Chain of Darkness
Chapter Ten--
**********
Gusler hit the faded number 5 button and waited as the doors closed. The dirty old elevator smelled moldy, an odor he was accustomed to. He'd lived in this building for the last two years, ever since he had decided to join up with the NYPD. Usually, the smells and sounds of the musty building were almost comforting to him, but not tonight.
He stared at his refection in the scratched and dented stainless-steel walls, grimacing at the visible fear he saw in his face. Maybe he wasn't really cut out to be a cop. He shook his head bleakly as he exited onto his floor. It was obvious that nobody thought that he was anything more than a glorified coffee runner. Sure, they'd sent him out on the streets a few times—but only out of necessity. He never really had a chance to prove himself. Maybe he would quit and find a job he could be good at.
The floorboards in the quiet hall creaked under his boots. His tiny one-bedroom apartment was all the way down at the end of the long, dark, hallway. His senses were heightened by the creepiness of the dim corridor. He was sure he heard soft footsteps behind him and whirled around rapidly. The hall was still dark and completely empty. Gusler breathed a sigh of relief and turned back, his heart pounding.
He hadn't time to take a step before a powerful arm grabbed him from behind and tightened on his neck, firmly choking him. He felt his heart leap up into his throat and his heart race madly as he gasped and struggled against his attacker. The grip on his neck only tightened, squeezing off his air supply. He tried to call for help but could only manage to gasp and wheeze softly. He felt his assailant push a cold metal object against his back. 'Oh my god, he's got a gun. He's going to kill me!" His mind screamed.
"Make another sound and I'll blow your brains out." A hoarse voice whispered vehemently in his ear. "You understand?"
Gusler nodded, his eyes wide, petrified. The man pushed him ahead, down the dark hall until they stopped in front of his door.
"Now, open it." He could feel hot breath on the back of his neck. His hands were trembling as he dug into his pocket, searching for his keys. He pulled them out and slowly inserted the correct key in the lock, hoping to God that someone would walk into the hall and see them.
The lock popped and the door swung open. The man roughly shoved him with the gun through the small living room and into his bedroom, slamming the door shut behind them. Gusler stood rigidly, still facing away from the door and his captor, afraid to move without being instructed.
A low chuckle resounded throughout the silent room. The man was laughing at him. Laughing at his fear and his vulnerability. Gusler took a deep breath, trying hard not to cry. He could feel his heart nearly beating out of his chest and he watched helplessly as the man moved to stand directly in front of him. His eyes traveled from the dark ski mask covering the man's face to the gun in his right hand.
He noticed in horror the slim, black, silencer attached to the barrel. 'Oh god, I'm dead. He's going to kill me. I don't want to die, oh God I don't want to die!' he thought and squeezed his eyes shut in terror.
"Are you scared Gusler? Hmm?"
Gusler swallowed hard, not knowing what to say—or if he should say anything at all. How did this guy know his name? A hard blow the side of his head interrupted his thoughts. His eyes snapped open and he winced loudly. He felt warm blood dribbling down his cheek.
"ANSWER ME!" His attacker screamed; the man was in his face, a gun pointed between his eyes.
"Y-yes." He managed to croak out, just above a whisper. He could see the man's lips part through the mouth-hole of the mask. He was smiling.
"Good! You should be scared, I'm a dangerous man." He sounded pleased with himself, but then his tone turned menacing, "You know what Gusler? Little…Stevie…Gusler—You're a lousy cop. I hope you burn in hell for what you did…"
**********
He watched his victim's face closely for a reaction—there it was. He seethed when he saw that miserable excuse for a man stare at him, confused. He didn't even remember. Damn him. How could he not remember what he had done?
Well, he certainly would pay for it. He lowered the gun and jabbed it into Gusler's gut forcefully, satisfied when he heard the air rush out of him. He watched him bend over, clutching his stomach and wheezing for air.
Yes, he would pay.
He squeezed the trigger slowly, his heartbeat pumping in elation.
The quiet 'whoosh' and the surprised cry of the young cop were music to his ears. Gusler was gasping in pain, his face contorted into a mix of shock and agony as he watched his own blood leak out of the gaping hole. The rookie slowly sank to the ground, holding his belly, trying in vain to stop the flow.
