8
Intentional End
Chapter 8
Monday Morning
September 11
Christian sat on the floor beside the drapes, watching the two nurses tend to his sleeping Gramma. The little boy waited, he knew that it wouldn't be long.
"I don't know what happened; she seemed to be talking with her son, the tall one, just last night; he was here for more than an hour," the aide told the nurse.
"What about during the night?"
"Nothing, she slept straight through."
"Well, let's watch her today. Try to wake her and get her fed and moving. And watch her numbers."
The nurse nodded and prepared to wake Bobby's mother.
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Dark crescent moons hung under Bobby's eyes and his temper seemed to be creeping back. He was distracted and irritable, coming in late and leaving early. Both Eames and Deakins treated him with kid gloves. He had learned nothing about where Gleason – and Malcolm, apparently – might be. They had been missing for nearly two weeks.
He had visited his mother last night and she seemed weaker, thinner, and her colour wasn't good, a grey cast had made its way into her skin. Dr. Shinto assured him her increased frailty of body and mind was the result of her age. But Bobby thought something else was afoot as his mother was only seventy-eight, too young to be so afflicted. He feared her decline was precipitated by the last nasty argument that had erupted between them a few weeks ago. God, she could make him crazy and hated to lose it with her. He would see her again this evening.
"There's nothing here. We need to call the Brazilian authorities," he said, slamming shut the top folder.
"Bobby! I called last week and spoke with them again Friday. They're looking for the victim's wife, but have found nothing so far." She stared at her partner and worried about him.
They were preparing to interview the brother of a suspected accomplice in the murder of the pilot. "Do you have the photos?" Eames continued.
"I have them."
"Detective, your ten-thirty interview is in IR three," the assistant told Eames.
"Thanks," she answered and the pair walked to Interview Room Three.
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"She's not good. You better call her sons," Dr. Shinto said sadly, closing Mrs. Goren's chart. He sighed heavily as he hated this part of his work, this part of life.
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Bobby's cell rang, "Sorry," he checked the number, excused himself and stepped into the hall, leaving Eames to continue the interview. "Hello? . . . What do you mean? . . . Jesus. Yes, yes, I'm on my way. . . . You'll call Frank? . . . Yeah, thanks."
Bobby stared a moment and headed to Deakins' office, knocked on the open door and said, "Uh, it's my mother. She's, she's not good. The Center said I should go. I need to go."
Deakins stood and came around his desk. "Take Eames with you."
"No, uh, no. I, I need to go."
"Bobby, sit down a minute," he said with a hand on Bobby's arm, "Come here, sit down." Bobby allowed himself to sit and then Deakins stepped to the door, "Perkins." The detective looked up and moved to his boss. "Eames is in IR three, tell her to end the interview and come here." Perkins nodded and left. Good God, how much more can this man take, Deakins wondered.
Within a minute, Eames entered the Captain's office. Deakins told her to close the door and then said, "I want you to drive Bobby to Carmel Ridge. His mom is not good; they called him to come now."
Alex nodded and looked at her partner. He sat and stared ahead, seeing nothing, hearing nothing. "Shall I call Gleason?"
"Uh, Gleason's going to be out of the picture for several weeks."
Alex's eyes opened wide in wonderment and Deakins held up his hand and shook his head. "I can't say anything and neither can he."
"Ok," she answered simply and stepped to Bobby, reaching for him, "Come on, Bobby, let's go."
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Christian watched his gramma breathe, she was sweaty and frightened. The nurse wiped his gramma's forehead and spoke gentle, calming words.
"My, my . . . son . . . where's my . . . son?" Mrs. Goren whispered, pulling at the cannula.
"He's coming, Dear, he's coming. We're trying to reach your other son. Rest now, just rest." The nurse tried to reinsert the nosepiece, gently avoiding Mrs. Goren's weak swats.
"Fra- . . . where's . . . Frank? Fra-?" she gasped, her agitation increasing.
The nurse lifted the phone and called Dr. Shinto, requesting permission to give the dying woman a sedative.
"Thanks," she said after the return call and she filled a syringe. "Here you are, Dear. This will calm you."
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"Gramma!" he called, running toward her, "Gramma!"
