Chain of Darkness
Chapter Four--
**********
Authors Note: Sorry it took so long to update-- I'm an actress and I just pulled two all-nighters shooting a couple of Visa commercials down at Disney World. I think I've had less less then 10 hours sleep in the last three days. I have another shoot in a couple of days---so if I take a while to post again, that's why. :) But I'm back now so here's the next chapter! Hope you all are enjoying! Thanks for the great reviews!
**********
Doc sighed and looked impatiently at the dashboard clock. Two more hours till his shift was up. The day had been unusually quiet; they had only had two calls since his shift had started.
His partner Carlos was talking about something, but Doc had casually zoned him out a while ago. He was uninterested and hoping for another call.
"…And what do you think about that?" he heard Carlos ask. Unable to come up with the correct answer he simply shook his head.
"Yeah, yeah, that's what I thought too. And you know what I said?"
"No Carlos, I don't know what you said." 'And I don't want to know either.'
He glared at the CB radio on the dash, mentally begging it to give him something to do. They were a few blocks from the station and that huge stack of paperwork waiting to be filled out. He hated paperwork. 'Com'on…'
As if it heard his silent plea, the radio crackled loudly, causing Doc to startle and stare at it in surprise. 'It worked!'
"What?" Carlos was staring at him, confused. He hadn't realized that he'd spoken out loud.
"Uh, nothing."
"Dispatch to Adam 55-3, we have a silent call from apartment 310 on 12th and Freemont. The dispatcher on the line thought she heard choking. Swing by and check it out."
"10-4 dispatch." The apartment building was scarcely two blocks down the street.
**********
Carlos was panting slightly as they hurried up the last flight of stairs. The heavy medical bag banged against his legs with every step. Doc was right behind him, lugging up the bright orange stretcher-board.
Two cops had showed up first and were knocking on the heavy door. There was no answer so they tried the lock. The unlocked door swung open easily. Warm air seeped into the freezing hall.
"Hello?" The older cop unclipped his gun holster and cautiously peered inside.
"Hello? Anyone home?" he tried again. He signaled his young partner to follow him inside. The wooden floorboard creaked softly as they entered the apartment, checking first the bedroom and living room. Doc and Carlos waited outside for the go-ahead.
"Clear."
The younger, short cop moved into the dimly lit kitchen. A young man was sprawled out stomach-down on the floor not moving; his eyes were open wide and his lips blue.
"Hey! Over here! Get the paramedics!" he yelled as he rushed to the body and knelt down for a pulse. Nothing.
Doc ran in and grabbed his arm, "Ok, move over! I got him," he ordered, pulling him gently out of the way. Rolling the young man over he felt for a pulse, and listened for breathing. The officers moved out into the living room to give them space to work.
"Ok, he's not breathing. No pulse. Eyes are fixed and dilated. I'll bag him. Carlos! Bring the bag, and get some Epi ready!" he commanded as placed an air bag over the man's nose and mouth and started CPR.
Carlos grabbed the medical bag and ripped open the Velcro seams. He picked up the correct syringe and quickly tapped the air bubbles out. He got the paddles charged and ready, smearing them with protective gel.
Doc continued to work feverishly. Huddled over the lifeless body he pounded his chest and squeezed the bag, forcing air into his empty lungs. Over and over again. Every few minutes he checked for signs of life, but the man wasn't responding. His body was stiff and growing cold.
The minutes ticked by and nothing changed. Carlos knelt behind Doc, alert and ready.
"He's gone." Doc finally surrendered and stepped away. He shook his head as he looked down at the man he'd tried so hard to save. He was young and athletic; this should have never happened.
Carlos moved in silently with the stretcher, getting his first good look at the body. He recognized the young man immediately.
"Oh man," he said in horror and disbelief. "I know this guy! He's a cop!"
Doc looked over at him, surprised. "What?"
"Yeah, I played ball with him and Jimmy a few times last summer. His name is Michael something—I don't remember his last name." His eyes were wide, darting back and forth between Michael and his partner.
