Chain of Darkness
Chapter Fifteen--
**********
A/N: Well, here it is--Just like I promised! Enjoy and please tell me what you think--your feedback is great, and always very much appreciated!!
**********
Bosco sat in the hospital waiting room. The room was aptly named. He had lost track of time since Faith had called him last night, or was it this morning? He shook his head-it didn't really matter.
A bunch of well-known faces crowded the room, Faith, Jimmy, Kim, and Doc were there, all waiting for a doctor to come in to give them relief from the unknown, however good or bad the news was. He was here, came as soon as he had gotten the call; partly out of support for a friend, and partly because he didn't want to stay one more second in his apartment alone. The silence of the night and the knowledge of the killer's latest strike would have never let him fall back to sleep, and a trip to the Emergency Room was a welcome option. Sitting here was better then sitting alone in a well-lit house and hoping the brightness would ward off anything.
He looked around the room again. Where the hell was Sullivan?
Sully had yet to show. There were a few cops out there looking for him, combing the bars of the city, Faith had asked if they would. This was so typical. His partner was in the hospital, dying, and he was nowhere to be found. Probably off somewhere getting drunk. Jag-off.
If he were in the hospital, Faith would be here for him, Bosco mused angrily, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his black hoodie. His eyes involuntarily roamed the room, resting on each of his friends and coworkers, trying to read their thoughts and sentiments through their body language. He could tell Faith was shaken; she was twisting her wedding ring up and down her finger, something she only did that when she felt out of control or anxious. He wanted to talk to her, but he didn't know what to say. Somehow he'd say something stupid and make her mad or cry or something. She didn't need that now.
Jimmy was slouched deep into his uncomfortable chair, and for the first time since Bosco had met him, he'd lost his cocky, 'I'm-invincible' exterior. His jovial dimples were gone, replaced by furrows in his brow and a look of fearful worry. His hands were still crusted with dried blood and dark smudges of dirt streaked his face. Faith had pulled Bosco aside when he had arrived, telling him about Jimmy; about him finding the body. She warned him not to say anything, how had she put it, "inflammatory"? Yeah, inflammatory. Taking one look at Jimmy was enough to stave off any unwelcome comments, though. His tough-guy façade was gone and that scared Bosco half to death.
Three seats in the corner of the room were taken up by Doc, who had stretched out a little, his back against the wall and his legs crossed evenly across the seat cushions. Doc was used to this, sitting in waiting rooms, being involved in life-or-death circumstances. He was a paramedic-this probably didn't faze him. But on the contrary, he seemed really disturbed, a rare sight for anyone who knew him well. Doc didn't scare easily. Yeah, he could get pretty worked up about stuff, but he had about the most level head around.
Kim was the only one of them that had shed any tears, but that was Kim. She was the emotional one, but that was okay. If someone weren't crying, it wouldn't feel right, sorta like they all didn't have feelings or something. Her eyes had long-since dried but they were still rimmed in red. She kept glancing at Jimmy, her looks held all sorts of questions but she never spoke to him. Maybe she didn't know what to say. Or maybe they had another falling out. Yeah, that was probably it.
His eyes averted from her face and glanced down at his hands. They were hidden well in his pockets but he could still see them shaking lightly through the thick cloth. When he'd gotten the phone call, he'd let it ring, afraid to pick it up. He rarely ever got phone calls and never that late at night. He had been so sure that something terrible had happened to Faith. Just the thought of it had made him feel sick.
He had finally convinced himself to answer it and had been thoroughly relieved to hear her voice; it wasn't about Faith at all. She was all right.
Now, as he thought about it, guilt surged through him. How could he have been so selfish? So inconsiderate? Ty was nearly killed and all that he could think was how glad he was that it wasn't Faith.
Damn you, Bosco.
The waiting room door squeaked open and a short man clad in bloodied scrubs entered, a serious, tired look on his face. He still had his mask around his neck and his feet, enveloped by paper booties, made a faint swish across the industrial linoleum floor. He paused in the center of the room and frowned slightly, as if unsure whom he should be talking to.
The room was deathly quiet, each one of them dreading the first words out of the surgeon's mouth.
"Hi, I'm Dr. Lewis," he began calmly, "I assisted in Officer Davis' surgery. I-"
"Is he okay?" Kim cut him off, standing up and crossing her thin arms nervously.
