Part 9 (2/2)
”Like I said before-”
”Money and privacy are not an issue,” she said, cutting him off. ”I'll help you pro bono. All you need to do is schedule an appointment and come see me.”
”I'll think about it,” Preston said as he rose from the ragged couch. He'd managed to visibly turn off his emotions and compose himself relatively quickly.
”Before you go,” Shannon said, ”why do you think you can't stand to be with Jack's family anymore?”
Preston thought for a moment as he grasped the doork.n.o.b. ”I don't know. I think I might be jealous.” He opened the door, letting the screams of the ward rush in. It didn't faze him like he thought it would. ”Thank you, doctor,” he said, appearing to the outside world as if he hadn't been changed by the conversation behind closed doors.
Doctor Morrissey remained behind, sure that he needed more time to heal. She allowed him to walk back through the ward alone.
Chapter 9.
Despite the deep rush of emotion he'd unexpectedly experienced with Doctor Morrissey, Preston was amazed at how easily he'd managed to push it all back down again. It simply slid away without much resistance when commanded, as if it were a tamed animal that dare not disobey him.
By the time he exited the Bloodstrife wing of the hospital, an outside observer would never have been able to tell he'd been crying only moments earlier. He stood straight as he walked, no longer slouching as if cowering from unseen enemies. Just the opposite, he broadened his shoulders, holding his chin high as he overcompensated.
Preston walked out casually, past the nurses' station he'd seen on the way in, once again ignored by the bustle of the people working around it. The screams emanating from behind him gradually quieted as he progressed. It didn't matter; he felt he could stop a bullet with the rush he was feeling.
Only moments later, the screams were consumed completely by the blare of the hospital workers and patients.
Instead of going immediately to his car in the adjoining garage, Preston walked through the gla.s.s sliding doors, out into the suddenly gray summer afternoon. The air had grown colder since he arrived, was.h.i.+ng over him like a cool river. He s.h.i.+vered at the change, but didn't let it slow him down.
Preston placed his hands inside his pockets. Realizing that it may rain at any moment, he made a note not to stray too far from the building.
He breathed deeply as he moved along the sidewalk. People pa.s.sed him uncaringly, going about their lives. He secretly wondered how many of them ever felt the way he did. It had been some time since he experienced the tinge of vulnerability with anyone other than his former wife.
Truthfully, he felt lighter.
It was a shallow feeling of relief that surrounded him, slowing his pace as he progressed down the street. The air finally began to smell more clearly of rain, but the darkening clouds kept their distance on the horizon, shadowing the soon to be swallowed sun.
Preston stopped in the middle of the sidewalk, beginning to contemplate the case. With the sheer number of addicts, he realized, it would only be a matter of time before the DEA came knocking. It wouldn't be the first time they attempted to take something like this out of his control. He flinched as someone b.u.mped into him from behind.
”Careful,” the pa.s.serby said, trying to be nice. Obviously, he was in a hurry as he quickened his pace without looking back at the detective.
”Sorry,” Preston mumbled uncaringly. Impulsively, he rubbed his chin, noticing immediately that he was sporting a full beard. He couldn't remember the last time he'd shaved. G.o.d, he wondered, Shannon must have thought I spent the night on the street by the look of me.
He took a few steps to the side, leaning up against a brick building as he tried to stay out of everyone's way.
”Better watch out. These people always got somewhere to go,” a voice said aloud. ”Never have time to sit back and hear the music.”
Preston turned to see a middle-aged homeless man smiling with pearly white teeth. Out of place, they shone even brighter when contrasted against the dirty face surrounding them.
Reminded of his own wrinkled clothes and five o' clock shadow, Preston a.s.sumed they had at least a few things in common.
The man looked to be newly penniless. He wore a pair of untainted brown corduroy pants, but the black sport coat he complemented it with appeared to have been on the street a lot longer than he had.
