Any normal elevator felt a little cramped with two criminalists, a detective, a physician, and two security guards, even if it was not a standard compartment. It was long inside to accommodate wheelchairs or stretchers as they rode up to the fourth floor of the facility. Should have been plenty of room.
Nick rested his back along the wall in the corner, a nagging underlying sensation creeping up his spine. It had been a while since this kernel of unease had last taken root, so he kept his mind off of it by studying everyone from beneath the brim of his baseball cap. He observed Dr. Rhodes use a key card to access the control panel for the floors, as his tongue wet his bottom lip in thought. It would be cumbersome to be shackled to a staff person whenever one of them needed to go from level to level.
"Where are all the inmates cells?" Grissom asked as they came to their stop.
"A and B blocks are located on the first and second floor. We have 300 patients between them. On the third floor is where are all community and therapy rooms are located. Kitchen, library, exercise rooms, offices," Dr Rhodes informed as they exited out of the lift.
The tiny lobby was accented by pale green walls; the heavy stench of disinfectant hung in the air. Another string of in ceiling lights flashed an angry red. Nick blinked, his eyes squinted as if all of a sudden he had developed a case of photosensitivity. His head hurt from the timing and frequency of the splashing color in the near pitch black corridor.
The entire group bogged down, almost bumping into each other from the dizzying effects. It was like walking from a bright sunny day outdoors into a cave with some wacky rave in full swing and strobe lights to stimulate your visual acuity. Nick held his hand in front of his face following the rest into the nauseating environment. He pondered darkly that blood was harder to see on a green backdrop, a trick some hospitals used in emergency rooms.
"What else is on this level besides the infirmary?" he asked as they encountered another checkpoint, the security detail with them instructing the staff to forgo the normal routine by allowing the group to pass.
A steel door with a thick glass window slid open, the loud metal clanking as it glided on the rail. They were corralled inside a sort of nexus space in between both sets of security doors. Two buff guards monitored cameras on their work stations, two screens displaying the hall they just vacated and the one they were entering.
"C block is located up here. For our patients with the most severe disorders who require tighter security, and who are on heavy amounts of medications. They're under 24-hour supervision," the head honcho explained earning a weary look from Brass and the same neutral expression from the supervisor.
The other door began to open, pushing its occupants out into another hallway. The same pulsating light greeted the huddled group. Every blink of color was like being stabbed in the eyes.
"Damn it, Johnson! Get the proper lights up and running. It's been an hour since this mess for cryin' out loud!" Rhodes thundered as he stomped back towards his staff, barking orders.
One of the gorilla guards, who looked like he stepped out of the ring from a sumo match complained back about a computer glitch. Angry exchanges carried on and the bureaucrat stormed back still cursing under his breath. He gave an irritated look towards the forensics staff. "My colleague, Dr. Stanfield, is on his way. He's helped with this sort of problem before."
Nick allowed a small ironic smile, his tone of voice less than humorous. "I thought this didn't happen very often?"
The wiry man brushed past the CSI, his rude behavior escalating a notch from the previous encounter in the office. Jim glanced over at Nick shrugging his shoulders. "Guess they don't have IT guys."
Nick kept in step with the entourage. The hall widened as the cell block began. Shoe box rooms every few feet were tombs of painted over brick, the only section of the place thus far that felt like a prison. Nick noted security cameras in different corners of the hallway. Each identical door had a set of thick bars that encompassed tiny windows to peek in and check the status of each inmate. There were no padded walls on the inside. Instead each barren room contained unaware sedated zombies strapped to their beds.
Nick found himself in front of the group. His quickened strides took him away from the glimpses of cramped cells filled with monsters. The sprawling building hid its bulk very well from the outside. It was a much larger faculty on the inside as they turned twice stopping before another door. One of the security officers used his key card to open it as they entered the infirmary.
Dr Rhodes spoke briefly with a black male nurse. The guy looked to be in his thirties, shaved head, average build. Green scrub top and bottoms, with a white coat hung loosely around his frame.
"Name's Angelo Davis," was his way of introduction. "You guys hear to talk with Freddie and Sam?"
Grissom stepped up. "If you are referring to the injured orderlies, yes. But we would like to speak with you first."
The nurse shrugged. His body language revealed a man at ease with his environment, his shoulders relaxed, and an easy smile that tugged at his features.
"You responded to the alarm?" the supervisor asked.
"Yeah. I work mainly here. When Sam called for help on the intercom, I responded. Doors between floors automatically close during a lockdown, so I was the closest to the call."
