"So what happened to Sam? Why did he rush off like that?"
"I don’t know. Maybe he just freaked out over Dana’s fit." Finding the pitcher empty, Jake half turned in his seat, searching for the waitress.
"Come on Jake. Doesn’t that all sound just a bit too pat to you?"
Without stopping his attempts to signal a waitress, Jake answered, "Nope. It certainly sounds far more reasonable than that garbage you’re spouting."
Katelynn had had enough. Whether it was her fear or her annoyance at how much Jake had drunk in such a short time, she was less tolerant than usual. Having Jake brush her off so cavalierly infuriated her. She slid out of the booth, grabbed Jake by the chin, and turned his head to face her. "Do you know what a shithead is, Jake?" she asked, and then continued without giving him time to answer. "I’ll tell you. A shithead is someone who can’t see the truth even when its right there in front of him. Thanks for your help. I guess I’ll figure it out on my own."
Jake could only stare. Just what the hell is wrong with everyone tonight? His beer-addled mind just couldn’t put two and two together.
Without another word, Katelynn turned and stormed across the room, disappearing out the door.
For a moment Jake considered following, but quickly decided against it. She probably wouldn’t talk to him and if she felt like being a bitch then it was best if he just left her alone. She’d cool down after awhile.
And then maybe she’d talk some sense. He went back to trying to signal a waitress and did his best to forget about what had been happening for the last several days.
It was more than he wanted to think about at the moment.
Chapter Twenty-four: The Last of a Noble Race
Something terrible had happened to Gabriel.
Sam was certain of it and as he sped through the streets his fear grew with every mile passing beneath his wheels.
Sam could see the flashing blue lights as soon as he turned onto the long, tree-lined drive that led to the main building of the complex. His heart froze at the sight. As he drove closer he made out the forms of the individual police cars that were parked haphazardly in the small cul-de-sac that fronted the building. An ambulance was also there, its rear doors thrown wide, its red strobes mingling in eerie symphony with the blues.
Sam jerked the car to a stop, jumped out, and was running toward the front door even before his engine had grown silent. A uniformed officer saw him at the last minute and tried to prevent him from entering, but Sam ducked beneath the man’s outstretched arms and pushed through the glass door.
The main lobby was full of residents, most of them from the third floor, each in an assortment of pajamas. Uniformed officers were milling here and there amongst the patients. It seemed to Sam as if the police were trying to interview some of patients, but for what reason he couldn’t guess. Most of them were senile and would prove little or no use in whatever investigation they were conducting.
The confusion in the room had brought him up short just inside the door, and when he realized he was no longer moving, Sam cast an anxious glance back over his shoulder. He was relieved to see that the officer he’d snuck past was still outside, prevented from following him by a sudden swarm of spectators who were likewise trying to get inside.
Ignoring the masses of people moving all around him, Sam walked over to the elevators, his thoughts on Gabriel. The presence of the police and the emergency medical team confirmed what he’d previously only suspected. Something had happened here tonight, and he was all but positive it had something to do with Gabriel.
A sense of evil lingered in the air, like a gas that had been only partially dispelled. He wasn’t the only one who felt it, others in the room were constantly looking over their shoulders as if they too could sense some presence in the room; a grim shadow that crouched behind them. In that instant Sam knew the object of Gabriel’s fears had come for him. All that was left to do was to find out if the old man had survived.
Sam had a hunch he already knew the answer to that question and had to force himself to keep moving forward. He had to forcibly ignore the reluctance that suddenly settled about his shoulders like a mantle of lead, threatening to bend his back beneath its great weight.
He was afraid.
Afraid of what he would find upstairs.
As he reached out for the elevator call button, a hand landed on his shoulder, startling him.
"Sorry. Elevators are off-limits. Nobody leaves the lobby until we’re finished," a gruff voice said from behind him.
Sam turned and found himself face to face with another police officer. The man glared at him with eyes as hard as stones and heavy with suspicion.