"Hey officers! You want to come in here?" Doc called out. He started packing up the equipment, but Carlos didn't move, his eyes transfixed on the dead officer's face.
The pair of police officers emerged from the next room.
"Yeah? What's going on?"
"You know this guy? He's a cop."
They both leaned forward for a closer look. The younger one's eyes lit with recognition.
"Yeah, I do. That's Jacobsen—his shift ends when mine starts—I see him in the locker room sometimes." He swore and shook his head in disbelief.
He'd just seen him yesterday, sitting on the wooden in front of his locker, pulling on his civvies and whistling. And now he was dead. He swore again. Unbelievable.
**********
Detective Matt Harrison sat with his feet up on his desk, tossing wadded-up paper balls into his wastebasket. Two points for a shot that hit the edge but made it in, and three points for a clean shot. So far he'd racked up a healthy score of 54. He had a habit of playing this 'game' with himself, usually when he was stuck at his desk with nothing to do. As a homicide detective in a big city, he and his partner usually had enough work to keep them occupied. But right now the station was quiet, due to the snow and the early morning hour.
His phone rang loudly. He flung one last paper wad and missed by a few feet. The detective at the next desk snickered.
"Harrison, you should try out for the NBA sometime."
"Yeah, yeah," he waved him off and snatched up the ringing phone.
"Harrison," he drawled into the receiver. His soft Texan accent sounded out of place in New York, and he was often asked if it was real.
He listened for a moment before his brow furrowed into a frown and his dark eyes flashed concern. Paying close attention to every word spoken, he leaned forward and wrote rapidly on his notepad.
"Uh-huh…Are you serious?…Of course…I understand…We'll be right down…Ok, Chief," He slammed his phone down and swore. Picking up his notepad he reached for his heavy overcoat and slipped it on.
"What's going on, Harrison?" he heard his partner ask. He was standing in front of his desk holding a cup of hot coffee.
"Get your coat on, Sam. I just got off the phone with the Chief, seems we've got another dead cop."
"They think it's a homicide?"
"Don't know yet. But it looks like he might have been poisoned."
**********
TBC...
Chapter Four--
**********
Authors Note: Sorry it took so long to update-- I'm an actress and I just pulled two all-nighters shooting a couple of Visa commercials down at Disney World. I think I've had less less then 10 hours sleep in the last three days. I have another shoot in a couple of days---so if I take a while to post again, that's why. :) But I'm back now so here's the next chapter! Hope you all are enjoying! Thanks for the great reviews!
**********
Doc sighed and looked impatiently at the dashboard clock. Two more hours till his shift was up. The day had been unusually quiet; they had only had two calls since his shift had started.
His partner Carlos was talking about something, but Doc had casually zoned him out a while ago. He was uninterested and hoping for another call.
"…And what do you think about that?" he heard Carlos ask. Unable to come up with the correct answer he simply shook his head.
"Yeah, yeah, that's what I thought too. And you know what I said?"
"No Carlos, I don't know what you said." 'And I don't want to know either.'
He glared at the CB radio on the dash, mentally begging it to give him something to do. They were a few blocks from the station and that huge stack of paperwork waiting to be filled out. He hated paperwork. 'Com'on…'
As if it heard his silent plea, the radio crackled loudly, causing Doc to startle and stare at it in surprise. 'It worked!'
"What?" Carlos was staring at him, confused. He hadn't realized that he'd spoken out loud.
"Uh, nothing."
"Dispatch to Adam 55-3, we have a silent call from apartment 310 on 12th and Freemont. The dispatcher on the line thought she heard choking. Swing by and check it out."
"10-4 dispatch." The apartment building was scarcely two blocks down the street.
**********
Carlos was panting slightly as they hurried up the last flight of stairs. The heavy medical bag banged against his legs with every step. Doc was right behind him, lugging up the bright orange stretcher-board.
Two cops had showed up first and were knocking on the heavy door. There was no answer so they tried the lock. The unlocked door swung open easily. Warm air seeped into the freezing hall.
"Hello?" The older cop unclipped his gun holster and cautiously peered inside.
