Part 12 Waking Nightmares.
Nathan disconnected his cell phone with a frown, working in homicide meant that when it rang it was rarely good news, but on this case he had occasion to dread the chirpy tones more than usual. His heart had gone into full jackhammer mode, adrenaline flooding his system, even before he recognised the number of the computing section, that number could only mean another chapter and with it almost certainly another attack.
The voice at the other end confirmed his fears. This time the attack would be on a female doctor, whoever the killer had pegged for Dr. Corday, but the location was unclear. Nathan relayed the information into his radio, knowing that his men would begin their checks on all of the female doctors still in the building. He decided to check on Amanda personally, calling through to the officer guarding Steve and Jesse's door, surprised to learn that she had left to go to Mark's office. He rechecked his own location, wishing that he was as familiar with the hospital's layout as Steve was, he quickly managed to orient himself, figuring that he was quite close, he turned and headed down the corridor.
--
The killer took one last look down the empty corridor before pulling the mask into place. She was taking more risks now but it did not concern her, if anything it made the whole thing more exhilarating, more exciting. Months of careful planning had led her to this and she intended to enjoy every moment of her revenge.
Slowly, quietly, she slid the door open and peered inside. Her luck was in, Dr. Bentley was kneeling on the floor gathering up the folders that lay where Mark and Jesse had dropped them.
Intent on her task, Amanda did not hear the door opening or the figure that slid silently into the room behind her. The killer stepped cautiously forward, twisting the silk scarf tightly between her hands.
Amanda reached out for the last scattered file, pausing slightly as she realised from the position that it must have been Mark who had dropped it, Mark who was missing, Mark who could be lying hurt somewhere, Mark who could be. . . She cut off the line of thought before her imagination could supply images that she did not want to even contemplate, instead she forced her mind back in time to that moment when Mark dropped the file, he had been here in his office, safe, and well, but the image brought no comfort, he was missing now and she found herself having to repress renewed thoughts of what might be happening to him. She had to believe that he was alive somewhere and that they would find him. Her hand moved to pick up the last sheet, her thoughts still preoccupied, and then her whole world was encompassed in pain and the desperate imperative to breathe.
Her lungs tightened as she tried to draw in air against the sudden restriction around her throat. She felt her body being dragged up and backwards, moving instinctively to try to ease the pressure as the taught cloth dug into her neck. Her hands moved up clawing uselessly at the too tight fabric, no space to squeeze her fingers under, no way to relieve the unrelenting pressure. Her vision began to cloud, blood thundering in her ears, fear burning through her insides as she desperately tried to form thoughts coherent enough to allow her to fight back. Her hands dropped down desperately groping for some sort of weapon, some sort of defense. She could not die like this.
--
Jesse looked up at the clock again, realising that it had only been a minute since his last check and only around ten minutes since Amanda had left. He sighed with frustration, knowing that his impatience would not make her return any more quickly, and climbed out of bed, absently moving over to check Steve's chart.
Steve's bed was closer to the door and as he moved he heard the unmistakable crackle of the radio, it was only moments before the officer guarding the door opened it and looked inside. "Do you happen to know where Dr. Bentley went?" He asked.
"To Dr. Sloan's office," Jesse supplied, his curiosity peaked. He listened as the officer relayed the information into his radio, moving towards the older man. "What's happening? Who wants to know?" Jesse asked as the man finished.
"Detective Turner," the officer replied, "apparently there's been another posting. Wait. . . ." he said as Jesse moved passed him on to the corridor. "You can't go without . . ." the word 'protection' should have completed the sentence but there was no point, the young doctor clearly wasn't listening to him. The officer glanced back into the room to the pale form of the police Lieutenant lying on the bed, an argument warring within him, should he go after the doctor, or stay here to protect the unconscious detective. He wasn't sure if it was the fact that it was a police officer lying in the bed, or the fact that he was unconscious and therefore more vulnerable, that swayed him, but he decided to stay where he was. Lifting his radio to report on the errant young doctor, who seemed to be the focus for this whole sorry mess.