He could feel his adrenalin rushing, coursing through his veins. He stepped over the gasping young man and leaned down close.
"You know what Gusler? I've heard that a bullet to the stomach is one of the most painful ways to die. You see--it takes a while to bleed to death. And while you lay here, waiting for death to free you from all the pain you're in, maybe you'll remember for what you did--and you'll be sorry."
The shocked rookie just kept gasping, his eyes red from crying tears of pain. Then something in his face changed. Gusler had recognized him; he knew it.
The dying man's lips worked, trying to say something. "You…." He managed to croak out.
"Ah, yes." The good-for-nothing cop was going to die and he should know exactly why. Why he had to pay. He leaned even closer and whispered something in his ear.
The wide-eyed look of horror on Gusler's face was priceless. He thought about staying, standing here for a while to watch him die—but he had too much work to do. He had to make the others pay. That was his job.
*********
Faith sat in the locker room on the cold metal bench alone, waiting for Gusler to show up. He was late and had already missed roll call. Christopher was going to be pissed. If he didn't show up in five minutes she'd have to tell the obnoxious Sergeant—Great, just great. This is just what she needed, and injured partner and a missing replacement. And to top it off, it was snowing again.
The clock ticked noisily in the silent room, and Faith watched the minute hand creep slowly past. Three…four…five minutes. Time to go visit the devils advocate.
Faith found Christopher sitting at his desk, reading a newspaper. He looked up, slightly surprised to see that she was still at the station and standing in his doorway. She should have been gone twenty minutes ago.
"Why are you still here, Yokas?" He laid his paper down and glared at her.
"Um, Bosco is on deskwork today and my replacement partner hasn't shown up."
"Gusler?"
"Yeah." Faith crossed her arms.
"Ok, fine, take Boscorelli out then." He was smirking, as if it was funny to him.
"But—"
"No buts, I'm sure he'll be fine. That'll be all, Yokas." He got up and closed his door in her face.
Faith took a deep breath, trying not to curse at him. He was, after all, her supervisor. How Jason Christopher got to be a Sergeant with that attitude was beyond her.
**********
Bosco leaned heavily against the dark wooden desk. He'd only been working less than a half and hour and he was already bored stiff. Today was going to be a long day.
He lazily tapped his pencil against the stack of papers piled up in front of him. Yuck. He scowled them, disgusted. Why in the world had he agreed to stay in? He was fine—his arm only hurt a little. Well okay, it was pretty stiff and sore, but he could certainly do his job.
A hand appeared from over his shoulder and dropped a portable CB radio in his lap. He jumped, startled, and spun his chair around. Faith was standing behind him with her hands on her hips, a worried frown on her face.
"Shit, Faith. Don't sneak up on me like that." He paused, puzzled. "What the hell are you still doing here? Didn't the shift start a while ago?"
"I didn't mean to scare you. Get up, you're riding with me today—Gusler hasn't shown up yet."
Bosco wasn't going to argue with that, he couldn't believe his good luck. He grabbed the radio and attached it to his shoulder, flinching slightly as his arm protested. Damn that hurt--he'd better take it easy today.
"So, Gusler didn't show, huh?" He followed her out to the car.
"Yeah, I wonder if he's sick. Tried calling his home, but all I got was the answering machine."
"Yeah, maybe he's sick." He could tell something was bothering her. He had no idea what, though. She should be happy that he got to work today—at least she didn't have to drag around a rookie. She didn't really like that. Said it felt like babysitting. Plus, she never got any of the good calls, mostly fender-benders and telling prostitutes to get off the streets. Boring.
She let out a deep breath. "Listen, Bos. I really don't think you should be out on the streets today; you just got stabbed for pete's sake! We'll go see if Gusler is sick or not. If he isn't, I'll bring you back here, okay?"
"What? I'm fine, see!" To demonstrate, he moved his left arm up and down quickly. A little too quickly. His arm started throbbing in pain. He tried to hide it, but Faith could tell. She shook her head.
"Nope, I don't buy it, Bos. Nice try. We're going to find Gusler. He'd better be sick, because if he isn't he's going to get it from me."
