx.com
Received: 07.01.01 3:12 am
I know what you're looking for. The numbers. Check River Springs Rehabilitation Center, you'll find it there. The numbers are something they use, but you will never be able to ask them about it. They will deny everything you say and they will take the evidence out. Get the evidence before you go. Find the information on your own before you talk to them.
As tired as he was, Jake's mind was already working at full speed, calculating and working out details.
Finally, he shook his head and fell back onto the couch, fast asleep, leaving the open email to sit idle.
A few minutes later, his screen saver returned.
***
"I got an email last night." Jake said, sitting down at his desk. Across from him, Sara was already digging into the work of finding Tyson's tattoo.
"From who?" She asked.
"I got home and I started to post messages at different message boards, asking if anyone knew anything about numbers. I got to this board for former rehab patients, a support group. And I posted, asking if anyone knew anything about an 8 digit string of numbers, and I got this email from someone who told me to check River Springs Rehabilitation Center."
"So?" Sara asked.
"So I did. And I didn't find anything special, it's not like they advertise right on the front about their great deal for treatment and an 8 digit code, but I did find something very interesting."
He handed her a computer printout.
"What do you know? Our friend, Dr. Francis is a consultant." She said.
"Exactly. And I did some more digging with the help of my friendly NYPD jurisdiction, and there were two Luke Tysons admitted into River Springs in the past 10 years. But only one of them was admitted during 1996. In February of 1996, Luke Tyler Tyson was admitted into River Springs."
Sara smiled. "The same Luke Tyler Tyson that is now a corpse down in Vick's office."
"Right."
"At least we know where he was." She said.
"So I called them back and arranged for us to go down there."
"Great. And where's our pal Dr. Francis at this time?" She asked.
"We got lucky. Today is one of the days he consults down there." Jake grinned and picked up his jacket.