Title: DOA, Part 3: Incrimination
Disclaimer: Nope, these ER docs aren't mine, although I'm thinking of investing
in one of them. Does NBC really need all of these beautiful people around? They
can spare one or two, I think. Would anyone *really* miss Carter?
And even though a few of them will get hurt, I guarantee you - I will return
them safe and sound. Except Carter. I'm not returning him at all :P
Rating: R, for language and harsh scenes of violence
Spoilers: Through "Survival of the Fittest." In other words, Mark and Elizabeth
aren't married yet, Elizabeth is still pregnant, Carter and Rena are together,
etc. (Serves me right for starting a fanfic before May Sweeps!)
-----------------------------------------------------------------
Abby awoke to the sound of a *bang*, a *thud*, and a "Shit!" Her eyes snapped
open as she strained to here any more noise - who was outside the hotel room?
Was that a footstep? Whose voice was that, only inches from the hotel room door?
Abby abruptly sat up in the large bed and touched the knife on the nightstand,
still watching the empty doorway. Whoever was outside the door was having a lot
of trouble with the door. Abby craned her neck to listen, and another profound
"Shit!" was whispered in the hallway.
Cautiously Abby grasped the knife and stood up from the bed. She slowly stepped
across the hotel room floor, cringing as the familiar *squeak!* of a loose board
revealed her movement.
Just then, a voice: "Abby?"
Abby's shoulders sank in relief, and she let out the deep breath she'd been
holding. "Luka," she murmured, placing the knife on the counter. Quickly she
stepped to the door and unlocked it. "Having a little trouble?" Abby asked, her
voice cracking with sleep.
Luka nodded sheepishly. "I can never get that damn card to slide properly," he
explained softly.
Abby smirked and placed a hand on her hip. "It *is* pretty difficult, what with
the card having two whole sides and all." She rubbed her eyes with her other
hand and stepped out of the doorway. "How was your shift?"
Luka shrugged as he shut the door behind him. "Pretty quiet," he told her. "Did
I wake you?"
"Oh no, not at all," Abby grumbled as she got back into bed. "I just happened to
be awake at 4 in the morning. My pre-dawn stroll around the hotel room is very
important to me."
Luka sighed and took off his coat. "I'm sorry, Abby," he murmured. "I really
didn't mean to wake you."
Abby was quiet; she sensed the guilt in his voice. "It's better I got up now,
anyway," she mumbled, her voice muffled by the pillow. "I'm on in 4 hours, after
all. I hear that too much sleep isn't good for you."
Luka sat down on the bed and stroked Abby's hair. "Another victim was brought
in," he murmured. "Kaylie Gottesman. Another rich girl."
Abby sighed. "They haven't arrested anyone yet?"
"No. No one besides Malucci, and he was released." Luka paused. "I don't think
you should go into work today, Abby."
Abby turned over and looked at Luka. "Why not?" she asked. "It's just six hours.
I can do six hours with my eyes closed. Which I may have to do, since I got
about 10 minutes of sleep between the bumps in the night and the unruly
Croatians banging at the door."
Luka shook his head. "I'm serious. Whoever killed these women is still out
there."
Abby stared at Luka in disbelief. "County is swarming with cops, Luka," she
stated. "It would have been more likely for me to be killed tonight in the hotel
room than at the hospital." She sat up and looked him in the eyes. "It will be
fine. I will be fine."
Luka looked doubtful. "It isn't safe," he murmured. "What if Malucci comes
back?"
"Do you really think Malucci did this?" Abby asked softly.
"All I know is that three of the four girls were killed when Malucci was out of
prison," Luka informed her. "It isn't safe over there." Gently he touched his
forehead to hers. "Please, Abby. I can't . . . I can't let you be hurt."
Abby's own eyes began to well with tears as she saw his do the same. In an
instant she saw more pain in his face than on any of the dying patients she saw
every day at the hospital. But she couldn't stay home. She had to get to Carter.
If he was relapsing, and she could have stopped him . . . well, she'd never
forgive herself.
Abby was torn from her thoughts as a tear from Luka's mournful eyes ran onto her
cheek. "All right," she whispered to him, wiping away the tear and kissing him
gently. "I'll stay home."