"Yes, he's alive, but in critical condition. His injuries were severe-I'm surprised he made it this far…" His voice trailed off, a mix of amazement and saddened fatigue. "But, we were able to repair most of the damage, and move him up to ICU. He sustained a severe concussion, multiple broken ribs, a collapsed lung, and substantial internal bleeding-we were able to stop that, fortunately. He also had a bad fracture of the left femur, but we haven't set that yet. What really worries me is the head trauma. We haven't done an MRI yet, so we don't know the extent of the swelling or damage and he may slip into a coma. He was extremely lucky to be found when he was. If it was much longer he would have never made it." He paused. Was he waiting for questions?
Faith took his momentary lapse as a cue, "So, he's gonna be okay, right?"
"Well, we're optimistic. He seems to have stabilized well, but he's not out of the woods yet. We'll know more in the next forty-eight hours." His pager buzzed nosily at his hip. "That's the OR-Is there anything else I can answer for you?"
Optimistic? What the hell? That's real comforting…
"Yeah, when can we see him?" Faith's voice was soft.
"In a few minutes. The nurses are getting him settled in and cleaned up right now."
"Okay."
The doctor exited hastily, no doubt to rescue someone else from death's door. A long, deep sigh came from Doc as he sadly shook his head back and forth, mirroring all of their feelings of relief and weariness. Kim was crying again. Not the sobbing kind of crying, but the kind of crying when the tears just seem to seep out of your eyes uncontrollably. She looked back at Jimmy. He had his head tipped back, staring intensely at the ceiling as if thanking the Almighty for a great save.
The door burst open again, but this time it was Martin Nash from the night shift, dragging in a familiar figure behind him. A drunken, familiar figure. The room was immediately flooded with the strong scent of vodka and gin as Sully stumbled in.
"Found him passed out on the stairwell in his apartment building. Had a bit too much to drink, obviously." Nash offered a grim smile. "How's Davis?"
Faith began to answer him, but her voice faded to a low, unintelligible mumble as Bosco focused his attention angrily on Sully. Davis' numbskull partner looked around at the group stupidly, not knowing exactly what was going on; too damn drunk.
Bosco's emotions were ragged from the last few weeks of ups and downs, and he felt rage building inside him, boiling furiously. He clenched his hands into tight fists, struggling not to do what his body and mind screamed for. That's when Sully spotted Doc and smiled foolishly, not a big smile or anything, but it was enough. Enough to send Bosco over the edge.
He hardly felt himself as he leapt out of his chair, toppling it over with a loud crash. In less then a second, he had harshly pinned Sully up against the wall, his hands clenching Sully's collar in a death grip.
"You fat, son-of-a-bitch! You think this is funny? HUH?" Bosco yelled, punctuating each syllable with a jerk of the collar. Sully's head bounced against the wall lightly, making an oddly satisfactory popping sound. "You are so full of it, Sullivan! Selfish jag-off!"
Hands grabbed at him, but Bosco was lost in his own world of rage. He slammed Sully's head against the wall again, this time as hard as he could. The noisy thud couldn't be heard above his loud ranting as he let out a string of four-letter words. Sully just kept looking at him, his face a mask of pain now, but that same stupid, clueless look showing right through.
Jimmy and Nash pulled Bosco away, his chest heaving with fury and exertion, his hands trembling violently, and his bandaged left arm throbbing with reproach from the effort. Faith moved in front of him, "God, Bosco! What the hell is wrong with you?"
"This stupid jag-off, that's what! Can't even be here for your own partner, can ya, Sullivan? No, he's too busy being a selfish, fat-ass drunk!"
He pushed towards him again, but firm arms prevented any such movement. Bosco just slapped their hands away. "Don't worry, I'm not gonna hit that scum-bag again…" He got up close to Sully's face, "He's not worth it!" Bosco snarled and stormed out, practically running through the ER until he was outside.
His anger seethed, shrieking at him, and he slammed his fist against the red brick a few times until it burned in pain. Somehow the ache made him feel better, reminding him that he could still feel. He'd spent so long repressing his emotions, trying to be strong for Faith, trying to keep up his 'Supercop' persona. It was too much. Too much to handle. For the first time in…well, it had to be upwards of twenty years, he broke down and prayed.
"God, if you're up there…" he breathed furiously; rolling his narrowed eyes upward to the vast skies; angry, scared, confused, and defeated. That was all he could get out. If God really cared, he'd help them.
He sank down against the wall, overwhelmed, clutching his coat in his hands. His gold 55 pin gleamed up at him, a glaring reminder of the situation they were in. That pin was like a giant target, painted right on his forehead, screaming: 'Hit me!'
How ironic, the pin that he once was so proud of, the one thing that set him above the rest of the population-was now the golden signature on his death warrant.