Jim wrote in his notebook, while Nick dug into his kit for his tools.
"What did you see once you entered?" Grissom asked.
Angelo's demeanor stiffened at recalling the events. "Got there and both guys were tangling with two of the patients. They were having a tough time subduing either one."
"How so?" Grissom asked casually trying to keep everything in perspective.
The nurse wiped at his bald head, shaking it. He laughed under his breath, though it was more of a defensive reaction, stifling any embarrassment at the fear. "Dudes went ape shit, bat crazy, Man. Growling. Howling. It was just chaos. I helped pull one of them off of Sam, injected him with Ativan. Then it took all three of us to keep the other one down long enough to stick the needle in. Missed once, but got him in the neck of all places. He still struggled like King Kong himself." Angelo whistled. "Crazy ass shit."
Grissom seemed satisfied with his answers; he was about to nod to Nick to start processing the nurse, when the younger man stepped over and began.
"I need to see your hands for a few minutes. I also need to collect anything under your nails." Nick looked up. "Cool?"
The easy manner was back. Angelo seemed none too worried. "Go ahead. Knock yourself out. I changed clothes just a few minutes ago. If you need my other scrubs, they're in the biohazard hamper next to the cabinet."
"Yeah, we'll collect that with all the other clothes when we leave," Nick answered, as he performed the needed procedures. After his collection was complete, he placed his tools into the pockets of his vest and the bindles were placed in his kit.
Grissom looked back and forth between both men seeming satisfied that everything was complete. "May we see the two orderlies?"
Angelo tapped a clipboard to his side, brown eyes studying the intense crowd. "Yeah. Follow me."
Their security escort took two vacant chairs as their presence wasn't necessary during these interviews. The nurse lead them to an open area with five beds. Two of them were occupied in the far right corner. When the CSIs and Brass entered, both patients swung their legs over, each one sitting up. The hospital head made introductions.
Grissom turned to a man in his forties sporting a buzz cut, and a smooth hairless face. His right arm hung in a sling, his left eye was swelling shut, and a myriad of dark bruises formed one hell of a shiner. "Freddie Wilkes," he introduced and pointed to a younger guy on the gurney, "And that's Sam."
Grissom nodded to the quieter orderly and faced the one in front of him."Mr. Wilkes, do you think you could tell me and my colleagues what happened to you and what you witnessed?"
The man rubbed at his chin using his free hand. "Sam and I were talking after we each made a sweep."
"You each have an area to monitor?" Grissom asked to clarify.
"Yeah. I take the west end, and Sam the east. We sort of cross paths in the middle and stop to shoot the shit."
Nick got out a penlight from his kit. "About what time was that?"
"Around eleven." The man looked over to Grissom who nodded for him to continue. "We were just talking when all Hell broke loose. The lights went out, and those damn red ones began flashing. We knew it was an alarm, but normally we don't plunge into darkness. We contacted the checkpoint station with my radio for any calls and we were told an alarm had been pulled. Then lockdown procedures were begun and we began inspecting each room for trouble."
Grissom pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose. "You guys didn't know what room signaled the alarm?"
The other, orderly shook his head. Grissom noticed stitches along the side of his pale cheek, strawberry blond long hair pulled into a ponytail that matched his perfectly trimmed goatee. "It was general alarm. We had no clue who punched it in. We had to go through every room," he said as he shook his head. "Do you know how much time was wasted doin' that?"
Nick gave the young orderly a fleeting glance and nothing more, before sliding his gloves on and focusing his attention on Freddie Wilkes. "Do you think you could hold up your right hand, please?"
Wilkes narrowed his eyes but did as requested. Nick shone his light in a pattern over the man's skin for blood, even though he knew that any would have been washed way during treatment. Pocketing his light into his vest, he pulled out a tiny instrument. "I need to scrape under your nails." Nick held open a small envelope as he lifted any foreign material from under each nailbed.
Wilkes ignored the younger CSI as he continued. "When we approached the room where Dr. Kincaid usually conducted group we heard...these terrible screams," he said as he wet his lips. "Like an animal's right before it tears its prey apart."
Sam looked down at the floor as he fiddled with the strings to his hospital issued top. "It wasn't anything I'd ever heard before and I've worked here for over four years." The man's voice betrayed his young age, barely in his mid twenties.
Nick moved over towards him and began the same procedures for collecting any trace or blood from the guard's hands for comparison tests that would be used later on. Their clothes would be collected in bags and taken to the lab.
Wilkes shared a glance with his more shaken up friend and focused his attention back towards Grissom. "We looked through the window and saw Dr. Kincaid's body on the floor."