She understood why he was so insistent, of course. He tended to be a little
clingy with Abby at times, and it got to be sort of annoying - but deep down,
Abby knew how angry Luka was with himself for not protecting his wife and
children. There was no purpose in hurting him further.
Abby felt Luka's strong arms embrace her, and she relaxed in his warmth and his
steady breath on her ear. Maybe an overprotective boyfriend wasn't so bad, after
all. She could always just stop in at County to check on Carter.
-------------------------------------------------------
"And no one's been arrested?"
"I can't discuss it."
"Well, do *you* think Malucci did it?"
"I can't discuss it."
Randi glared at the uniformed officer. "You might as well be outside the goddamn
Buckingham Palace, for all the info you're giving me," she snapped.
Just then a hush fell over the ER; always one for unwarranted tension, Randi
watched eagerly to see what was going on. But her jaw dropped as she watched
Malucci stroll into the ER, an indifferent expression on face. "He'd better
avoid Weaver," Randi murmured, shaking her head and turning away.
The eyes of the entire ER followed Malucci through the Admit area, down the
winding hallways, past the lounge and -
- right into Weaver.
"Malucci!" Kerry snapped. "Watch where you're going!"
Malucci plastered a grin onto his face and mockingly saluted her. "Yes, chief,"
he responded.
Kerry glared at him. "You're on thin ice, Malucci," she informed him sharply.
"You shouldn't even be here."
The humor drifted from Malucci's face. "Why is that?" he asked.
"Talk to Romano. He's the one who made the final decision." Kerry glared at him
scornfully, even though she did feel a little bit of pity for the guy. After
all, he was about to face Romano. She quickly moved past him, but not before
returning Dave's sarcastic salute and barking "Dismissed!"
--------------------------------------------------------
"Good morning, all," Carter greeted Haleh and Lydia at the admit desk. "How is
everyone on this fantastic morning?"
Haleh looked at Carter strangely. "Just fine," she responded, raising an
eyebrow. "How are you, Carter?"
"I am very well, thank you for asking, Haleh," Carter told her warmly. "Is the
ER busy today?"
"A bit," Haleh replied, still confused. Was this the same Carter who'd been the
living dead yesterday?
"I've got to go," Lydia said bluntly, moving past the happily humming Carter as
he shuffled though charts.
"Me too," Haleh muttered quickly. She caught up with Lydia. "What's gotten into
Carter?" she whispered once they were out of earshot.
Lydia shook her head. "I don't know," she replied. "But I hope it wasn't through
a syringe."
The pair took another glance at the beaming Carter and almost ran into Abby, who
was tearing through the hall. "Excuse me," she mumbled as she moved around them
to the admit desk, leaving behind two bewildered nurses.
"Everyone's gone crazy around here," Haleh mused as she and Lydia walked away.
Abby quickly surveyed the Admit area; once her eyes settled on Carter, she let
out a sigh of relief and stepped over to him. "I've been looking for you
everywhere, Carter!" she exclaimed. No need to mention the numerous
possibilities for his whereabouts that had run through Abby's mind only minutes
ago.
Carter smiled at her and put his chart back. "That is so sweet," he told her,
pulling her into a strong embrace. "You are such a good friend to care about me
like that."
Abby raised her eyebrows as she feebly patted Carter's back. "Uh . . . thanks,
Carter," she managed to murmur. This was weird.
The embrace lasted for several seconds of silence, and Abby could feel it
growing long and awkward. "So, Carter," Abby finally stated as she forcibly
pulled herself from the hug. "You seem . . . happy today. Are you all right?"
Carter beamed at her. "Never better," he said happily.
Abby nodded slightly as she took a step back and inspected this grinning man.
The last she'd checked, Carter had been depressed enough to sulk in a cloud of
cigarette smoke, cutting off any human contact at any cost. And now -
A childish giggle interrupted Abby's thoughts, and she curiously looked at
Carter. "What?" she asked.
Carter giggled again. "Malucci's talking to Romano," he explained, his eyes
dancing with delight. "Romano fired him."
Abby's eyes widened with shock. "Romano fired Malucci?" she repeated. "For
what?'