**********
Matt stood near his partner's desk, nervously rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet. His hand held his fifth cup of coffee, the steam rising lazily off the dark brew. Every few seconds he glanced at the clock, a habit that he'd have to break-it only made the minutes stretch out in their entirety and seem much longer. The time was inching along at a snails pace and his impatience was getting stronger with every soft tick of the second hand.
"Matt, sit down-please, you're making me nervous." Sam pointed to the empty chair across from him. His young partner was about as patient as a kid on Christmas morning. The thought of that made him smile a bit.
"Sorry," Matt's eyes were wide and bright with anticipation, "I guess I'm just…I don't know, anxious." His whole being itched expectantly, but he sat down anyway. He stared at the phone, waiting for it to ring with the news.
"So, what's your take on this guy?" Sam asked, referring to the serial killer, pulling Matt away from his restless thoughts for a moment. It would be better for him, get his mind cleared a second, get back to thinking strategically about the case.
"Other then a disturbed son-of-a-bitch? I think he's a vicious control freak and a planner-smart. He knows what he's doing. He likes to think of this all as a game, play us; it's all about revenge and winning. Revenge for what..now there's the big question."
Sam solemnly nodded in agreement; his young partner had described his own conclusions to a tee. "Scary isn't it?"
"Yep, he's a scary one alright." Matt's tone was slightly disinterested, as if this was old news.
"What do you think about the latest development?"
"What? The fact that the guy screwed up royally?" Matt snorted. "Here's my guess: I think it's great for us, bad for him, and potentially disastrous for the cops."
"Why's that?"
"Well, since he messed up we have the opportunity to get decisive evidence against him - that's good for us. He found out that he isn't perfect - that's bad for him. Now here's the scary part," Matt leaned forward and lowered his voice into his slow drawl. "He gets mad. Sees his mistake and blames the cops…the result could be mass murders, two, three, ten at a time. He doesn't care anymore because he already screwed his plan. See?"
"Geez, Matt. I don't even want to think about that." Sam shook his head, feeling very troubled by his partner's uncanny perception. "That's worst case scenario."
"Sam, you gotta think about the worst case-that's what's going to happen. You have to get past it and get over it, 'cause that's what we do."
**********
TBC...
Chapter Fifteen--
**********
A/N: Well, here it is--Just like I promised! Enjoy and please tell me what you think--your feedback is great, and always very much appreciated!!
**********
Bosco sat in the hospital waiting room. The room was aptly named. He had lost track of time since Faith had called him last night, or was it this morning? He shook his head-it didn't really matter.
A bunch of well-known faces crowded the room, Faith, Jimmy, Kim, and Doc were there, all waiting for a doctor to come in to give them relief from the unknown, however good or bad the news was. He was here, came as soon as he had gotten the call; partly out of support for a friend, and partly because he didn't want to stay one more second in his apartment alone. The silence of the night and the knowledge of the killer's latest strike would have never let him fall back to sleep, and a trip to the Emergency Room was a welcome option. Sitting here was better then sitting alone in a well-lit house and hoping the brightness would ward off anything.
He looked around the room again. Where the hell was Sullivan?
Sully had yet to show. There were a few cops out there looking for him, combing the bars of the city, Faith had asked if they would. This was so typical. His partner was in the hospital, dying, and he was nowhere to be found. Probably off somewhere getting drunk. Jag-off.
If he were in the hospital, Faith would be here for him, Bosco mused angrily, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his black hoodie. His eyes involuntarily roamed the room, resting on each of his friends and coworkers, trying to read their thoughts and sentiments through their body language. He could tell Faith was shaken; she was twisting her wedding ring up and down her finger, something she only did that when she felt out of control or anxious. He wanted to talk to her, but he didn't know what to say. Somehow he'd say something stupid and make her mad or cry or something. She didn't need that now.
Jimmy was slouched deep into his uncomfortable chair, and for the first time since Bosco had met him, he'd lost his cocky, 'I'm-invincible' exterior. His jovial dimples were gone, replaced by furrows in his brow and a look of fearful worry. His hands were still crusted with dried blood and dark smudges of dirt streaked his face. Faith had pulled Bosco aside when he had arrived, telling him about Jimmy; about him finding the body. She warned him not to say anything, how had she put it, "inflammatory"? Yeah, inflammatory. Taking one look at Jimmy was enough to stave off any unwelcome comments, though. His tough-guy façade was gone and that scared Bosco half to death.