The young orderly ignored the somewhat undignified procedures, trying to gain support from his older colleague. Nick didn't say a word of reassurance as he finished up processing the man's hands as they trembled. The kid tried to keep his voice from shaking. "We...we just went in to see if he was alive."
"You didn't wait for help?" Nick asked as he wrote his initials on the envelopes before storing them in his kit.
Wilkes glared at Nick, his tone harsh and bitter. "No! We...we… Christ...there was blood all over the floor…we just..." His eyes darkened, "Those freaks bashed him into raw hamburger." The larger man pounded his free hand onto his knee. "Yeah, we rushed inside. That's when Patterson and Ivan launched at us. Bastards were on us like two rabid dogs, hollering and mumbling about how we were there to kill them."
Grissom frowned. "Ivan, ...Leon Stoyanov, right?"
"Yeah, Leon, that fuck," Wilkes growled. "Just a melee of fists, teeth, and crushed bodies. We both got into a tussle before Sam was able to get enough licks in to radio which room we were in."
"Which patient was sedated first?" Grissom asked .
"Robert Patterson, that stuttering fool gets real hard to handle, " the huffy man replied. Brass had been diligently scribbling notes the whole time.
Sam nodded. "It took all of us to subdue Ivan- I mean Leon. Guy broke my partner's arm and was trying to throttle me. Kept muttering, You before me, the whole time. We all had to dog pile him for Angelo to get the needle in. Even then he didn't pass out till several minutes later."
"What about the other inmates?" Grissom pressed on.
Wilkes snorted. "They were each huddled in a different corner. Joey was rocking back and forth, scared shitless of his own shadow."
"Joey?" Grissom, raised en eyebrow.
"Yeah, Joey. No one calls him Joesph around here. Sheldon Tanner had barricaded himself behind a broken table, started to threaten us every time we came near him. Babbling about the Devil and payback. Once two more guys showed up we easily took both of them down and zipped them up."
Nick's brow furrowed. "Zipped them up?"
"Got them into their straitjackets. Fuckers had fresh blood all over them. We were buying their act," Wilkes grunted. He looked at the trio and merely shrugged. "We got the animals all loaded up and carted down here into their pens. Angelo put them into la la land. I say keep them there, if they like it so much."
"Did Dr. Kincaid normally conduct group therapy at such late hours?" Grissom asked.
Both employees seemed to think about the situation in that matter for the first time. Wilkes shrugged. "Nah. Not that I ever recall."
"You can't tell us any more about what you observed or what any of the inmates said?" Grissom inquired.
Wilkes stepped closer to the supervisor, causing Brass to inch forward. "It was like some goddamn nightmare. We went in, fought off the loonies, and got the hell out. Waited for the cops to show while we got ourselves down here to be checked out. Got some cracked ribs and Sam's got a concussion and a twisted knee for his trouble."
Grissom raised an eyebrow. "You guys were lucky then."
The orderly stalked away and sat on his bed in a form of dismissal. "Yeah. Doc got pummeled by his angry beasts. He should know better to then try to tame the wild."
The secured section of the medical ward was just another room. The walls were not made of lead, no fancy motion sensors or state of the art security to keep bad guys at bay. This was an area to heal the sick, even if it so happened the patients had a collective melt down. There were ten beds total, the four suspects were separated each by an empty row. All the lights were dimmed and all of the fluorescent bulbs turned off. Beside each patient was an IV bag dripping medications to a vein in each arm. Heart monitors recorded a slumber induced person. The two additional antsy security guards stood almost in the way as each criminalist went about processing.
Nick leaned over the bed of the first suspect. Restraints secured his wrists and ankles and several more straps held his torso in place beneath a thin sheet. A face revealed no personality, just eyes that shifted beneath their lids as if they might pop open and red tinted pupils of something inhuman might stare back at him.
Nick hesitated only briefly at the continued sporadic eye movement. REM sleep indicated deep rest, dreams, nightmares, images conjured while the brain was on autopilot. The face of the man was void of tension; sedatives were meant to calm and still a person, and in extreme cases conk you out if need be. Another facial twitch, corner of the mouth spasming around the left side of the face, then suddenly still. Eyes that flinched, then drooped.
Did he look like this while under the spell of muscle relaxants and tranquilizers one foggy night, lost in a haze of drugs? Nick wet his lips again. The stench of blood was still fresh on the skin of these men. The pheromones of fear and rage filled the air from all the occupants. Their forms an embodiment of dark and deviant behavior that breathed all around him.