"Oh," Sam said, a bit flustered by the man’s sudden appearance. "I’ll just use the stairs then." He moved to step past the officer.
The other’s broad bulk blocked his path. "Are you deaf?" the man asked with ill-concealed hostility. "I said nobody’s allowed upstairs."
"Look, officer. I work here. These people are more than my responsibility. Many of them are my friends. If something has happened to one of them, I’ve got to do what I can to help."
"You can help out by staying the hell out of the way of the professionals."
Sam willed himself to stay calm. Humor the guy, an inner voice said.
"Okay, okay," Sam said in a resigned voice, and moved off into the crowd again. Several minutes later, when he was certain the officer was no longer watching him, Sam drifted slowly to his right in the direction of the stairwell.
Damn! he thought, once he had the stairwell in sight. Another officer was stationed there, blocking the way to the upper floors. He was stuck. There was no other way to the upper floors unless he came through the walkway that connected the nursing home to the rest of the hospital complex, and if they had this end covered Sam was certain they would have that guarded as well.
Now what?
Then fate provided him with the opportunity he needed. Several members of the press arrived outside and were attempting to force their way past the officer guarding the front door. The officer guarding the stairwell noticed his partner’s plight, and moved to help, leaving the door to the stairwell unguarded.
Sam took advantage of the opportunity and calmly walked over to the door, opened it, and slipped quietly into the stairwell. He took the steps two at a time, his heart thumping madly in his chest. There might be more guards at the top, but for now he didn’t care, his only concern was the fate of his friend. He had to discover if Gabriel was still alive!
He emerged onto the third floor at the opposite end of the hall from Gabriel’s room. The small corridor before him was empty, but he could hear a good deal of commotion coming from the main hallway around the corner.
Sam took the chance.
The main corridor was filled with people, most of them uniformed police officers. A few men were dressed in dark suits and ties. Sam took them to be detectives. Two ambulance attendants sat in the plastic chairs that lined the hallway with decidedly queasy looks on their faces. An empty stretcher was pushed up against the wall next to them.
While Sam was standing there trying to decide what to do, he heard a familiar voice call his name.
"Sam! Over here!"
He looked to his left and saw Jerry Peters, a co-worker. Jerry was sitting at the nurses’ station, a uniformed cop at his left elbow. An open note pad was in his hand and he frowned as Sam walked over to join them.
"What a fuckin’ mess, Sam! Last time I switch shifts with you!"
His friend’s face, normally ruddy with a glow bestowed from the flask of Dewar’s he kept in his pocket, was so pale as to seem almost bloodless. Dark circles drooped beneath his eyes. Sam watched Jerry’s hands shake as he took a drag from the cigarette he was smoking. The ashtray in front of him was filled with butts.
"Tell me about it, Jerry. What happened?"
Before he could receive an answer the cop spoke up, "Who are you?"
Jerry answered for him. "It’s okay, officer. He works here. This was supposed to be his shift."
The officer looked questioningly at Sam.
"Yeah, that’s right. I had the night off but came in for some things out of my locker and saw all the commotion. I came up to see what was going on," Sam replied.
Deputy Collins hesitated. His orders were to make sure no one left the floor; nobody had said anything about keeping anyone out. For all he knew, the guys downstairs had sent this guy up here. After giving it a moment’s consideration, he decided it would be best to check with the Sheriff and let him know the guy was here. That way he’d at least have covered his ass. Let the guys downstairs take the heat for letting him by.
"Got any ID?" he asked Sam.
Sam dug out the laminated ID card he carried in his wallet. The card bore his photograph, and had his name and position printed beneath the hospital’s seal. He handed the card to Collins, who scrutinized it for a minute, then moved off down the hall without saying anything.
Sam slumped into the chair the officer had vacated. "What’s going on, Jer?"
"Shit! You ain’t gonna believe this man! Some fucker got in here and sliced one of the old coots to bits." Peters shuddered. "Found what was left of him ‘bout a half hour ago. Man, you shoulda seen that room. Blood was freakin’ everywhere!"