Carter cocked his head at Abby, his smile fading slightly. "For killing 4
people," he told her, speaking as if she were a child. "Haven't you been here
for the last few days?"
Abby nodded vaguely. So Malucci was getting fired - but was he really the
killer? He had no motive, no real reason to kill these girls. As far as Abby
knew, Malucci didn't even know any of the last 3 victims. 'Except Deborah West,'
Abby remembered. 'She was his alibi for Jing-Mei's murder.'
But why would Malucci kill his alibi? Had she been covering for him? Maybe she
was going to go to the police, and Malucci had stopped her -
God. Abby didn't want to think about it. Luckily Malucci wouldn't be at County
anymore, so she would be able to breathe a little easier. Maybe Luka would let
her out of the hotel room if Malucci were out of the picture - or better yet,
behind bars. Abby cringed when she considered lying to Luka again. It was bad
enough that she was here after she had called in sick - if Luka found out that
she wasn't actually out getting doughnuts . . . if he found out that she had
gone to the hospital . . .
But what if his fears were well founded? What if Malucci decided to go on some
vindictive killing spree, slaughtering anyone and everyone in the ER who got in
his way? A shudder racked Abby's shoulders and quickly she decided that she
needed to leave.
Her eyes darted in Carter's general direction, and she noticed the blank glaze
that had suddenly appeared in his eyes. "What's wrong, Carter?" she asked
worriedly.
Carter wasn't listening. Instead he walked away abruptly, snatching his chart as
he left. Abby watched him leave in bewilderment. She didn't want to think about
what was going on with him. She was tired of thinking.
--------------------------------------------
Shouts of fury and frantically ringing phones filled the police station as a
haggard looking woman, about middle age, timidly walked in. "I'm looking for the
person handling my daughter's murder," she informed the nearest officer. Her
words were stern but her voice was trembling.
"What's your daughter's name?" the officer asked as he led the woman to a filing
cabinet.
"Madeline," she answered. The note in her hand was wrinkling in her clenched
hand. "Madeline Crane." The officer proceeded to open the cabinet and sift
through the files, and the woman quickly added, "She was the second girl
murdered by the serial killer."
The officer nodded in comprehension, and quickly he withdrew a folder. "How can
I help you today?" he asked, shutting the cabinet and studying the woman's
miserable face.
She held up the sweaty note with a shaking hand. "I . . . I found this in her
apartment," she murmured. "I was gathering her things and . . . and this fell
out of her purse."
The officer took the note and studied it. 'Watch your back,' the note read
simply, signed with a mangled signature. "Do you know anyone who would try to
threaten your daughter?" the officer questioned.
The woman shook her head. "Only her boyfriend, but his initials aren't J.C."
Quickly she peered at the note and pointed at the signature. "I studied the damn
thing for an hour and the only letters I could get out of the signature are the
first ones: J and C."
The officer nodded. "I'll make sure this is counted as evidence," he told her as
he folded the paper and placed it inside the folder.
The woman smiled at him gratefully and touched his hand. "Thank you, officer,"
she said softly.
--------------------------------------------
"Dr. Weaver, I've got that chart you wanted," Randi informed Kerry. She absently
handed Kerry a chart and turned back to her magazine. "Madeline Crane, right?"
"Yeah," Kerry murmured as she read through the charts. She was surprised to see
that Madeline had come into the hospital previously, only a month before she was
killed. Ordinarily, this wouldn't be strange to Kerry, but it now created a link
between Madeline, the hospital - and the only suspect. Intrigued, Kerry quickly
scanned the old chart for the doctor who had tended to Madeline.
Malucci. Of course. Her suspicions were correct.
"I checked up on the other victims, too," Randi suddenly spoke up, trying not to
lift her eyes to Kerry. This was getting juicy. "Kaylie Gottesman and Deborah
West. They also have charts from a few months ago." Unable to resist, Randi's
gleaming eyes darted towards Kerry's bewildered face. "And both were seen by
Malucci." She watched Kerry for a moment, then excitedly added "Don't you find
that suspicious?"
