Chapter 5
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Snickering at how easy this was, he pulled out the syringe and planned to inject it into her IV line.
The needle hovered in the air as he slowly, savoring every moment, brought it closer to his target.
While still in the middle of a murder, a nurse sauntered in and quietly observed the scene before her eyes, before gasping, "Sir! What are you.... doing!"
Filled with a strange combination of horror, agitation, and amusement, the man swiftly capped the shot and hastily stuffed it into the large pocket of his lab coat.
"Why, nothing at all. Just visiting an old friend is all," he told her very calmly, a smug grin appearing on his hard, dull face.
With that, he floated past her, ignoring her panicked expression.
When out of sight of the nosy nurse, and, once again in the pristine corridors of Community General, the would-be killer of Theresa vented some of his fury.
Why did that snoopy nurse have to interrupt him?! Could she ID him? This was worse than before! Ok, he would have to maybe finish off Steve before Theresa. Or maybe both at the same time. It didn't really matter. Well, right now, he would go after Steve. Later, after that pesky nurse was off duty, he'd kill Theresa- she couldn't go to the police now anyway - and, finally, he'd finish off the main project he'd planned- Samantha Smithsone. Wow, so many people had to die when one murder was committed. Oh, well, all the more fun for him.
Finally, after moments of intense thinking, and harsh words to staff that got in his way, he decided to go back to his car and find the Sloans- if it was the last thing he did. Content at the moment, he carried out the plan and made his way out into the warm, muggy Los Angeles dusk to find his jet-black SUV.
Night was fast approaching. Having finished their meal, Mark and Steve resided on the large couch. Jesse and Amanda each sat in recliners and Sam and Ally took seats on the love seat.
Being in front of children, they tried to keep their conversation light and not talk about the case, but that didn't last long.
Right as Jesse and Amanda were preparing to head home after an enjoyable dinner with friends, Steve got a phone call from Cheryl.
"What!!!?" he spoke harshly into the receiver, "Does she have protection? ... I don't care! She might be our only clue!"
This intense conversation picked the curiosity of everyone in the room and after Steve hung up, he was the recipient of expectant looks.
"That was Cheryl. Apparently someone who looked 'surprisingly like me' went into Theresa Rumen's room and tried to inject what looked like a syringe into her IV line!" he roared at no one in particular, "And, what galls me is, the guard didn't even check the guy's ID! He got away, no questions asked! Wanna guess who this might have been and what was in that syringe?!"
"Steve, calm down," Mark urged, "Getting upset won't solve anything."
"Why would that Peter Clayton guy want to kill his girlfriend? I mean, she mistook you for her boyfriend, Peter Clayton," Jesse inquired.
"Because," Sam interjected merrily, "why would anyone want to keep alive an accomplice that knows too much? Don't most mass-murderers kill their accomplices when they least expect, so they get away with it? And what if Peter doesn't love her and she's convinced he does, the sad reality of denial. She might not hate me at all, just a poor sap who got conned into killing by an evil murderer who she thought loved her... I'd hate to see her reaction when she finds out- how devastating!"
This time the whole gang looked at her incredulously.
"I think you've been watching way too much TV," Steve told her, shaking his head slightly.
"No, Steve. I think she might be on to something," Mark commented softly, trying to digest Sam's theory, minus the love comments and other non-relating statements.
"Dad," Steve started.
"Steve, it makes sense. She might be doing this because she was convinced- or even for money. This could be all Peter's idea."
"If that is his real name. I didn't find anything suspicious an any Peter Clayton's in LA. Now: how do we catch him?"
"Steve!" Amanda enthused after remembering a sudden afterthought, "Did you ever check Theresa's apartment after she was shot?"
"Yes, but it didn't turn up anything suspicious. Why?" Steve responded, wondering where this conversation was heading.
"You might find a clue on her relationship with this Peter Clayton."
"You, know, I hadn't thought of that," he admitted, "But, if there is, than Peter will want to get there first." Steve jumped up and made his way towards the nearest exit, grabbing his badge and gun as he did so.
"Where are you going?" Jesse casually voiced the question on all their minds.
"To Theresa's apartment," Steve answered briskly, searching for his car keys.