--
Mark was awake, he knew that only by virtue of the fact that he was thinking, was capable of the thought 'I am awake.' His head was pounding, but all other sensation seemed dulled. None of the other vestiges of wakefulness were present, he could not move, not one of his muscles would cooperate despite many minutes of trying. He could not raise his hand, or lift his foot, he couldn't even manage the relatively minor tasks of forcing his eyelids to open, or his vocal cords to work. He had to forcibly quell the feeling of panic that the growing realisation of his helplessness produced. Using all of his self discipline to first calm, and then order his thoughts, he began to analyse his situation, treating it just like any other of the myriad of puzzles that his brain dealt with on a daily basis.
What would give rise to his current predicament, conscious but unable to move, unable to speak. Paralysis of some sort? A fall, a neck injury perhaps? No, that would not explain his inability to open his eyes. What else? Drugs? Muscle relaxants were a distinct possibility, fitting all of the symptoms. Anything else? Stroke? No, to cause this level of paralysis it would have to be severe and that would leave him far more confused, surely not able to think this clearly and analyse his symptoms. So drugs then, someone had drugged him, but why? He struggled with his memory. What had happened before he woke up here? And where was here?
As he concentrated, his memory returned at first in flashes, not seeming to make sense, and then the sensations returned, the emotions returned, before their rationalisation into images and thoughts. His heart rate kicked up, a cold sweat breaking out on his skin as his insides twisted with fear, anxiety and concern. The emotions dragged the memories with them, until he was staring down at the almost lifeless body of his son, whose precious lifeblood was leaking away on to the concrete. He felt again the overwhelming guilt and hopelessness as he was forced to leave him there. If he could have cried out his anguish he would have done. Instead his mind screamed but his body remained silent. A wave of utter and total despair sweeping over him as he realised that he was almost certainly too late to do anything, however long he had been unconscious, it had been too long for his actions to be have any influence on the fate of his son. He struggled to move again, to open his eyes or make some sort of sound but nothing happened.
He had to find out, he had to know what had happened to Steve and yet he could take no action, could only lie there a prisoner in his own drugged body. He could not have devised a more cruel torture for himself if he had tried, all attempts at remaining calm were abandoned as he lost control of emotions, grief warring with hope, fear with denial, despair with acceptance.
His rapid breathing must have attracted the attention of his captors, he heard movement by his side, heard a gentle hushed tone.
"I told you he was awake," a concerned voice said.
"Poor man he must be in terrible pain," a second female voice answered from his other side.
"This will help," the first voice continued.
Mark felt the drug begin to take effect, the forced artificial calming of both his breathing and his racing heart. He tried to stop it, tried to fight it, tried to signal in some way that he did not want to be drugged again, that his only source of real pain was not knowing what had happened to his son, but it was hopeless, his thoughts drifted apart, fragmented images, pain and anguish were swallowed into a darkening void.
--
Nathan was momentarily stunned by the sight that greeted him as he opened the door. It was the expression of pain and terror on Amanda's darkening face, her hands batting ineffectually at those that held the scarf around her neck as she struggled against the dark figure behind her, the image had a slightly surreal quality that caught him off guard.
The moments hesitation was all that the killer needed, she spun round dragging Amanda with her. Amanda had no choice but to follow as the movement further increased the pressure on her neck. The pain in her lungs was indescribable, the desire to drag in air now replacing all other thought and sensation. She could no longer think, could no longer see. Her whole world focussed on the impossible task of drawing air through the restricted passages in her throat.
The killer used the additional momentum from the spin to throw Amanda into Nathan, the collision sending both of them tumbling to the floor in a mess of tangled limbs. She then bolted for the door, not even pausing to see if her distraction had worked, she fled pulling off the mask and the rest of her disguise as she went.
Amanda struggled to draw breath into her lungs, past the restriction that was still partially in place, not capable of the thought processes that would allow her to drag the constricting scarf from her throat, and even if she were, it was unlikely that her oxygen starved limbs would respond.