**********
The old building that Gusler lived in looked as though it was about to fall over. The elevator groaned as they stepped into it, and the moldy smell was almost unbearable. Bosco shook his head in disgust. How could people live in these dumps? He'd never, ever, even think about renting here. It reminded him too much of his childhood. The only apartment his drunken, abusive father could afford was just as dirty and ugly. Bad memories. He refused to think about it.
Faith was pissed. If Gusler wasn't going to show up, he should have called in sick. Period. Now she was riding in a stinky old elevator with her partner, who was probably in alot more pain then he let on. She watched him out of the corner of her eye. She saw him cringe when the elevator stopped rather suddenly, jerking to a halt. He shouldn't have to be out here. Right now, she hated Christopher and was super pissed at Gusler. If he had just called in sick earlier, they could have arranged for another replacement. It was too late now. He'd better have a good excuse.
They walked down the dimly lit corridor, noting the numbers on the doors and mentally counting down. Gusler's apartment was at the end of the cold hall, 523.
Faith rapped noisily on the door. No answer.
Bosco didn't know if he was relieved or angry. His arm was really starting to bother him. Maybe he should have stayed home today. No, I'll be fine, he told himself.
Faith knocked again, louder this time. The sound echoed off the walls almost eerily, making Bosco want to leave—this place was giving him the creeps.
"Ok, I guess he's not home. Let's go." He remarked shortly, and then turned, more than ready to leave.
"No, hold on, one more time." Faith was getting anxious, shifting her weight side to side and biting her lower lip. If Gusler wasn't here…where was he? Did his car break down? Was he okay?
She knocked a final time, and reached to wiggle the doorknob. To her surprise, the door had been left unlocked and clicked open in her hand.
"It's unlocked. Think we should go in?"
Bosco frowned and shrugged his shoulders, annoyed. Didn't Gusler know anything? First rule for living in New York City: Never leave your door unlocked, especially if you lived in a place like this. The kid was so naïve.
Faith pushed open the door slowly, "Gusler? You home?" She called out as she moved into the small living room. She looked around, almost amazed; for a young guy, Gusler kept a relatively clean apartment. Interesting.
"Anybody home?" Bosco peered around the corner into the kitchen. It was empty. "Ok, Faith—he's not here. Can we go now?"
"Wait." She held up a finger as she walked over to the bedroom and pushed the door open. She squinted, here eyes trying to adjust to the pitch-black darkness of the room. She could see what she assumed was Gusler, lying on the bed, covers pulled over his head. Bosco moved in behind her, pissed. That damn rookie was still asleep!
"Gusler? You okay?" Faith stepped up to the side of the bed and leaned down. Something smelled strangely familiar. Almost like…blood.
"Com'on Gusler, get up now, man—or I'll beat the crap outta you." Bosco was really mad now. He had to come all the way down here and the kid was sleeping. Oh boy, was he going to get it.
Faith reached over and grabbed a handful of the thick comforter covering Gusler, yanking it down.
"Oh, God," she whispered, shocked. Bosco took three steps back, trying to comprehend what he was seeing.
Gusler lay in a large pool of blood, his arms clutching his stomach and the quarter-sized hole right below his ribs. His eyes were closed, but his expression was far from peaceful, leaving little to the imagination. He had died a horrible death.
"Oh, God," she repeated, bringing her hands to her gaping mouth. The room now reeked with the salty, thick smell of blood. She could feel herself hyperventilating, her breaths coming in short, shocked, gasps. She was going to throw up. Faith turned and retched in a nearby trashcan, tears running down her face.
Bosco couldn't move. Gusler was lying there, dead—drenched in his own blood, shot in the chest. He could hear Faith speaking, whispering, her words strained and stunned, but he couldn't see her. He couldn't tear his eyes away from the gruesome sight in front of him. Only when he could hear her vomiting did he snap out of his trancelike stare. He went over to her as she stood up, her face streaked with tears.
He wrapped his arm around his partner, pulling her out of the room, away from that bloody mess. She was shaking and breathing hard, her hands covering her open mouth.
"Come on, let's get out of here," he managed to find his voice, "You don't need to see this."
**********
TBC...