"Want some company?" Jesse asked, eager to help with anything he wasn't allowed to be doing.
Steve temporarily gave up his futile attempt in the search and made eye contact with his friend.
"I thought you didn't want a ride in my pick-up anymore car because you have a... cool... car."
Jesse smiled and grabbed his brown coat, ready to release some of his nervous energy.
Sam's stalker was enjoying his evening drive, letting the windows down and reveling in the breeze. Only one thing stopped him from the joy of it all: he had absolutely no idea where the Sloans lived.
He could maybe go to Theresa's apartment. She was obsessive at whatever she did and took her job as a hit-woman very seriously. Yes, she probably knew where they lived- and maybe would have an address written down somewhere.
He could drop by the apartment, maybe steal a few things, and find his information. Then, it was straight to Sloan's house. Maybe soon this horrendous task would be over and he would have the satisfaction of seeing Samantha Smithsone dead.
Hopefully, there would not be another set-back.
Steve and Jesse stood erect in front of the decrepit apartment complex, taking in the spooky aurora that seemed to emanate from the building.
"Do people actually live in here?" Jesse asked, his gaze still inspecting the apartment, horrified at the thought that someone would actually inhabit such a filthy, dangerous place.
"'Fraid so. They must be pretty desperate to live in such an apartment as this," Steve observed.
Cautiously, the friends crept toward the building. As they entered through an insecure rusty door, Steve and Jesse heard the high pitched, unmistakable wail of crying coming from upstairs.
Both, recalling their professional oaths, sped up the creaky stairs two at a time, trying to pinpoint the sound of the crying.
What they found completely horrified them. A little boy, not more that 8 or 9 years old sat curled up in a messy heap, sobbing heavily.
Jesse, almost without thinking, dashed over, dropped onto one knee and gave him a quick once-over.
He was very young. His raffish clothing was baggy on his excessively skinny body. The boy's blond hair was damp and it lay, in a mop, on his head.
"What happened?" Jesse soothed. Steve stood at a distance, watching helplessly.
The boy, after realizing that he was crying in front of two complete strangers, flinched away and made an attempt to cease crying.
"It's OK. We'll help you. Now, can you tell me what happened?" Jesse spoke again, trying to comfort the distressed figure.
"I... I was just walking around when this guy came over.... And..." the boy choked out and looked into the young man's deep blue, sympathetic eyes, then over to Steve's tall form.
"Him!" he cried, pointing to a very startled lieutenant, "He did this to me!"
"Shh. Calm down. This is Steve. He didn't hurt you. We just got here. It's OK."
Not sure whether or not to trust this seemingly nice guy, he looked at each man again. The boy didn't find the evil smirk of the wicked man who had threatened him and hurt him; instead, he found warm, understanding smiles and gazes brimming with compassion.
"Ok," the boy mumbled, barley audibly, "I saw a guy doing something weird in one of the rooms and he saw me... He came over to me and... threatened my family and... did this."
He slowly uncovered his face to reveal an ugly-looking, large bruise on his ashen face. If that wasn't enough, he also showed a mean t and yet another dark bruise on his left ankle.
Jesse's expression turned to one of terror and disgust, Steve's to one of pure hatred.
"It's OK. Nobody's going to hurt you again. Here, let me help you," Jesse continued his cheerful monologue as he attempted to clean the gash on the boy's leg up some.
"Do you live around here?" Steve inquired softly.
"On the third floor, second room on the right. My mom and I live there, but, she's gone now."
"That's alright. Do you know how we can contact her?"
"Her work phone number is 555-2340. You can try that."
Steve flashed him a thankful smile and motioned for Jesse to follow him.
Reluctantly, Jesse gave in and, after reassuring the boy he'd be back shortly, followed Steve just out of hearing distance from the child.
"Steve, I think he should get checked out at the hospital," Jesse whispered seriously, "That wound will probably require a few stitches and this dirty building is no place for an injured person to be."
"Yeah, OK. What'd you bet that the guy who hurt him is Peter Clayton, or whatever his real name is? See if you can get him to ride in the truck, and then I'll come back and investigate further," Steve tried to keep his voice low as well.
"You'll investigate further? I thought we were doing this together?" Jesse whined.