He was inside a mental ward. It would cause anyone a tinge of nerves. He observed his boss out of the corner of his eye; smooth as silk. No anxiety, no nerves. Will of solid iron and no doubt holding all the answers in his steel trap of a mind.
Nick stared at the face of the prisoner, another slight tic as the man's mouth twisted at the corners. He turned to show Grissom, but then something stopped him. His mind tried to
fill in the blanks left by the holes in his confidence.
His neck knotted up the more he thought of it. The room almost hummed with tension, the sources of agitation and electricity impossible to pinpoint. Or so close by that one could see the sparks glow a deep blue when frayed nerves rubbed together in the air.
Jaw tight, thoughts focused on processing, Nick took his light and began with the hands and fingers. He lowered to a crouch and peered at blood-stained fingertips that connected to broken and split nails. He took out a swab, gliding the tip of the cotton over them. His elbow brushed against one of the guard's pant legs as he loomed over the investigator.
Nick stood up, spinning around. "Will give you give me some space, Man?"
Grissom shot a look in his direction but Nick didn't pay it much attention. The security guard backed away. "That's Stutter Boy-- Robert Patterson, the guy who tried to take out Freddie and Sam," he grunted.
Nick rubbed at the sweat forming below the brim of his hat with his forearm. "Yeah. Well, Mr. Patterson is sleepin' now. Just try not to hover so much, okay?"
Nick took out a tool to begin scraping at the man's skin to collect epithelials, to see if he had contact with the deceased. The steady rise and fall of the suspect's chest and heavy breathing was a bit disconcerting. He'd processed unconscious victims at hospitals before, but the extra precautions and the tension was nerve-wracking As he began searching for defensive wounds or bruises Nick swore he could hear his heart thunder in
his chest. Focusing on his task and mindful of so many other people, he went about his job, digging into his kit to gather a DNA sample.
Gil Grissom began with the next patient. Like his colleague he began with hands and nails, both caked with dried blood. He glanced over at Dr. Rhodes who had inconspicuously blended in with the shadows on the walls. "Exactly who am I looking at here?"
The physician didn't budge from his position of observation. "That would be Sheldon Tanner, one of our esteemed rapists."
Grissom didn't hide his scowl over the poor taste and callous words. "He was one of the ones who didn't resist," he remarked, untying the hospital gown in order to document the sleeping man's torso. He pulled the cloth down, noting a faint bruise along his collarbone. Grissom snapped a photo.
The supervisor proceeded to gather samples, noticing the lack of any blood on the man's hands or around his body. His clothes may hold more secrets for later. Grissom took a cotton swab and opened the man's slack mouth to rub the inside of his cheek. The man's tongue protruded out, the lax muscle dipped along the bottom lip. Grissom tried to coax it back inside, not wanting the guy biting down on it when he awoke.
"We'll need to set up interviews as soon as possible. We'll take their clothes to our lab for further tests and can come back later tonight or tomorrow."
Angelo the nurse scanned the chart attached at the foot of the bed. He pursed his lips. "Each of them got the same dose of Ativan, all of them will be awake by morning." He shrugged. "Each case is different. I know Leon is fairly hard to keep snowed under, he'll be awake before the others."
Grissom nodded. "Well, we can only interview them one at a time, so that's fine. He'll be first on my list."
Grissom moved on towards the man in question. It was obvious this was Leon Stoyanov, the oldest of the inmates. His head was quite large as was the rest of his body. Broad shoulders, torso, muscular legs. The patient did something to keep in shape while being confined. Shaggy dark black hair, five o'clock shadow across an unusual golden complexion. Right wrist had a brace on it, his face a plethora of newly formed bruises, a cut along his neck, possibly where the syringe had scratched him during the attempted
injection.
Grissom spent extra time documenting the body, every discoloration of skin, every gash. When he finished with the blood stained hands, the supervisor noted a tiny dark stain around the corner of the suspect's bottom lip. Carefully he took a swab for his collection and brushed over it. Then Grissom shined his penlight along the rest of the man's battered face when he saw steel blue eyes stare back at him.
Grissom squinted to see if his eyes were playing tricks on him in the dimly lit room. The man's mouth opened and Grissom cautiously lowered his ear and listened to slurred words. The supervisor strained to hear the whisper, both guards now standing at his sides, as if the man could just rip off his bonds. Grissom stood up and adjusted his glasses, the suspect back asleep below him.
Jim Brass wandered over, curious, his eyes flashing between the man on the bed and the older CSI. "He say something, Gil?"