To all you Gusler fans-- I'm sorry I had to kill him! I guess it's that melodramatic side of me...:) The story is just getting started though, so hang on! Reveiw if ya want more :)
Chapter Ten--
**********
Gusler hit the faded number 5 button and waited as the doors closed. The dirty old elevator smelled moldy, an odor he was accustomed to. He'd lived in this building for the last two years, ever since he had decided to join up with the NYPD. Usually, the smells and sounds of the musty building were almost comforting to him, but not tonight.
He stared at his refection in the scratched and dented stainless-steel walls, grimacing at the visible fear he saw in his face. Maybe he wasn't really cut out to be a cop. He shook his head bleakly as he exited onto his floor. It was obvious that nobody thought that he was anything more than a glorified coffee runner. Sure, they'd sent him out on the streets a few times—but only out of necessity. He never really had a chance to prove himself. Maybe he would quit and find a job he could be good at.
The floorboards in the quiet hall creaked under his boots. His tiny one-bedroom apartment was all the way down at the end of the long, dark, hallway. His senses were heightened by the creepiness of the dim corridor. He was sure he heard soft footsteps behind him and whirled around rapidly. The hall was still dark and completely empty. Gusler breathed a sigh of relief and turned back, his heart pounding.
He hadn't time to take a step before a powerful arm grabbed him from behind and tightened on his neck, firmly choking him. He felt his heart leap up into his throat and his heart race madly as he gasped and struggled against his attacker. The grip on his neck only tightened, squeezing off his air supply. He tried to call for help but could only manage to gasp and wheeze softly. He felt his assailant push a cold metal object against his back. 'Oh my god, he's got a gun. He's going to kill me!" His mind screamed.
"Make another sound and I'll blow your brains out." A hoarse voice whispered vehemently in his ear. "You understand?"
Gusler nodded, his eyes wide, petrified. The man pushed him ahead, down the dark hall until they stopped in front of his door.
"Now, open it." He could feel hot breath on the back of his neck. His hands were trembling as he dug into his pocket, searching for his keys. He pulled them out and slowly inserted the correct key in the lock, hoping to God that someone would walk into the hall and see them.
The lock popped and the door swung open. The man roughly shoved him with the gun through the small living room and into his bedroom, slamming the door shut behind them. Gusler stood rigidly, still facing away from the door and his captor, afraid to move without being instructed.
A low chuckle resounded throughout the silent room. The man was laughing at him. Laughing at his fear and his vulnerability. Gusler took a deep breath, trying hard not to cry. He could feel his heart nearly beating out of his chest and he watched helplessly as the man moved to stand directly in front of him. His eyes traveled from the dark ski mask covering the man's face to the gun in his right hand.
He noticed in horror the slim, black, silencer attached to the barrel. 'Oh god, I'm dead. He's going to kill me. I don't want to die, oh God I don't want to die!' he thought and squeezed his eyes shut in terror.
"Are you scared Gusler? Hmm?"
Gusler swallowed hard, not knowing what to say—or if he should say anything at all. How did this guy know his name? A hard blow the side of his head interrupted his thoughts. His eyes snapped open and he winced loudly. He felt warm blood dribbling down his cheek.
"ANSWER ME!" His attacker screamed; the man was in his face, a gun pointed between his eyes.
"Y-yes." He managed to croak out, just above a whisper. He could see the man's lips part through the mouth-hole of the mask. He was smiling.
"Good! You should be scared, I'm a dangerous man." He sounded pleased with himself, but then his tone turned menacing, "You know what Gusler? Little…Stevie…Gusler—You're a lousy cop. I hope you burn in hell for what you did…"
**********
He watched his victim's face closely for a reaction—there it was. He seethed when he saw that miserable excuse for a man stare at him, confused. He didn't even remember. Damn him. How could he not remember what he had done?
Well, he certainly would pay for it. He lowered the gun and jabbed it into Gusler's gut forcefully, satisfied when he heard the air rush out of him. He watched him bend over, clutching his stomach and wheezing for air.
Yes, he would pay.
He squeezed the trigger slowly, his heartbeat pumping in elation.
The quiet 'whoosh' and the surprised cry of the young cop were music to his ears. Gusler was gasping in pain, his face contorted into a mix of shock and agony as he watched his own blood leak out of the gaping hole. The rookie slowly sank to the ground, holding his belly, trying in vain to stop the flow.