Kerry stared at Randi for a moment. "Get me those charts as well, Randi," she
murmured, tucking Madeline Crane's chart under her arm. "And start answering
phones instead of playing Nancy Drew!"
---------------------------------------------
Romano paced around the office slowly, never taking his hateful glare away from
the visibly nervous Malucci. His muscular hands were folded behind his back, and
every time he passed Malucci, his hands clenched a little more. Suddenly Romano
stopped pacing; he stared at Malucci for a moment of terrifying silence. "Take a
guess," he snapped.
Malucci's eyes darted away from Romano in a sort of primal defeat. A guess? "Uh
. . . five," he mumbled. God. Compared to this, the interrogation room at the
police station seemed sort of comforting.
Romano chuckled sardonically. "Five," he repeated. Shaking his head with pity
for this ignorant fool, he strolled to his huge leather chair and took a seat.
"Five. Try fifty-seven."
Malucci looked vaguely surprised, but Romano continued lecturing angrily.
"Fifty-seven people who have called me up, threatening to sue the hospital
because they've seen you on the news for killing Jing-Mei. Fifty-seven lawyers
have cited their clients' lawsuits regarding you and your supposed attempts on
their lives. Any person who has crashed under your care is now demanding to see
us in court!" Romano was now shouting. "Am I making myself clear?!"
Malucci was quiet. "Why did you call me up here, again?" he asked finally. "I
have a shift to begin."
Romano snorted. "It's in your better interest to keep your fucking mouth shut,"
he snapped. "As of now, you no longer work in the ER. In fact, I'd recommend you
getting out of this hospital before I call the police."
A shocked chill ran through Malucci as he slowly absorbed Romano's words.
"You're . . . you're firing me?!" he cried, his lungs feeling suddenly deflated.
Romano smirked at him. "I can't afford to have you on staff anymore," he
explained, a certain evil dripping from his words. "Once this whole thing clears
up you may be invited back to County. But that depends on how quietly you
leave."
Malucci was dumbstruck. "What exactly am I being fired for?" he asked
uncertainly.
Romano considered this for a moment. "I find you to be a threat to my staff and
my patients," he stated simply. "At the hospital we'd prefer to help people, not
murder them."
"Bullshit!" Malucci suddenly shouted, prompting another death glare from Romano.
"You know I didn't kill anyone! You're afraid of all the damn lawsuits that are
popping up - and of the hospital's fucking reputation! God forbid I should
receive some kind of credit for being honest! I was wrongfully arrested for
first degree murder, and now I'm being FIRED?" Malucci was becoming hysterical;
finding the wooden chair a constricting soapbox, he stood up furiously. "You may
be saving yourself from the patients' lawyers but there's no way in hell you're
going to avoid seeing mine! Damn it!" Malucci ran his hand through his hair.
"You're ruining my career just to cover your ass!"
Romano watched Malucci, fury growing inside of him. Calmly he stood up and moved
past Malucci; swiftly locking the door, he whipped around and snapped "Let's
talking about covering one's ass, shall we? Where were you when Dr. Chen was
killed?"
The blood that had rushed to Malucci's face in his fury quickly drained back
through his body at this question. "I was with a patient," he murmured.
Romano nodded exaggeratedly. "And where were you, with this patient?" he asked.
Malucci glared at him. "What are you getting at?" he asked bluntly.
Romano scowled contemptuously. "Two nights ago Dr. Chen was found murdered in
Trauma 1. You were paged several times, and then we searched the hospital for
you. We were two doctors short that night, Malucci. Since you went missing and
Dr. Chen was obviously incapacitated, we were dangerously short on ER doctors."
Romano made a conscious effort to stir up all of his bitter hatred as he hissed
"Your absence could have very well killed Dr. Chen."
Malucci felt physically wounded at Romano's nasty comment. But Romano continued
to rant, taking morbid pleasure in Malucci's pain. "It wasn't until we heard
about your arrest in the news the next morning that your presence was verified,"
he continued, seating himself into his leather chair again. "I took the liberty
of stopping by the police station shortly after you were arrested yesterday. I
was . . . perturbed, to say the least, to find out that your alibi consisted of
statutory rape." Malucci's glare quickly faded, and Romano began to look
triumphant - but still angry. "So imagine my shock when I received a call from
the Sheriff's station a few hours later, saying that you've been released and
that your alibi is now that you were with a Deborah West in the ICU after a mole
biopsy."
