Rune Alignment
Chapter 58.
"That's it, roll her toward her right . . . hold her . . . I can't . . . can't get this under . . . a little more. There, that's good," the technician said as the nurse and aide rolled Gleason onto her back. The bed was flat and high. He saw Gleason's back and stopped. He took it all in. The nurse watched his eyes move from the top point to the base just above her hips. His eyes moved to the nurse. She looked straight back at him and nodded imperceptibly. He looked back down and resumed his preparations.
The tech positioned the huge x-ray machine over Gleason's chest just so. He slid a negative case into the slot on the bottom, shrugged the lead apron over his shoulders, covering his chest to his knees and waited for the other two to leave. "Ready," he said aloud, pressed a button on the end of the heavy cord. "Clear," he said aloud and the nurse and aide stepped back into the cubical.
"You know," he hesitated, "I want to do another one, I think she coughed. Sorry." They turned and walked out again. He replaced the negative case with another and repeated the steps.
The nurse and aide returned. "Now we need to flip her and get shots from the front." The three professionals took their places. "Ready?"
Eames reached under the bed and carefully slid out a small white bag. She lifted it with the fingertips of her gloved right thumb and index finger. "Eames found something," Bobby said to the others. His voice was raspy from throwing up. The other two turned and looked at Alex. Bobby pulled the bunch of evidence bags from his back pocket and held them up for someone to take one.
"What is it?" Sledge asked.
Eames walked to the short dresser and looked for a spot to set down the bag. "This is disgusting," she said. "Let's look at it outside." She turned and walked to the door, stepping into the light and fresh air. Bobby followed her.
Eames set the bag onto the bonnet of Bobby's car. The three gathered. She carefully lifted out a small, flat, green bottle with a black twist on cap. She held it up and read, aloud to the others, "'Sulfuric anhydride. Caution: do not expose to air, moisture, or water. Sulfuric anhydride combined with water produces hydrogen sulfate.'"
Bishop asked, "What is that stuff?"
"Sulfuric acid," Bobby answered. He knew that was what Clive used on Gleason's back. He isn't done yet, Bobby thought.
"What's inside that bottle?" Sledge asked. "Something is inside."
Eames held the bottle up toward the sky and tilted it. "Looks like a swab of some sort. A little cotton ball attached to a stick or something; probably attached to the inside of the cap."
"Something else is in the bag," Bobby said. "What is it?"
Bishop lifted the pharmacy bag, reached in and pulled out a second swab, matching the one inside the bottle, just as Eames had described.
Bobby reached for another evidence bag. "We need to bag all of this. The fibers on that swab may match the fiber found on the envelope that was slipped under Gleason's door."
Tonight's the night, my love. Tonight, all the waiting is over. I shall come for you and you will give yourself to me as you always have. You will again be my canvas upon which I will illustrate my love for you. A new design for our new love. You will beg me to forgive you for running away. For taking that big copper into your bed. For letting him take you into his. And, I will forgive you. I must, you are weak. You are nothing without me.
Once you are mine again, you will never leave. No, never leave because you will never see daylight again. I must complete my artwork. None of this being smart, university work, writing, conferring, flying off to here and there, speaking at trials, showing off at museums. Calm down, he told himself. You're getting all riled up. Just another hour and she will be mine. Wait, be calm.
"Let's lock up here and go to Elliott's place. Then we can get this back to the lab and call it a day." Sledge looked at Goren. He's going to toss his cookies again. I can see it, he thought.
Bobby asked Bishop, "Is there any more of that water?"
"Sure," she said and opened the driver's side door. She plucked a second bottle from her bag, twisted off the cap and handed it to him.
"Thanks," he whispered and let the water run down his throat. God, that is good, he thought. He stopped and took a breath, holding the bottle in front of his chest. His head had stopped pounding, it was just a dull thud.
"Bobby, you should take it easy with all that wat-- . . ." Eames started and stopped as he spun and ran around the end of the building. The three listened as he spilled water, stomach juices and misery onto the cracked, broken macadam.
Bobby came back around the end of the building with his head down.
"You ok?" Sledge asked him.
"Just shoot me now, right here," Bobby muttered.
"You know, I think you have food poisoning," Sledge suggested.
"I agree, Bobby," Bishop added.
"What did you eat last?" Eames ventured.
"Meat loaf, at the hospital."
"When was that? About what time?" asked Sledge.
Bobby thought, "I don't know, about one thirty or two."
Bishop looked at her watch, "That was about two hours ago. The time fits. Do you have diarrhea?"
He looked at her like she was nuts. "No, I don't have diarrhea. I have this massive headache."
"Yeah, headache, vomiting; you've got food poisoning. I bet the diarrhea hits you later." Sledge offered with some satisfaction.
They headed for the dead shooter's apartment.
"Are we going to talk or what?" Sledge asked Eames.
Eames shut her eyes and sighed. "Talk about what?" she asked, knowing full well what he meant.
"Oh, come on Alex. Do you love him?" Sledge looked over at the woman he loved.
"Edward . . . I don't want to talk about this now. Please."
"Then when? This is going to hang between us. I want to know, do you love him?"
"I, I . . . I'm not going to talk about it now. Let's talk later. Tonight. At my place like you said, we'll stay in and then we can talk." Eames looked at Sledge and he glanced back at her. Fuck, he thought, she loves him.