"A kid was threatened, abused by the guy we're after! Peter was here! I have to call in..." Steve tried to reason, but saw that it was getting him nowhere, "Fine! You can have one look around when we get back- just don't..."
"Get in the way, touch anything, breathe, yeah,yeah, I know," he cut Steve off.
"OK, then. Now try to get him to come with us. He might end up even needing police protection if Peter decided to come back and hurt him again."
Once again, Steve and Jesse attempted to approach the apartment. This time, however, it was surrounded by a few other policemen, each trying to investigate this possible break in the case.
"You know, Jess, I'm not supposed to be letting you do this," Steve sighed.
"Hey. I've been to more crime scenes than I could possibly count. Why stop now?" Jesse countered as they maneuvered through the dark hallways of the apartment building.
"Yeah, but that doesn't mean you were allowed to be there... So did you find anything more about what happened to the kid?" Steve proceeded to get on topic.
"Apparently, Peter hit him with a lamp post, yes a lamp post, and slashed his ankle with a knife. Real mean guy! Anyway, he said his attacker looked like you- you heard him. We found his mother, though,"
Steve just sighed deeper, broad shoulders sagging slightly and continued sauntering towards his destination.
When they reached Theresa's apartment, Steve reached into his leather jacket and revealed a small, silver key. Steadily, he brought it up to the designated hole on the door and, with a quick jerk of his wrist, the door was unlocked and open.
Shrugging, both made their way into the apartment, which almost exactly like it did when Steve had last been there.
Jesse skipped over to a black filing cabinet and motioned for Steve.
The detective swiftly closed the gap between them and pulled on a pair of white plastic gloves. He then started rummaging through it, hoping to find any clue that might end this tedious investigation.
Jesse wandered around the very small room, eying a few posters and discovering, much to his disappointment, that none of them hinted anything suspicious.
Blindly, he stumbled on a loose floor board, which caused one end to dislodge completely from the floor and caught him square on the forehead, sending the bewildered doctor flying backward.
"Jesse!" Steve groaned, "I thought I told you not to touch anything- let alone break anything!"
"Sorry... Steve.." Jesse told him, a little dazed, rubbing at the large red bump jetting out from his forehead.
Steve scowled and then caught eye of what was under the floor, causing his annoyed expression to one of a child at Christmas.
"Jesse!!!" Steve exclaimed happily, "You're a genius!"
"I... am? ... I am! Why?" Jesse asked from the floor, looking completely confused.
"Look," Steve motioned to the compartment under the floor.
Steve raced over and carefully examined each photograph. His ecstatic, blue eyes turned dull and grim after scanning each picture.
Observing the sudden change in Steve's demeanor, Jesse carefully, slowly stood and crept over to Steve.
"What is it?" Jesse asked, looking over Steve's shoulder, "Oh, no! It's Sam... and... us!"
"And her family and... Whoa!!! This guy does look like me!" Steve pointed to a tall, brown haired man in a black suit, a revolver in hand, "So this must be Peter Clayton!"
"Yes, and now you'll be handing them over to me," a gruff, evil voice sounded form the hallway, before he entered and trained a familiar black revolver on Steve, "and I'll kill you quick-like. I would really like to thank your stupid little friend there for finding them for me. I must admit that I would never have looked there."
Steve glared at him, a sinister look that would have frightened anyone- except this monster.
"Why?" Steve asked dully, not really caring the reason this murderous psychopath had for committing such terrible crimes.
"Revenge, of course, Detective. And, in case you're wondering how I'm here, the simple answer is- I never left. When I saw you helping that poor, defenseless little trash bag, I figured you'd come back. You know, it really is much easier to get the info when someone finds it for you! Who knew threatening a little kid could turn out to be so handy? Gave me time to plan my ambush, which, by the way, was very well executed, don't you think?" came the sly reply.
Jesse, having been stunned into silence, finally spoke up, "So you're the one who hurt him! He didn't do anything to you! Can you really add that up to revenge!"
"Hmm. I suggest you hold your tongue, boy, or I might have some fun with Lieutenant Stupid here before I kill ya," the figure shifted, keeping the gun on Steve the whole time.
Neither Steve, nor Jesse could keep the shock and fear from shoeing in their paling faces.
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