"Hello? Anyone home?" he tried again. He signaled his young partner to follow him inside. The wooden floorboard creaked softly as they entered the apartment, checking first the bedroom and living room. Doc and Carlos waited outside for the go-ahead.
"Clear."
The younger, short cop moved into the dimly lit kitchen. A young man was sprawled out stomach-down on the floor not moving; his eyes were open wide and his lips blue.
"Hey! Over here! Get the paramedics!" he yelled as he rushed to the body and knelt down for a pulse. Nothing.
Doc ran in and grabbed his arm, "Ok, move over! I got him," he ordered, pulling him gently out of the way. Rolling the young man over he felt for a pulse, and listened for breathing. The officers moved out into the living room to give them space to work.
"Ok, he's not breathing. No pulse. Eyes are fixed and dilated. I'll bag him. Carlos! Bring the bag, and get some Epi ready!" he commanded as placed an air bag over the man's nose and mouth and started CPR.
Carlos grabbed the medical bag and ripped open the Velcro seams. He picked up the correct syringe and quickly tapped the air bubbles out. He got the paddles charged and ready, smearing them with protective gel.
Doc continued to work feverishly. Huddled over the lifeless body he pounded his chest and squeezed the bag, forcing air into his empty lungs. Over and over again. Every few minutes he checked for signs of life, but the man wasn't responding. His body was stiff and growing cold.
The minutes ticked by and nothing changed. Carlos knelt behind Doc, alert and ready.
"He's gone." Doc finally surrendered and stepped away. He shook his head as he looked down at the man he'd tried so hard to save. He was young and athletic; this should have never happened.
Carlos moved in silently with the stretcher, getting his first good look at the body. He recognized the young man immediately.
"Oh man," he said in horror and disbelief. "I know this guy! He's a cop!"
Doc looked over at him, surprised. "What?"
"Yeah, I played ball with him and Jimmy a few times last summer. His name is Michael something—I don't remember his last name." His eyes were wide, darting back and forth between Michael and his partner.
"Hey officers! You want to come in here?" Doc called out. He started packing up the equipment, but Carlos didn't move, his eyes transfixed on the dead officer's face.
The pair of police officers emerged from the next room.
"Yeah? What's going on?"
"You know this guy? He's a cop."
They both leaned forward for a closer look. The younger one's eyes lit with recognition.
"Yeah, I do. That's Jacobsen—his shift ends when mine starts—I see him in the locker room sometimes." He swore and shook his head in disbelief.
He'd just seen him yesterday, sitting on the wooden in front of his locker, pulling on his civvies and whistling. And now he was dead. He swore again. Unbelievable.
**********
Detective Matt Harrison sat with his feet up on his desk, tossing wadded-up paper balls into his wastebasket. Two points for a shot that hit the edge but made it in, and three points for a clean shot. So far he'd racked up a healthy score of 54. He had a habit of playing this 'game' with himself, usually when he was stuck at his desk with nothing to do. As a homicide detective in a big city, he and his partner usually had enough work to keep them occupied. But right now the station was quiet, due to the snow and the early morning hour.
His phone rang loudly. He flung one last paper wad and missed by a few feet. The detective at the next desk snickered.
"Harrison, you should try out for the NBA sometime."
"Yeah, yeah," he waved him off and snatched up the ringing phone.
"Harrison," he drawled into the receiver. His soft Texan accent sounded out of place in New York, and he was often asked if it was real.
He listened for a moment before his brow furrowed into a frown and his dark eyes flashed concern. Paying close attention to every word spoken, he leaned forward and wrote rapidly on his notepad.
"Uh-huh…Are you serious?…Of course…I understand…We'll be right down…Ok, Chief," He slammed his phone down and swore. Picking up his notepad he reached for his heavy overcoat and slipped it on.
"What's going on, Harrison?" he heard his partner ask. He was standing in front of his desk holding a cup of hot coffee.
"Get your coat on, Sam. I just got off the phone with the Chief, seems we've got another dead cop."
"They think it's a homicide?"
"Don't know yet. But it looks like he might have been poisoned."
**********
TBC...