Nathan did his best to extricate himself from underneath Amanda, trying to ignore the throbbing in his head from where it had struck the wall. He was momentarily torn between going after the fleeing killer and checking on Amanda but one look at her distressed state and he knew that he had to help her. As gently as he could he rested her on the ground pulling the tightly wound fabric from around her throat. The pained, almost pitiful gasping sounds that escaped her as she tried desperately to draw in air, causing his concern to deepen. He ran quickly to the door and shouted for help before returning to her. He crouched beside her, lifting her gently to try to help ease her breathing.
"Oh God no! Not Amanda too, no."
Nathan looked up to see Jesse's shocked features staring down at him from the doorway. "She needs help, she can't breathe properly," he said urgently, terrified by his own inability to do anything for her.
Jesse did not need telling twice, with an ease that was becoming uncomfortably familiar, he repressed his emotions and concentrated his mind on his skills, moving forward to help another of his friends.
--
Jesse slumped back onto the pillow as the nurse left the room, opening his hand to look at the sedative pills that he had palmed instead of taking, he knew that Dr. Taylor was right, he needed to rest, his memories of what had happened earlier in the day after he had treated Steve were shaky at best and, despite the rest that afternoon and his assurances to Amanda of the contrary, he knew that he wasn't handling the shock of that attack and Mark's disappearance well, and now with the attack on Amanda. . . . It was like someone was taking his world apart piece by piece and worse it felt like he was telling them to do it. Writing the story, posting it on the web, an open invitation to destroy him, the arbiter of his own downfall
Details of what had happened after he had found Amanda were again shaky, as though he'd repressed the memories with the emotions, but he knew that she would be all right, 'resting comfortably,' Dr. Taylor had said. A medical euphemism, Amanda would not be comfortable for quite some time, Jesse subconsciously touched his own throat, he could still feel the bruising there from that morning and the attack on Amanda had been so much worse, she was going to be feeling the effects for days if not weeks.
He looked down realising that he still held the sedative in his hand. How could he rest when he knew that the killer was still out there, still had Mark, still might try to kill someone else. He contemplated getting up and heading back to look at the files in Mark's office but knew that it was futile, the office was probably still sealed off as a crime scene, the files, for the moment inaccessible. All he could do was try to go back through his memories once again and see if anything struck him, but the frustration of having done that a hundred times already with no result almost made him want to weep.
He let out a deep sigh, he was too exhausted to make any progress, he knew that, but he didn't want to go to sleep, was too afraid of the nightmares lurking in his subconscious. Then again, could they be any worse than the waking nightmare that he was living. Guilt was now a constant companion, a living breathing presence that sat on his shoulder, whispering destructive thoughts into his ear. 'You killed those people, it's your fault they're dead,' 'Steve was hurt because of you.' 'Amanda nearly died tonight and it was your fault.' He did his best to ignore them, closing his eyes tightly, "Leave me alone," his mouth formed the words aimed at his invisible companion, but no sound came out, it wasn't needed when you were talking to your own psyche.
He opened his eyes again and impulsively swallowed the pills in his hand. He swallowed them dry and they almost caught in his throat but he managed to get them down. He needed help he knew that, trouble was, there was no one now that he could draw on for support, so maybe he could find some modicum of comfort in sleep.
He glanced across to Steve's bed, another friend who for the time being was 'resting comfortably,' of course all that would change in the morning when he would wake to the pain of his injuries and the knowledge that his father was missing. There would be no way of keeping that from him, much as Jesse would have liked to try. As the powerful sedative began to take effect, he muttered his own quiet apology to his friend. "I'm sorry, Steve, I'm so sorry."
--
Morning brought a painful awakening for Amanda, both mentally and physically. She couldn't quite shake the feelings of terror that accompanied the memories of her attack and her neck felt like it was three times the size that it should be, although a gentle probing confirmed tender bruising but only a slight swelling of the soft tissue.
She dressed moving carefully, gratefully accepting the soft cotton scarf that one of the nurses had been kind enough to fetch for her from the hospital's gift shop. Not silk, she had been quite clear about that, having seen the scarf that had been used in the attack, she wasn't sure that she would ever wear silk again, but she could just about bear the soft cotton on her neck and she needed to cover the fresh bruising if she was going to move around the hospital, and particularly if she was going to see Jesse. Something that she knew, from his reactions towards Steve's attack the day before, was going to be very necessary. She had to reassure her young friend that she was all right and, if she could, convince him that he was not responsible for what had happened to her.