He wore clean leather gloves, adding to the vision that his wife had probably kicked him out of the house for any number of reasons, allowing him to take his most recent anniversary gift from her to keep his hands warm. By the look of it, she had probably been the breadwinner in the family.
”Thanks for the tip,” Preston offered with a good natured laugh. ”It's been one of those days.”
”The name's Jay,” the man said politely, outstretching his hand. Preston shook it, introducing himself. ”You think you could help me out?”
Preston searched his pockets for a moment, finding a wrinkled five dollar bill in the depths of his blazer.
”Here,” he said, handing him the money. ”I think I can live without it.”
”Ah,” Jay replied with courtesy, ”the generous type. Sad to say there aren't too many of those on the streets anymore. Bloodstrife kinda keeps them away. What you just gave me goes about halfway.”
”You don't look like an addict,” Preston said cautiously.
Jay rolled up both sleeves, showing clean, untainted arms. From the looks of it, he'd never been addicted to any intravenous drugs.
”You ever see any dealers or anything around here?” Preston asked, mildly satisfied that he wouldn't be directly responsible for the man's drug habit. Nevertheless, Preston remained pessimistic. The mention of the drug had piqued the detective's interest. He placed his hands back inside his pockets as the wind picked up, ushering a fresh draft of the cool breeze down the street.
”Nah, I'm still kinda new to the whole game. Thinking of taking a hike up town a little farther,” Jay said with a somewhat nave grin. ”It's not so bad up there, I think.”
”Not yet,” Preston said with a depressed sigh as he stared loosely in the direction the man referred to. Jay's voice still sounded new, as if he hadn't been worn down by crus.h.i.+ng poverty. Preston thought for a moment, trying to recall the name of a nearby shelter, but couldn't. It was still summer, so he would be fine on the street for now, but it was only a few short months until the snow arrived. He wondered how long the man could last.
”Sounds like you know an addict; let me guess,” Jay said, thinking for a moment. ”You got a teenage boy who started using?” Jay asked, ”Daughter maybe?”
”No,” Preston said, wincing at the word ”daughter.” ”It's not important. I guess up town would be a good way to go for now.” He waved casually as he turned away before walking down the street. His hands found their way back inside his pocket. ”See ya,” he offered quietly.
Without realizing it, the spring in his step had long since evaporated. He was hunched over and moving slowly, now aimlessly wandering like the vagrant with whom he'd just conversed.
Preston lost himself in the case again, going over all the strange occurrences he had the misfortune of seeing first-hand. No one in the department believed his story from the factory, even with Jack standing beside him, vouching for every word. He knew most of the other cops probably thought it had been a hallucination brought on by too much stress, or worse-studying the drug a little too closely.
Nevertheless, all the Unis and the other detectives were playing along for now, refusing to question his story too harshly, at least not when he was around.
He sighed, thinking about how he would have reacted if someone had told him such a story, especially a middle-aged man with no family and only a few friends. He was lucky he wielded at least a reasonable amount of influence in the department.
Then, there was the hospital. Aside from reminding him about the victims, the visit with Shannon Morrissey hadn't yielded any forward progress concerning the case. He reminded himself that he would need to look into Myers-Echowan's contribution to the hospital, but doubted it would turn up anything useful.
If anything, it only reinforced the notion that he was losing the battle. The bodies were piling up all around them, and the big fish were nowhere to be found. There weren't any suspects whom they had identified by their real names either. Each was known only by the mocking names of ancient sins.
The screams of the addicts in the hospital crept up in his mind without much warning. It was almost as if they never left, not since he half-sprinted out of Morrissey's back office before s.h.i.+fting to a light-hearted walk when entering the normal part of the ward.
He knew he'd been drowning in Elisabeth's death for quite a long time. Even with Shannon's help he didn't think he was going to make it up for air.
His pulse quickened as he heard the m.u.f.fled scream. It took a split-second to realize that it wasn't just a memory echoing inside his head from the hospital.
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