Bobby rode with his head back against the headrest, eyes closed. Bishop stole a quick look at him, thinking he might be asleep.
"I'm awake," he said with his eyes still closed.
"How do you feel?"
"Don't keep asking me how I feel. I feel the same. I feel like I want to die. Don't keep asking me. Ok?"
"Ok, ok. Sorry."
They rode in silence and then Bobby said, "When we get to his apartment, park in the lot across the street, at the brick apartment building. Ok?"
"Sure, no problem."
"When we're done, you go back with Eames and Sledge. I have to stop at Gleason's apartment."
"Are you going to be able to drive, Bobby? Why don't I wait and drive you home?"
He was quiet. "Bishop?"
"Yeah?"
"Pull over, will you?"
She looked at him and pulled to the curb. He opened his door and threw up again.
Sledge pulled up in front of the run down, green and white house and watched in the rear view mirror as Bishop pulled Bobby's car into the lot across the street. He and Eames got out and waited for the other two to cross the street. Goren's stride was slow and heavy.
"We're going to have to re-tape the place when we're done here." Sledge said to the others. "I don't have any tape; do you, Goren?"
"Yeah, in the back." He looked forlornly at Bishop, "Uhm . . . would you get it, please? I, I don't think I would make it back. Sorry."
"Sure, no problem." Bishop started back across the street. She held out Bobby's key remote and the back hatch unhinged and opened slightly. Bishop dug around and found a partial roll. She slammed down the hatch and started back toward the group.
"Too bad those photos weren't back before we left." Eames said. "We could have skipped this whole stop."
"No, this needs to be experienced first hand to be truly appreciated," Sledge responded.
"Thanks," said Bobby, taking the roll from Bishop.
"Ready for the field trip of a life-time?" Sledge asked. He led the group onto the porch and into the house.
"Yeah, she's got nosocomial pneumonia in the upper lobe of her left lung." Dr. Creighton pointed to the foggy area at the top of Gleason's lung on the x-ray hanging on the light board attached to the wall behind the nurses' desk.
"I was afraid this was going to happen. Staphylococcus aureus is so hard to correct. We'll eventually have to open her to determine where the actual site of infection," Dr. Patel added.
"Well, it's going to be one or both of the patches on her lung, the one on her artery or the surgical wound. I'm betting it's one of the patches on her lung. What do you think?" Creighton asked her colleague.
"I fear you are probably right, but I'm hoping it's the surgical wound. That would be so much easier to treat," Patel replied.
"I'll make a note in her chart to flush clean the wound."
"Do you want to start her on cefepine or imipenem-cilastatin?" he asked.
"Let's start 2g IV cefepine every eight hours as an adjunct with aerosolized colistin and see how she responds. In any case, she's off the surgery queue until this clears some."
Bobby pulled himself up the stairs by dragging on the banister. It was hot and stuffy on the second floor. He was so thirsty, but he was afraid to drink anything knowing it would come right back up. He was soaking wet, his undershirt clung to his back under his sweater. His headache had abated somewhat but was making its way back with a vengeance.
"This is it," Sledge said, pulling the tape from the door. He opened the door and let Bishop and Goren enter first.
"Oh my God," exclaimed Bishop. "Is that skin?" She looked back at Sledge and Eames with a horrified look.
"Yep," replied Sledge. "Look up."
Goren and Bishop looked up. Bishop didn't say anything just turned and looked at the other two with an open mouth and eyes the size of saucers.
Bobby walked to the facing wall and closely examined what looked like the hide of a raccoon. He ran the fingers of his right hand lightly over the skin, flicked the edge of the pelt with his thumb, and then bent the tail. "Well, these pelts have been salted twice and the tails have been de-boned. He knew what he was doing," he said with audible admiration. He turned to Sledge and asked, "Where did he do this?"
"No telling. We searched the basement and found nothing. I don't think he did it up here."
"Oh, no he didn't do it here," Bobby responded, right hand illustrating. "The process is quite involved and requires significant time. First he would have had to kill, gut, debone and skin the animal completely, removing all the large areas of meat. Some animals, like rabbits and squirrels have little meat and are easier to skin." Bobby was on a roll, he swallowed, took a breath and went on.
"He'd have to remove the bone from the tail in anything larger than a raccoon. Salting and draining the flesh would require an incline plane and drip pan. I don't see any place he could set up that kind of equipment." Bobby looked around. "After the initial salting and folding for a day or two, he'd have to apply another thick layer of fresh salt and then dry the pelt with a fan." Again, he looked around and didn't see any kind of electric fan.
"After several days, the skin would be stiff and stackable. It will stay that way until it's ready to be pickled and then tanned." He indicated to the walls, "These skins have been salted twice, but not processed beyond that." He turned and looked at his colleagues.
They looked at him with bewilderment. "Don't tell me you earned a merit badge in taxidermy, Goren." Sledge asked.
"No, not at all. I saw an exhibit once as a kid and was fascinated. So, I . . . I just . . . read about it." He looked sheepish and half turned, looking at the floor. His headache slammed back and his stomach began to churn.
"What about the heads up there?" Eames asked him.
Bobby looked up and said, "I suppose they are the heads of the animals whose skins are pinned to the walls."
"No, I mean, how did he do those?"
"Oh, I don't know. I don't know much about preserving cranial structures. I would guess in somewhat the same way shrunken heads are prepared."
He looked back at the other three staring at him. "What?"