She needed all of her strength and resolve to walk into Mark's office without showing a reaction, but she knew that Jesse was already there and she was determined to make this as easy for him as she could. Jesse had insisted, as soon as he had awoken, that he go down and continue the checks on the files that he had started the day before. Nathan had told Amanda about it when he had come up to take her statement. She had had to wait until she was officially discharged and so had agreed to meet them there. Not really considering that it might be difficult to go back to the scene of the attack so soon, until she was standing outside the door.
She squared her shoulders and walked into the room.
"Amanda," Jesse said standing, the guilt and concern written unmistakably on his expressive face. "You shouldn't be out of bed yet. You should be. . ."
"I'm fine Jess," she interrupted, her voice weak and gravelly despite her best efforts to project it. She moved across the room to join them at the desk, "Really," she continued as his expression turned skeptical, "apart from the deep and husky voice, I'll be fine and I'm here to help."
Jesse did not look convinced but he sat down again as she carefully took a seat.
"We were just going through the personnel files, that Steve dug out to try to see if anyone stands out as a suspect, at least it should be easier now that we can eliminate all of the men." Nathan looked up at Amanda, "I didn't catch much of a view of the person who attacked you but from what I did see and from the size of the discarded clothing that we found dropped in the hospital stairwell, we can definitely say that it was a woman."
"She left clothing behind?" Amanda asked.
"Yes, a nurses uniform, must have been wearing it over the top of something else, so I'm guessing that she's not really a nurse, but knew that coming after you she ran a big risk of being spotted."
"Then why are we looking at the employee files, couldn't she have been doing that all along?" Jesse asked, a note of despondency creeping into his tone, maybe this was just another dead end.
"No, I don't think so, the hospital was locked down tight minutes after the attack, and I still agree with Steve's assessment, whoever is doing this has to have been watching you and although you could get away with impersonating an employee once or twice, you couldn't do it over a long period of time without being spotted. So I still think this," Nathan pointed at the files, "is our best chance of a lead."
"Okay, let's go through them." Jesse said, picking up the first file, he placed those for female employees on the desk and discarded the male ones. He paused when he got to the one for Paul Bilson, the porter who had attacked him, there was still something that bothered him about it. It had been the file he was looking at when they realised that Steve was in danger the day before.
He almost dismissed it, but something made him open the file again. What was it? Yes, the guy had attacked him but that just meant he was violent and obnoxious, it didn't mean he was involved with the killings, besides, the first victim had been one of his friends. "That's it," he said, opening the file. He looked up to see the curious expressions on Nathan and Amanda's faces. "Yesterday when he attacked me, Paul Bilson said that he'd been friends with the first victim, Paul Peterson, for four years and yet Bilson has only been working here for six months and he worked in an entirely separate part of the hospital, the chances of them having met at work are fairly small and before that he worked at a clinic out of state."
"Why would he lie?" Amanda asked.
"Maybe to give him an excuse to attack Jesse," Nathan replied, "from the statements we took it all seems to have been Bilson's idea, he would have had to convince the others that he had a reasonable motive." He thought for a moment, "It is suspicious, if he wasn't doing it because Peterson and he were friends then why?" He looked first at Amanda and then at Jesse who shrugged. "I'll get someone to dig more deeply into his background."
Jesse passed the file over and then went back to sorting. "There's something else I've been thinking about." He stated, pausing from his task as the thought invaded his consciousness. "Yesterday before Steve left, I'm fairly sure he was onto something. He said he was going to go back to the station to check something out."
"Any idea what it was?" Nathan asked.
Jesse shook his head, "No, all I remember is him saying something about it not being a case I helped out on, he refused to say anything else until he checked on something."
At that point the phone on Mark's desk rang. Amanda answered it moving without thinking, trying not to wince as the movement of her shoulder stretched her abused neck muscles. She replied first with her name and then a "Thank you we'll be right down."
She looked at the two men in turn. "Well I guess you can ask him, that was Dr. Taylor, Steve's awake."