Sam had heard enough. "Who was it?" he asked, dreading the answer but needing to ask.
"It was, ahh, what’s his name? The guy who’s always havin’ those weird dreams? You now, the guy with the funny last name. Gabe what’s-his-face?"
Before Peters knew what was happening Sam was up off the chair and running down the hall, racing past a group of officers too surprised by his sudden appearance to stop him. His heart lodged like a bone in his throat.
Flashes of light could be seen coming from room 310, and a group of officers were clustered in front of that door, their backs to him.
Barely slowing, Sam shoved through them into the room itself, ignoring the protests and evading their attempts to stop him.
The room was awash in blood. Crimson splatters covered every surface.
On the walls.
On the floor.
On the once-white sheets of the bed.
Unidentifiable lumps covered in blood were scattered all about the floor.
As he glanced around the room in shock, Sam’s gaze came to rest on the two men who were working inside the room. Dressed in white lab smocks, one used a camera to photograph each of those strange lumps in the place where they’d been found, then waited while his partner used a spatula-like device to scoop those pieces into a small plastic bag. The bag was then deposited onto a small, steel cart that stood behind them.
Sam could see the cart was slowly being filled with bags. Numb with horror, he forced himself to walk over and peer at one of the objects through the clear plastic.
The bags were filled with ragged chunks of human flesh.
Gabriel’s flesh.
The veteran police officers watching from the door might have been around long enough to have become hardened to the overpowering stench, but Sam had not. He spun around and stumbled back out the door of the room into the hall, desperately struggling to keep his teeth clenched tightly against the tide that surged up from his stomach.
His distress grew stronger than his willpower, however, and he threw up, splashing the shoes of one of the nearby detectives with a semi-solid stream of vomit.
Chapter Twenty-Five: The Baton Passes
The cold water from the basin felt good on his face and hands. After unceremoniously losing his dinner, Sam had stumbled down to the men’s room and suffered another attack of retching that lasted almost fifteen minutes. His throat was raw. His stomach ached. He was all but certain that the next attack would leave him exhausted.
Sam reached over and yanked several paper towels from the dispenser hanging on the wall and used them to mop his face dry. One glance in the mirror at the bleak, unhinged look in his eyes was enough. As he bent his head beneath the faucet and tried to rinse the foul taste from his mouth for the fourth time, he made sure he refrained from looking in that direction again.
When he felt he had himself together, he left the men’s room and stepped back into the hall.
Two uniformed officers were waiting for him just outside the door.
*** ***
Damon was talking with one of the responding officers when Collins came up beside him and signaled for his attention.
"What have we got?" Wilson asked while studying Sam over his fellow officer’s shoulder.
"Nothing much, I’m afraid." Collins pointed a thumb back over his shoulder. "Name’s Samuel Travers. Claims he works here, stopped by to get a few things from his locker and ran into the commotion downstairs so he thought he’d check things out. The victim was a friend of his it seems."
Collins handed Damon a small laminated card that had Sam’s picture and employee information. Damon glanced at the photo and then suddenly remembered where he had seen him last.
Travers had been at the site where they’d discovered the Halloran corpse. Damon wondered if it was just a coincidence that Sam had shown up at this murder scene as well. Come to think of it, Jake Caruso had been at two of the murder scenes as well, the two at the Blake estates. Damon filed the thought away for later investigation.
The Sheriff handed the ID back to Collins. "Check this out for me. Find out who his supervisor is and get him on the phone. I want to know everything he can tell us about this guy. You know the drill."
"Gotcha, Sheriff."
As Collins headed down the hall, Damon walked over to where Sam was standing. "Feeling any better, Mr. Travers?" he asked kindly.
"Uh, yeah, thanks. Sorry about the mess." He waved his hand feebly in the direction of the doorway where he’d lost control of his stomach earlier.
"Don’t worry about it," Damon replied. "A sight like that isn’t an easy one to take." He shook his head sadly. "Unfortunately, when you’re in a position like mine you get used to it after awhile."