Malucci could literally feel the life draining from his body. He was caught in
his - well, Deborah's - utter lie. And the worst part was, if Romano knew about
it, then he now had grounds to fire Malucci.
Shit.
"So, being naturally inquisitive, I checked Miss West's file," Romano continued.
"And again, I was surprised to see that she came in for a pregnancy test, not a
mole biopsy. She was released an hour after she was seen. By you, I might add.
Which now begs the question - " Romano leaned forward; his narrowed eyes were
only a foot away from Malucci's face - "where were you at 9 o'clock two nights
ago, Malucci?"
Malucci hung his head. "I was at a bar with her," he murmured miserably. "I
ditched the last hour of my shift and I had sex with a minor." His head snapped
back up and there was anger in his eyes. "Are you happy now?"
Romano snorted. "Happy? No. Not at all. Because of you, one of our colleagues is
dead, along with three other innocent young women. Because of you, this hospital
is no longer safe for patients or doctors. And because of you . . ." Romano
shook his head with disgust. "Just go, Malucci. Get the hell out of my office
and my hospital."
Malucci slowly stood to leave; there was nothing he wanted more than to get the
hell out of this place. It seemed that a judgement had already been made on him
- nothing could be the same again. He quietly opened the door but was stopped
when Romano added, "It's quite interesting, you know. The same girl whose
testimony would have sent you to jail for statutory rape was found dead in her
mansion only hours after your arrest. Strange how things work out like that." He
sneered at Malucci. "Just something to think about."
Malucci gaped at him. "Deborah?" he whispered. "Deborah was killed?"
"Oh, I see the absolute heartbreak in your eyes," Romano commented
sarcastically. "I'm sure you *really* loved her. And I'm sure that you were
really looking forward to that trial." He rolled his eyes and swiveled around.
"I'm doing you a favor by letting you go quietly. I could call the police right
now and tell them all the lurid details. You would be crucified in court and you
know it. You should be thanking me for -"
"For what?" Malucci asked angrily, shutting the door. "Why don't you just call
the cops? If you think I killed Deb and Deborah and the other girls, why don't
you call the fucking police and have them arrest me again? I know that's what
you want. Don't pretend that you're helping me. I know that you're dying to see
me behind bars."
Turning back around, Romano looked down and took a deep breath. Several seconds
of silence passed, and Malucci quickly opened the door again. "I know you didn't
kill Chen," Romano suddenly told him, not looking up. "And I don't think you
killed the other two - you didn't have any attachments with them that I know of.
But West . . ." He looked up at Malucci, a taunting suspicion in his eyes. "I
don't know about West. I'd rather not get the authorities involved until I have
substantial reason." He turned around in his chair again and grumbled "Now get
out."
Malucci moved through the opened door quickly. "With pleasure," he muttered,
slamming the door behind him.
--------------------------------------------
Elizabeth nervously picked the nail polish off her thumb as she stared at the
lounge door for any kind of movement. Sinking into the lounge sofa had helped
her aching back, but Elizabeth had quickly realized how difficult it would be
for her to get up if she had to.
She was seriously rethinking this idea of surprising Mark for lunch. He should
have been off twenty minutes ago; Elizabeth had timed it so that she would only
have to spend five minutes there. Where the hell was he? Even being here, in the
familiarity of the ER lounge, was nerve-wracking. She couldn't move a muscle
without feeling that she was being watched. This baby was feeling more
norepenephrine though his mother's body than any child should need to.
Just then the door opened, and Elizabeth's shocked chill was warmed by Mark's
familiar smile. "Hey!" he exclaimed, stepping to the sofa to give her a kiss.
"What are you doing here?"
Elizabeth smiled. "I wanted to surprise you for lunch," she told him.
"That's so sweet," Mark smiled. "But you're supposed to be on bed rest. Doctor's
orders."
Elizabeth rolled her eyes. "Romano hardly counts as an authority figure," she
scoffed. "Besides, I'm a doctor too, and I say that I've got some time before
this baby comes."