Nathan disconnected his cell phone with a frown, working in homicide meant that when it rang it was rarely good news, but on this case he had occasion to dread the chirpy tones more than usual. His heart had gone into full jackhammer mode, adrenaline flooding his system, even before he recognised the number of the computing section, that number could only mean another chapter and with it almost certainly another attack.
The voice at the other end confirmed his fears. This time the attack would be on a female doctor, whoever the killer had pegged for Dr. Corday, but the location was unclear. Nathan relayed the information into his radio, knowing that his men would begin their checks on all of the female doctors still in the building. He decided to check on Amanda personally, calling through to the officer guarding Steve and Jesse's door, surprised to learn that she had left to go to Mark's office. He rechecked his own location, wishing that he was as familiar with the hospital's layout as Steve was, he quickly managed to orient himself, figuring that he was quite close, he turned and headed down the corridor.
--
The killer took one last look down the empty corridor before pulling the mask into place. She was taking more risks now but it did not concern her, if anything it made the whole thing more exhilarating, more exciting. Months of careful planning had led her to this and she intended to enjoy every moment of her revenge.
Slowly, quietly, she slid the door open and peered inside. Her luck was in, Dr. Bentley was kneeling on the floor gathering up the folders that lay where Mark and Jesse had dropped them.
Intent on her task, Amanda did not hear the door opening or the figure that slid silently into the room behind her. The killer stepped cautiously forward, twisting the silk scarf tightly between her hands.
Amanda reached out for the last scattered file, pausing slightly as she realised from the position that it must have been Mark who had dropped it, Mark who was missing, Mark who could be lying hurt somewhere, Mark who could be. . . She cut off the line of thought before her imagination could supply images that she did not want to even contemplate, instead she forced her mind back in time to that moment when Mark dropped the file, he had been here in his office, safe, and well, but the image brought no comfort, he was missing now and she found herself having to repress renewed thoughts of what might be happening to him. She had to believe that he was alive somewhere and that they would find him. Her hand moved to pick up the last sheet, her thoughts still preoccupied, and then her whole world was encompassed in pain and the desperate imperative to breathe.
Her lungs tightened as she tried to draw in air against the sudden restriction around her throat. She felt her body being dragged up and backwards, moving instinctively to try to ease the pressure as the taught cloth dug into her neck. Her hands moved up clawing uselessly at the too tight fabric, no space to squeeze her fingers under, no way to relieve the unrelenting pressure. Her vision began to cloud, blood thundering in her ears, fear burning through her insides as she desperately tried to form thoughts coherent enough to allow her to fight back. Her hands dropped down desperately groping for some sort of weapon, some sort of defense. She could not die like this.
--
Jesse looked up at the clock again, realising that it had only been a minute since his last check and only around ten minutes since Amanda had left. He sighed with frustration, knowing that his impatience would not make her return any more quickly, and climbed out of bed, absently moving over to check Steve's chart.
Steve's bed was closer to the door and as he moved he heard the unmistakable crackle of the radio, it was only moments before the officer guarding the door opened it and looked inside. "Do you happen to know where Dr. Bentley went?" He asked.
"To Dr. Sloan's office," Jesse supplied, his curiosity peaked. He listened as the officer relayed the information into his radio, moving towards the older man. "What's happening? Who wants to know?" Jesse asked as the man finished.
"Detective Turner," the officer replied, "apparently there's been another posting. Wait. . . ." he said as Jesse moved passed him on to the corridor. "You can't go without . . ." the word 'protection' should have completed the sentence but there was no point, the young doctor clearly wasn't listening to him. The officer glanced back into the room to the pale form of the police Lieutenant lying on the bed, an argument warring within him, should he go after the doctor, or stay here to protect the unconscious detective. He wasn't sure if it was the fact that it was a police officer lying in the bed, or the fact that he was unconscious and therefore more vulnerable, that swayed him, but he decided to stay where he was. Lifting his radio to report on the errant young doctor, who seemed to be the focus for this whole sorry mess.