He could feel his adrenalin rushing, coursing through his veins. He stepped over the gasping young man and leaned down close.
"You know what Gusler? I've heard that a bullet to the stomach is one of the most painful ways to die. You see--it takes a while to bleed to death. And while you lay here, waiting for death to free you from all the pain you're in, maybe you'll remember for what you did--and you'll be sorry."
The shocked rookie just kept gasping, his eyes red from crying tears of pain. Then something in his face changed. Gusler had recognized him; he knew it.
The dying man's lips worked, trying to say something. "You…." He managed to croak out.
"Ah, yes." The good-for-nothing cop was going to die and he should know exactly why. Why he had to pay. He leaned even closer and whispered something in his ear.
The wide-eyed look of horror on Gusler's face was priceless. He thought about staying, standing here for a while to watch him die—but he had too much work to do. He had to make the others pay. That was his job.
*********
Faith sat in the locker room on the cold metal bench alone, waiting for Gusler to show up. He was late and had already missed roll call. Christopher was going to be pissed. If he didn't show up in five minutes she'd have to tell the obnoxious Sergeant—Great, just great. This is just what she needed, and injured partner and a missing replacement. And to top it off, it was snowing again.
The clock ticked noisily in the silent room, and Faith watched the minute hand creep slowly past. Three…four…five minutes. Time to go visit the devils advocate.
Faith found Christopher sitting at his desk, reading a newspaper. He looked up, slightly surprised to see that she was still at the station and standing in his doorway. She should have been gone twenty minutes ago.
"Why are you still here, Yokas?" He laid his paper down and glared at her.
"Um, Bosco is on deskwork today and my replacement partner hasn't shown up."
"Gusler?"
"Yeah." Faith crossed her arms.
"Ok, fine, take Boscorelli out then." He was smirking, as if it was funny to him.
"But—"
"No buts, I'm sure he'll be fine. That'll be all, Yokas." He got up and closed his door in her face.
Faith took a deep breath, trying not to curse at him. He was, after all, her supervisor. How Jason Christopher got to be a Sergeant with that attitude was beyond her.
**********
Bosco leaned heavily against the dark wooden desk. He'd only been working less than a half and hour and he was already bored stiff. Today was going to be a long day.
He lazily tapped his pencil against the stack of papers piled up in front of him. Yuck. He scowled them, disgusted. Why in the world had he agreed to stay in? He was fine—his arm only hurt a little. Well okay, it was pretty stiff and sore, but he could certainly do his job.
A hand appeared from over his shoulder and dropped a portable CB radio in his lap. He jumped, startled, and spun his chair around. Faith was standing behind him with her hands on her hips, a worried frown on her face.
"Shit, Faith. Don't sneak up on me like that." He paused, puzzled. "What the hell are you still doing here? Didn't the shift start a while ago?"
"I didn't mean to scare you. Get up, you're riding with me today—Gusler hasn't shown up yet."
Bosco wasn't going to argue with that, he couldn't believe his good luck. He grabbed the radio and attached it to his shoulder, flinching slightly as his arm protested. Damn that hurt--he'd better take it easy today.
"So, Gusler didn't show, huh?" He followed her out to the car.
"Yeah, I wonder if he's sick. Tried calling his home, but all I got was the answering machine."
"Yeah, maybe he's sick." He could tell something was bothering her. He had no idea what, though. She should be happy that he got to work today—at least she didn't have to drag around a rookie. She didn't really like that. Said it felt like babysitting. Plus, she never got any of the good calls, mostly fender-benders and telling prostitutes to get off the streets. Boring.
She let out a deep breath. "Listen, Bos. I really don't think you should be out on the streets today; you just got stabbed for pete's sake! We'll go see if Gusler is sick or not. If he isn't, I'll bring you back here, okay?"
"What? I'm fine, see!" To demonstrate, he moved his left arm up and down quickly. A little too quickly. His arm started throbbing in pain. He tried to hide it, but Faith could tell. She shook her head.
"Nope, I don't buy it, Bos. Nice try. We're going to find Gusler. He'd better be sick, because if he isn't he's going to get it from me."