Grissom's perplexed look faded to his more stoic expression, the faint hint of curiosity sparkled in his eyes. He arched an eyebrow, noting he had an audience. "He said, You're the blue-eyed Devil." The entomologist shrugged, as if the rambles of a deranged man didn't bother him in the least.
The Captain gnawed at his bottom lip as the nurse walked over to check the patient's vitals. "Must have been a brief moment of semi-lucidity."
Brass snorted. "I'd hazard a guess that anything a whack job says under heavy sedation is anything but lucid."
Nurse Angelo shrugged. "A person can have bouts of consciousnesses. Depends on his physiological makeup and history with drugs."
Grissom seemed unfazed. "Speaking of, I want samples of all blood drawn from each suspect."
Dr. Rhodes joined the group huddled around the entomologist as each security guard seemed reluctant to relax just yet. "We'll be running our own tests, Mr. Grissom. Rest assured we will be conducting an internal investigation."
Grissom spoke as if the head physician had not said anything. "Also, I want blood drawn every few hours for comparison analysis. Our lab will handle all toxicology and anything else deemed necessary."
Nick had moved on to the last suspect. Identifying the man was easy, since he was the only one left. Joseph Brighten was an average everyday looking kind of guy. Average sized body, short brown hair graying along the edges. No facial hair and of course no way to tell what color eyes without looking at his chart. Not that it really mattered to him in the scheme of things. Nick glanced at the discussion taking place a few feet away.
The hair along the back of his neck rose when out of the corner of his eye it seemed his boss was listening to one of the suspects. His already tense back muscles seemed to knot even tighter, his feet balanced just right to spring into action if need be. Once the warning bells in his head were muted, he turned his attention back at the task at hand. The tension never ebbed from his shoulders, although his posture was more visibly relaxed when
everyone else was pre-occupied. He enjoyed silence and isolation more and more of late. No beady eyes, no---
Nick sighed and took out his camera to document the suspect's torso after pulling back the man's top to reveal unbruised flesh. Documentation was documentation, everything needed to be standardized. He leaned over the body to inspect some odd marks on his left hand instead of walking to the other side. With his legs braced over the bed, his chest brushing over the man's stomach, Nick flinched when he felt fingers pinch his leg.
He nearly dropped his Nikon, the camera dangling from his neck, eyes wide at the brown ones staring overly dilated at his. Instead of jerking away, his feet were frozen in place. A droplet of sweat trailed painstakingly slow down his brow, along his nose and down to the trembling body below him.
Extremely saucer-like eyes glued to his face, a mouth opened, no words coming out, fingers grasping at the fabric of his slacks, stretching to tug the hem of his untucked shirt.. What Nick witnessed was horror, pure horror and fear, before the eyes rolled back into the mans' head, the fingers clutching at him slackened.
Nick let out a gasp, finally breaking free of his paralysis. Just like the freakiest moments of the past few months no one had been the wiser of the newest encounter. That was until his audible response. Now several sets of eyes were on him as he staggered backwards.
"Nick?"
He didn't acknowledge his name. Jim and one of the guards went next to him.
"Hey, Nicky, you okay?"
Nick raised an eyebrow and glanced over. His voice was as bland and neutral as ever. "Yeah, fine. Involuntary muscle reaction from our guy here."
Angelo came over, checking the patient. "Hmmm. He should be under the sandman's spell for a while."
Grissom stepped over, inspecting for himself. He glanced over at the other CSI.
Nick didn't meet his gaze. He laughed instead. "Yeah, something like that." He looked over at his boss. "If we're doing interviews tomorrow, I'll run the results back to the lab." Short and to the point.
Without a second's hesitation, Nick packed his kit and wandered over towards Dr. Rhodes. "I'll need to be heading back. Care to let me out?"
Grissom stood silently, no orders ever escaped his lips. Jim scrunched up his face. "Didn't you two ride over together?"
The supervisor shook his head. "No. Nick took his own truck."
Jim's eyes wandered back and forth. "Seems like a waste of gas," he grumbled.
Grissom didn't respond, his eyes speaking volumes, but words never reaching his mouth.
Nick fidgeted as he waited for the director or a guard to escort him out of the infirmary. He didn't glance back or even wait for orders. He followed one of the security men out into the other room, and back towards the hall. He didn't know if Grissom had said anything, since his heart was racing so fast, he swore it blocked out any other sound. Instead he wiped at his brow again and never looked back. Body stiff, shoulders squared, as he headed back towards the lab and out of the madhouse.
tbc...