--
Mark was awake, he knew that only by virtue of the fact that he was thinking, was capable of the thought 'I am awake.' His head was pounding, but all other sensation seemed dulled. None of the other vestiges of wakefulness were present, he could not move, not one of his muscles would cooperate despite many minutes of trying. He could not raise his hand, or lift his foot, he couldn't even manage the relatively minor tasks of forcing his eyelids to open, or his vocal cords to work. He had to forcibly quell the feeling of panic that the growing realisation of his helplessness produced. Using all of his self discipline to first calm, and then order his thoughts, he began to analyse his situation, treating it just like any other of the myriad of puzzles that his brain dealt with on a daily basis.
What would give rise to his current predicament, conscious but unable to move, unable to speak. Paralysis of some sort? A fall, a neck injury perhaps? No, that would not explain his inability to open his eyes. What else? Drugs? Muscle relaxants were a distinct possibility, fitting all of the symptoms. Anything else? Stroke? No, to cause this level of paralysis it would have to be severe and that would leave him far more confused, surely not able to think this clearly and analyse his symptoms. So drugs then, someone had drugged him, but why? He struggled with his memory. What had happened before he woke up here? And where was here?
As he concentrated, his memory returned at first in flashes, not seeming to make sense, and then the sensations returned, the emotions returned, before their rationalisation into images and thoughts. His heart rate kicked up, a cold sweat breaking out on his skin as his insides twisted with fear, anxiety and concern. The emotions dragged the memories with them, until he was staring down at the almost lifeless body of his son, whose precious lifeblood was leaking away on to the concrete. He felt again the overwhelming guilt and hopelessness as he was forced to leave him there. If he could have cried out his anguish he would have done. Instead his mind screamed but his body remained silent. A wave of utter and total despair sweeping over him as he realised that he was almost certainly too late to do anything, however long he had been unconscious, it had been too long for his actions to be have any influence on the fate of his son. He struggled to move again, to open his eyes or make some sort of sound but nothing happened.
He had to find out, he had to know what had happened to Steve and yet he could take no action, could only lie there a prisoner in his own drugged body. He could not have devised a more cruel torture for himself if he had tried, all attempts at remaining calm were abandoned as he lost control of emotions, grief warring with hope, fear with denial, despair with acceptance.
His rapid breathing must have attracted the attention of his captors, he heard movement by his side, heard a gentle hushed tone.
"I told you he was awake," a concerned voice said.
"Poor man he must be in terrible pain," a second female voice answered from his other side.
"This will help," the first voice continued.
Mark felt the drug begin to take effect, the forced artificial calming of both his breathing and his racing heart. He tried to stop it, tried to fight it, tried to signal in some way that he did not want to be drugged again, that his only source of real pain was not knowing what had happened to his son, but it was hopeless, his thoughts drifted apart, fragmented images, pain and anguish were swallowed into a darkening void.
--
Nathan was momentarily stunned by the sight that greeted him as he opened the door. It was the expression of pain and terror on Amanda's darkening face, her hands batting ineffectually at those that held the scarf around her neck as she struggled against the dark figure behind her, the image had a slightly surreal quality that caught him off guard.
The moments hesitation was all that the killer needed, she spun round dragging Amanda with her. Amanda had no choice but to follow as the movement further increased the pressure on her neck. The pain in her lungs was indescribable, the desire to drag in air now replacing all other thought and sensation. She could no longer think, could no longer see. Her whole world focussed on the impossible task of drawing air through the restricted passages in her throat.
The killer used the additional momentum from the spin to throw Amanda into Nathan, the collision sending both of them tumbling to the floor in a mess of tangled limbs. She then bolted for the door, not even pausing to see if her distraction had worked, she fled pulling off the mask and the rest of her disguise as she went.
Amanda struggled to draw breath into her lungs, past the restriction that was still partially in place, not capable of the thought processes that would allow her to drag the constricting scarf from her throat, and even if she were, it was unlikely that her oxygen starved limbs would respond.