Three seats in the corner of the room were taken up by Doc, who had stretched out a little, his back against the wall and his legs crossed evenly across the seat cushions. Doc was used to this, sitting in waiting rooms, being involved in life-or-death circumstances. He was a paramedic-this probably didn't faze him. But on the contrary, he seemed really disturbed, a rare sight for anyone who knew him well. Doc didn't scare easily. Yeah, he could get pretty worked up about stuff, but he had about the most level head around.
Kim was the only one of them that had shed any tears, but that was Kim. She was the emotional one, but that was okay. If someone weren't crying, it wouldn't feel right, sorta like they all didn't have feelings or something. Her eyes had long-since dried but they were still rimmed in red. She kept glancing at Jimmy, her looks held all sorts of questions but she never spoke to him. Maybe she didn't know what to say. Or maybe they had another falling out. Yeah, that was probably it.
His eyes averted from her face and glanced down at his hands. They were hidden well in his pockets but he could still see them shaking lightly through the thick cloth. When he'd gotten the phone call, he'd let it ring, afraid to pick it up. He rarely ever got phone calls and never that late at night. He had been so sure that something terrible had happened to Faith. Just the thought of it had made him feel sick.
He had finally convinced himself to answer it and had been thoroughly relieved to hear her voice; it wasn't about Faith at all. She was all right.
Now, as he thought about it, guilt surged through him. How could he have been so selfish? So inconsiderate? Ty was nearly killed and all that he could think was how glad he was that it wasn't Faith.
Damn you, Bosco.
The waiting room door squeaked open and a short man clad in bloodied scrubs entered, a serious, tired look on his face. He still had his mask around his neck and his feet, enveloped by paper booties, made a faint swish across the industrial linoleum floor. He paused in the center of the room and frowned slightly, as if unsure whom he should be talking to.
The room was deathly quiet, each one of them dreading the first words out of the surgeon's mouth.
"Hi, I'm Dr. Lewis," he began calmly, "I assisted in Officer Davis' surgery. I-"
"Is he okay?" Kim cut him off, standing up and crossing her thin arms nervously.
"Yes, he's alive, but in critical condition. His injuries were severe-I'm surprised he made it this far…" His voice trailed off, a mix of amazement and saddened fatigue. "But, we were able to repair most of the damage, and move him up to ICU. He sustained a severe concussion, multiple broken ribs, a collapsed lung, and substantial internal bleeding-we were able to stop that, fortunately. He also had a bad fracture of the left femur, but we haven't set that yet. What really worries me is the head trauma. We haven't done an MRI yet, so we don't know the extent of the swelling or damage and he may slip into a coma. He was extremely lucky to be found when he was. If it was much longer he would have never made it." He paused. Was he waiting for questions?
Faith took his momentary lapse as a cue, "So, he's gonna be okay, right?"
"Well, we're optimistic. He seems to have stabilized well, but he's not out of the woods yet. We'll know more in the next forty-eight hours." His pager buzzed nosily at his hip. "That's the OR-Is there anything else I can answer for you?"
Optimistic? What the hell? That's real comforting…
"Yeah, when can we see him?" Faith's voice was soft.
"In a few minutes. The nurses are getting him settled in and cleaned up right now."
"Okay."
The doctor exited hastily, no doubt to rescue someone else from death's door. A long, deep sigh came from Doc as he sadly shook his head back and forth, mirroring all of their feelings of relief and weariness. Kim was crying again. Not the sobbing kind of crying, but the kind of crying when the tears just seem to seep out of your eyes uncontrollably. She looked back at Jimmy. He had his head tipped back, staring intensely at the ceiling as if thanking the Almighty for a great save.
The door burst open again, but this time it was Martin Nash from the night shift, dragging in a familiar figure behind him. A drunken, familiar figure. The room was immediately flooded with the strong scent of vodka and gin as Sully stumbled in.
"Found him passed out on the stairwell in his apartment building. Had a bit too much to drink, obviously." Nash offered a grim smile. "How's Davis?"
Faith began to answer him, but her voice faded to a low, unintelligible mumble as Bosco focused his attention angrily on Sully. Davis' numbskull partner looked around at the group stupidly, not knowing exactly what was going on; too damn drunk.
Bosco's emotions were ragged from the last few weeks of ups and downs, and he felt rage building inside him, boiling furiously. He clenched his hands into tight fists, struggling not to do what his body and mind screamed for. That's when Sully spotted Doc and smiled foolishly, not a big smile or anything, but it was enough. Enough to send Bosco over the edge.