**********
The old building that Gusler lived in looked as though it was about to fall over. The elevator groaned as they stepped into it, and the moldy smell was almost unbearable. Bosco shook his head in disgust. How could people live in these dumps? He'd never, ever, even think about renting here. It reminded him too much of his childhood. The only apartment his drunken, abusive father could afford was just as dirty and ugly. Bad memories. He refused to think about it.
Faith was pissed. If Gusler wasn't going to show up, he should have called in sick. Period. Now she was riding in a stinky old elevator with her partner, who was probably in alot more pain then he let on. She watched him out of the corner of her eye. She saw him cringe when the elevator stopped rather suddenly, jerking to a halt. He shouldn't have to be out here. Right now, she hated Christopher and was super pissed at Gusler. If he had just called in sick earlier, they could have arranged for another replacement. It was too late now. He'd better have a good excuse.
They walked down the dimly lit corridor, noting the numbers on the doors and mentally counting down. Gusler's apartment was at the end of the cold hall, 523.
Faith rapped noisily on the door. No answer.
Bosco didn't know if he was relieved or angry. His arm was really starting to bother him. Maybe he should have stayed home today. No, I'll be fine, he told himself.
Faith knocked again, louder this time. The sound echoed off the walls almost eerily, making Bosco want to leave—this place was giving him the creeps.
"Ok, I guess he's not home. Let's go." He remarked shortly, and then turned, more than ready to leave.
"No, hold on, one more time." Faith was getting anxious, shifting her weight side to side and biting her lower lip. If Gusler wasn't here…where was he? Did his car break down? Was he okay?
She knocked a final time, and reached to wiggle the doorknob. To her surprise, the door had been left unlocked and clicked open in her hand.
"It's unlocked. Think we should go in?"
Bosco frowned and shrugged his shoulders, annoyed. Didn't Gusler know anything? First rule for living in New York City: Never leave your door unlocked, especially if you lived in a place like this. The kid was so naïve.
Faith pushed open the door slowly, "Gusler? You home?" She called out as she moved into the small living room. She looked around, almost amazed; for a young guy, Gusler kept a relatively clean apartment. Interesting.
"Anybody home?" Bosco peered around the corner into the kitchen. It was empty. "Ok, Faith—he's not here. Can we go now?"
"Wait." She held up a finger as she walked over to the bedroom and pushed the door open. She squinted, here eyes trying to adjust to the pitch-black darkness of the room. She could see what she assumed was Gusler, lying on the bed, covers pulled over his head. Bosco moved in behind her, pissed. That damn rookie was still asleep!
"Gusler? You okay?" Faith stepped up to the side of the bed and leaned down. Something smelled strangely familiar. Almost like…blood.
"Com'on Gusler, get up now, man—or I'll beat the crap outta you." Bosco was really mad now. He had to come all the way down here and the kid was sleeping. Oh boy, was he going to get it.
Faith reached over and grabbed a handful of the thick comforter covering Gusler, yanking it down.
"Oh, God," she whispered, shocked. Bosco took three steps back, trying to comprehend what he was seeing.
Gusler lay in a large pool of blood, his arms clutching his stomach and the quarter-sized hole right below his ribs. His eyes were closed, but his expression was far from peaceful, leaving little to the imagination. He had died a horrible death.
"Oh, God," she repeated, bringing her hands to her gaping mouth. The room now reeked with the salty, thick smell of blood. She could feel herself hyperventilating, her breaths coming in short, shocked, gasps. She was going to throw up. Faith turned and retched in a nearby trashcan, tears running down her face.
Bosco couldn't move. Gusler was lying there, dead—drenched in his own blood, shot in the chest. He could hear Faith speaking, whispering, her words strained and stunned, but he couldn't see her. He couldn't tear his eyes away from the gruesome sight in front of him. Only when he could hear her vomiting did he snap out of his trancelike stare. He went over to her as she stood up, her face streaked with tears.
He wrapped his arm around his partner, pulling her out of the room, away from that bloody mess. She was shaking and breathing hard, her hands covering her open mouth.
"Come on, let's get out of here," he managed to find his voice, "You don't need to see this."
**********
TBC...
To all you Gusler fans-- I'm sorry I had to kill him! I guess it's that melodramatic side of me...:) The story is just getting started though, so hang on! Reveiw if ya want more :)