Nathan did his best to extricate himself from underneath Amanda, trying to ignore the throbbing in his head from where it had struck the wall. He was momentarily torn between going after the fleeing killer and checking on Amanda but one look at her distressed state and he knew that he had to help her. As gently as he could he rested her on the ground pulling the tightly wound fabric from around her throat. The pained, almost pitiful gasping sounds that escaped her as she tried desperately to draw in air, causing his concern to deepen. He ran quickly to the door and shouted for help before returning to her. He crouched beside her, lifting her gently to try to help ease her breathing.
"Oh God no! Not Amanda too, no."
Nathan looked up to see Jesse's shocked features staring down at him from the doorway. "She needs help, she can't breathe properly," he said urgently, terrified by his own inability to do anything for her.
Jesse did not need telling twice, with an ease that was becoming uncomfortably familiar, he repressed his emotions and concentrated his mind on his skills, moving forward to help another of his friends.
--
Jesse slumped back onto the pillow as the nurse left the room, opening his hand to look at the sedative pills that he had palmed instead of taking, he knew that Dr. Taylor was right, he needed to rest, his memories of what had happened earlier in the day after he had treated Steve were shaky at best and, despite the rest that afternoon and his assurances to Amanda of the contrary, he knew that he wasn't handling the shock of that attack and Mark's disappearance well, and now with the attack on Amanda. . . . It was like someone was taking his world apart piece by piece and worse it felt like he was telling them to do it. Writing the story, posting it on the web, an open invitation to destroy him, the arbiter of his own downfall
Details of what had happened after he had found Amanda were again shaky, as though he'd repressed the memories with the emotions, but he knew that she would be all right, 'resting comfortably,' Dr. Taylor had said. A medical euphemism, Amanda would not be comfortable for quite some time, Jesse subconsciously touched his own throat, he could still feel the bruising there from that morning and the attack on Amanda had been so much worse, she was going to be feeling the effects for days if not weeks.
He looked down realising that he still held the sedative in his hand. How could he rest when he knew that the killer was still out there, still had Mark, still might try to kill someone else. He contemplated getting up and heading back to look at the files in Mark's office but knew that it was futile, the office was probably still sealed off as a crime scene, the files, for the moment inaccessible. All he could do was try to go back through his memories once again and see if anything struck him, but the frustration of having done that a hundred times already with no result almost made him want to weep.
He let out a deep sigh, he was too exhausted to make any progress, he knew that, but he didn't want to go to sleep, was too afraid of the nightmares lurking in his subconscious. Then again, could they be any worse than the waking nightmare that he was living. Guilt was now a constant companion, a living breathing presence that sat on his shoulder, whispering destructive thoughts into his ear. 'You killed those people, it's your fault they're dead,' 'Steve was hurt because of you.' 'Amanda nearly died tonight and it was your fault.' He did his best to ignore them, closing his eyes tightly, "Leave me alone," his mouth formed the words aimed at his invisible companion, but no sound came out, it wasn't needed when you were talking to your own psyche.
He opened his eyes again and impulsively swallowed the pills in his hand. He swallowed them dry and they almost caught in his throat but he managed to get them down. He needed help he knew that, trouble was, there was no one now that he could draw on for support, so maybe he could find some modicum of comfort in sleep.
He glanced across to Steve's bed, another friend who for the time being was 'resting comfortably,' of course all that would change in the morning when he would wake to the pain of his injuries and the knowledge that his father was missing. There would be no way of keeping that from him, much as Jesse would have liked to try. As the powerful sedative began to take effect, he muttered his own quiet apology to his friend. "I'm sorry, Steve, I'm so sorry."
--
Morning brought a painful awakening for Amanda, both mentally and physically. She couldn't quite shake the feelings of terror that accompanied the memories of her attack and her neck felt like it was three times the size that it should be, although a gentle probing confirmed tender bruising but only a slight swelling of the soft tissue.
She dressed moving carefully, gratefully accepting the soft cotton scarf that one of the nurses had been kind enough to fetch for her from the hospital's gift shop. Not silk, she had been quite clear about that, having seen the scarf that had been used in the attack, she wasn't sure that she would ever wear silk again, but she could just about bear the soft cotton on her neck and she needed to cover the fresh bruising if she was going to move around the hospital, and particularly if she was going to see Jesse. Something that she knew, from his reactions towards Steve's attack the day before, was going to be very necessary. She had to reassure her young friend that she was all right and, if she could, convince him that he was not responsible for what had happened to her.