He hardly felt himself as he leapt out of his chair, toppling it over with a loud crash. In less then a second, he had harshly pinned Sully up against the wall, his hands clenching Sully's collar in a death grip.
"You fat, son-of-a-bitch! You think this is funny? HUH?" Bosco yelled, punctuating each syllable with a jerk of the collar. Sully's head bounced against the wall lightly, making an oddly satisfactory popping sound. "You are so full of it, Sullivan! Selfish jag-off!"
Hands grabbed at him, but Bosco was lost in his own world of rage. He slammed Sully's head against the wall again, this time as hard as he could. The noisy thud couldn't be heard above his loud ranting as he let out a string of four-letter words. Sully just kept looking at him, his face a mask of pain now, but that same stupid, clueless look showing right through.
Jimmy and Nash pulled Bosco away, his chest heaving with fury and exertion, his hands trembling violently, and his bandaged left arm throbbing with reproach from the effort. Faith moved in front of him, "God, Bosco! What the hell is wrong with you?"
"This stupid jag-off, that's what! Can't even be here for your own partner, can ya, Sullivan? No, he's too busy being a selfish, fat-ass drunk!"
He pushed towards him again, but firm arms prevented any such movement. Bosco just slapped their hands away. "Don't worry, I'm not gonna hit that scum-bag again…" He got up close to Sully's face, "He's not worth it!" Bosco snarled and stormed out, practically running through the ER until he was outside.
His anger seethed, shrieking at him, and he slammed his fist against the red brick a few times until it burned in pain. Somehow the ache made him feel better, reminding him that he could still feel. He'd spent so long repressing his emotions, trying to be strong for Faith, trying to keep up his 'Supercop' persona. It was too much. Too much to handle. For the first time in…well, it had to be upwards of twenty years, he broke down and prayed.
"God, if you're up there…" he breathed furiously; rolling his narrowed eyes upward to the vast skies; angry, scared, confused, and defeated. That was all he could get out. If God really cared, he'd help them.
He sank down against the wall, overwhelmed, clutching his coat in his hands. His gold 55 pin gleamed up at him, a glaring reminder of the situation they were in. That pin was like a giant target, painted right on his forehead, screaming: 'Hit me!'
How ironic, the pin that he once was so proud of, the one thing that set him above the rest of the population-was now the golden signature on his death warrant.
**********
Matt stood near his partner's desk, nervously rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet. His hand held his fifth cup of coffee, the steam rising lazily off the dark brew. Every few seconds he glanced at the clock, a habit that he'd have to break-it only made the minutes stretch out in their entirety and seem much longer. The time was inching along at a snails pace and his impatience was getting stronger with every soft tick of the second hand.
"Matt, sit down-please, you're making me nervous." Sam pointed to the empty chair across from him. His young partner was about as patient as a kid on Christmas morning. The thought of that made him smile a bit.
"Sorry," Matt's eyes were wide and bright with anticipation, "I guess I'm just…I don't know, anxious." His whole being itched expectantly, but he sat down anyway. He stared at the phone, waiting for it to ring with the news.
"So, what's your take on this guy?" Sam asked, referring to the serial killer, pulling Matt away from his restless thoughts for a moment. It would be better for him, get his mind cleared a second, get back to thinking strategically about the case.
"Other then a disturbed son-of-a-bitch? I think he's a vicious control freak and a planner-smart. He knows what he's doing. He likes to think of this all as a game, play us; it's all about revenge and winning. Revenge for what..now there's the big question."
Sam solemnly nodded in agreement; his young partner had described his own conclusions to a tee. "Scary isn't it?"
"Yep, he's a scary one alright." Matt's tone was slightly disinterested, as if this was old news.
"What do you think about the latest development?"
"What? The fact that the guy screwed up royally?" Matt snorted. "Here's my guess: I think it's great for us, bad for him, and potentially disastrous for the cops."
"Why's that?"
"Well, since he messed up we have the opportunity to get decisive evidence against him - that's good for us. He found out that he isn't perfect - that's bad for him. Now here's the scary part," Matt leaned forward and lowered his voice into his slow drawl. "He gets mad. Sees his mistake and blames the cops…the result could be mass murders, two, three, ten at a time. He doesn't care anymore because he already screwed his plan. See?"
"Geez, Matt. I don't even want to think about that." Sam shook his head, feeling very troubled by his partner's uncanny perception. "That's worst case scenario."
"Sam, you gotta think about the worst case-that's what's going to happen. You have to get past it and get over it, 'cause that's what we do."
**********
TBC...