Frances Goren turned at the sound of her name and saw the little boy run toward her. She bent with arms outstretched and caught the three-year-old, swinging him around as though she was forty years younger. "Oh, my Sweet Pea, my Sweet Pea, here you are," she exclaimed, setting down the child and taking his hand.
"Come on, Gramma, come on! Let's go!"
"Where? Where are we going?"
"Over here, come on!"
"All right, all right; let's go."
The path led uphill a bit and Frances looked around. What a lovely place, she thought. Wildflowers filled the field to her right; a stone wall lined the far end. To her left stretched a wheat field with a lush forest below it. Christian led his grandmother up the path; from the crest, far off, she saw a small crowd of people. A man came forward and she faintly heard, "Frannie!"
"Bert?" she wondered, "Bert, is that you?" As she got closer she saw that it was her husband, Bert; and then Frances saw Mark, her former lover, and her mother! All of them, they had all come to welcome her!
"Christian? Where, where are we? What is this place?"
"Gramma, we're in Heaven," the little boy answered, looking up at his Gramma.
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The pager vibrated again on his belt and Dr. Shinto removed it, knowing what it was before he read it – Bobby Goren's mother had died.
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The SUV traveled swiftly north on its way to the Carmel Ridge Center. Bobby sat quietly. He'd pulled his phone from his pocket twice, dialing, listening and snapping it shut with a sigh.
Eames glanced over at her partner and wondered what was going on. The Captain's terse comment about Gleason had startled her – where would Gleason be if she were 'out of the picture for several weeks?' What is going on?
So much was happening all at once – that bastard Sledge leaving for DC and the FBI; Logan's partner, Wheeler, left a week ago; Gleason's gone and now Bobby's mother. Man, when it rains. . .
Eames parked and the two exited the vehicle. Neither had said a word yet.
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The desk nurse saw Bobby and another woman exit the elevators. "Mr. Goren! Mr. Goren, please, Dr. Shinto would like to speak with you. This way, please," the nurse called, coming around the desk.
"I want to see my mother," he said and continued toward the corridor.
Eames put a hand on his arm and said softly, "Let's talk with the doctor first. Come on, Bobby."
He stopped again and looked down at his tiny partner, wanting to see his mom, but knowing Alex was right.
"Ah, Mr. Goren, thank you for coming so quickly. Please, let us speak in my office. This way," Dr. Shinto said, rushing from the opposite corridor.
Eames and Bobby followed the good doctor through a door and each took a seat, the doctor leaning against the front of his desk.
"Uh, Dr. Shinto, this is my partner Detective Alex Eames. Dr. Shinto is my mother's physician," Bobby said, introducing them. The doctor and Eames nodded to each other.
"How is my mother? I want to see her."
"Mr. Goren, your mother passed away shortly after you were called. I am very sorry."
Bobby stared at the doctor and Eames' hand went to her lips. She looked at her partner and saw no reaction.
Finally, Bobby looked away, shifted in the chair, cleared his throat and asked, "She's, she's gone? She died? My mother is dead?"
"I am sorry," the doctor said with genuine sorrow.
It was Bobby's turn to put fingers to lips. "Uh, what, what happened? She's been failing for the past couple weeks. What happened?"
"We are not certain. Forgive me, but I must ask, do you want an autopsy done?"
"I want to see her." Bobby stood and walked away. Eames looked at the doctor and he nodded. She followed Bobby to his mother's room and remained at the door as he walked slowly to the bed; she looked like she was asleep.
"Mom?" he whispered.
A nurse stepped beside Eames and then entered the room, moving a chair to the side of the bed, putting a hand on Bobby's arm. He hitched a sob and then sank heavily into the chair. The nurse lowered the bed rail and Bobby took his mother's frail, limp, cool hand in his. "Mom?" he whispered again and then he cried.
Eames turned away and fought tears of her own. She needed to call the Captain.
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"Captain, it's Alex. Bobby's mother died before we got here."
"Oh, Christ. How is he?"
"He's, uh, he's, he's in her room now."
"Ok. Gee. Listen, stay with him and take him home. Stay with him, Alex. Then, then keep me posted. Do whatever you need to do to help him."
"Certainly," she whispered, not trusting her voice.
Alex Eames clicked shut her phone, slipped it into her pocket and then entered Mrs. Goren's room.
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