She needed all of her strength and resolve to walk into Mark's office without showing a reaction, but she knew that Jesse was already there and she was determined to make this as easy for him as she could. Jesse had insisted, as soon as he had awoken, that he go down and continue the checks on the files that he had started the day before. Nathan had told Amanda about it when he had come up to take her statement. She had had to wait until she was officially discharged and so had agreed to meet them there. Not really considering that it might be difficult to go back to the scene of the attack so soon, until she was standing outside the door.
She squared her shoulders and walked into the room.
"Amanda," Jesse said standing, the guilt and concern written unmistakably on his expressive face. "You shouldn't be out of bed yet. You should be. . ."
"I'm fine Jess," she interrupted, her voice weak and gravelly despite her best efforts to project it. She moved across the room to join them at the desk, "Really," she continued as his expression turned skeptical, "apart from the deep and husky voice, I'll be fine and I'm here to help."
Jesse did not look convinced but he sat down again as she carefully took a seat.
"We were just going through the personnel files, that Steve dug out to try to see if anyone stands out as a suspect, at least it should be easier now that we can eliminate all of the men." Nathan looked up at Amanda, "I didn't catch much of a view of the person who attacked you but from what I did see and from the size of the discarded clothing that we found dropped in the hospital stairwell, we can definitely say that it was a woman."
"She left clothing behind?" Amanda asked.
"Yes, a nurses uniform, must have been wearing it over the top of something else, so I'm guessing that she's not really a nurse, but knew that coming after you she ran a big risk of being spotted."
"Then why are we looking at the employee files, couldn't she have been doing that all along?" Jesse asked, a note of despondency creeping into his tone, maybe this was just another dead end.
"No, I don't think so, the hospital was locked down tight minutes after the attack, and I still agree with Steve's assessment, whoever is doing this has to have been watching you and although you could get away with impersonating an employee once or twice, you couldn't do it over a long period of time without being spotted. So I still think this," Nathan pointed at the files, "is our best chance of a lead."
"Okay, let's go through them." Jesse said, picking up the first file, he placed those for female employees on the desk and discarded the male ones. He paused when he got to the one for Paul Bilson, the porter who had attacked him, there was still something that bothered him about it. It had been the file he was looking at when they realised that Steve was in danger the day before.
He almost dismissed it, but something made him open the file again. What was it? Yes, the guy had attacked him but that just meant he was violent and obnoxious, it didn't mean he was involved with the killings, besides, the first victim had been one of his friends. "That's it," he said, opening the file. He looked up to see the curious expressions on Nathan and Amanda's faces. "Yesterday when he attacked me, Paul Bilson said that he'd been friends with the first victim, Paul Peterson, for four years and yet Bilson has only been working here for six months and he worked in an entirely separate part of the hospital, the chances of them having met at work are fairly small and before that he worked at a clinic out of state."
"Why would he lie?" Amanda asked.
"Maybe to give him an excuse to attack Jesse," Nathan replied, "from the statements we took it all seems to have been Bilson's idea, he would have had to convince the others that he had a reasonable motive." He thought for a moment, "It is suspicious, if he wasn't doing it because Peterson and he were friends then why?" He looked first at Amanda and then at Jesse who shrugged. "I'll get someone to dig more deeply into his background."
Jesse passed the file over and then went back to sorting. "There's something else I've been thinking about." He stated, pausing from his task as the thought invaded his consciousness. "Yesterday before Steve left, I'm fairly sure he was onto something. He said he was going to go back to the station to check something out."
"Any idea what it was?" Nathan asked.
Jesse shook his head, "No, all I remember is him saying something about it not being a case I helped out on, he refused to say anything else until he checked on something."
At that point the phone on Mark's desk rang. Amanda answered it moving without thinking, trying not to wince as the movement of her shoulder stretched her abused neck muscles. She replied first with her name and then a "Thank you we'll be right down."
She looked at the two men in turn. "Well I guess you can ask him, that was Dr. Taylor, Steve's awake."