Mark grinned and offered a hand to assist her in standing up. "Speaking of
Romano," he mentioned with a gleam in his eye, "he is supposedly speaking to
Malucci as we speak."
Elizabeth's eyes widened as she took Mark's hand. "About?" she asked, hoisting
herself up from the couch.
"About Malucci's termination." Mark grinned at Elizabeth. "Apparently Romano is
concerned about the safety of his hospital."
Elizabeth chuckled slightly. "His hospital's reputation is more like it," she
mused. "I'm sure that I'll hear all about it when I get back to work."
Mark nodded. "So where should we go for lunch?" he asked.
"Anywhere, as long as I can get lobster," Elizabeth stated. "I've got an
incredible craving for lobster."
Mark laughed. "Sounds good," he commented. "We can go to the seafood place
across town."
Suddenly there were voices outside the lounge door - Elizabeth tensed before she
recognized the male voice. "Nothing's wrong," the voice muttered.
"You're lying to me," a woman's voice informed him, and there was a moment of
silence. "Fine. If you won't talk to me, then talk to Abby or another one of
your friends. But talk to someone!"
"Fine," the man grumbled.
Elizabeth listened as the man walked away, and then she looked at Mark
questionably. "Was that-"
The lounge door suddenly opened, and the young woman on the other end looked
surprised to see people inside. "Oh, uh, hi . . . Dr. Greene, right?" she asked
nervously.
"Yes, I'm Dr. Greene," Mark told her, amused. "And this is my fiancée, Dr.
Corday. Elizabeth, this is *Rena.*"
Elizabeth looked puzzled as she tried to read his face. "Rena . . . oh, Carter's
Rena! Of course!" she exclaimed.
Rena nodded uneasily. "Yeah, that's me," she murmured.
The lounge was silent; Mark felt the tension and quickly said "We should
probably go to lunch now, Elizabeth."
Elizabeth nodded earnestly. "It was lovely to meet you, Rena," she said, trying
not to stare. Was she *really* 19? She looked much older.
"You too," Rena said with a smile. She watched as Mark helped Elizabeth with her
coat, then smiled again as they walked past her. Suddenly a slip of paper caught
her eye - "Dr. Greene?" she asked, picking the paper off of the ground. "Did you
drop this?"
Mark stopped and took the paper from her. Studying it, he answered, "Nope. Not
mine. I don't have this kind of money."
"What is it?" Elizabeth asked, trying to see over Mark's shoulder.
"It's a bank statement," he told her. He handed it back to Rena. "It looks like
Carter's."
"How do you know?" she asked, reading the paper over. "There's no name or
anything."
"Check out the amount in the account," he told her.
Elizabeth looked at the statement and gasped. "My God - four million dollars!"
she exclaimed. "I can guarantee you that it's not ours!"
"What makes you think it's John's?" Rena asked again.
Mark took the statement again and looked it over. "There are four different
deposits of one million dollars each," he informed her, chuckling. "That's
probably his weekly allowance."
Rena smiled and shook her head. "I don't know . . . he couldn't even afford to
get his car fixed last week. And he came up short for cash at lunch."
Mark shrugged and handed the statement back to her. "Carter is a man of many
mysteries," he informed Rena as he and Elizabeth left the lounge.
-------------------------------------------------
Alone, in the dark trauma room, John Carter sat on the cold linoleum floor and
hugged his knees to his chest, weeping miserably. This was ridiculous. The mood
wings were out of control now - he hadn't banked on this. Not at all. Sure, he
knew that his actions might cause some sort of problems, but right now, he
didn't care . . .
He choked back a sob and lifted his head. This was it. Right here. This was
where Deb had died.
Carter lowered his head and cried again. He wept for what he had done, for what
he had failed to do, and for this disgusting indecision that wracked his mind.
He had already gotten himself in so deep . . .
He let his hands drop to the ground - then drew his right hand back in alarm as
it brushed past a sharp object. What was this?
Curiously Carter squinted in the dark and wrapped his hand around the small,
tube-shaped object. Bringing it up to his face, he nodded in recognition. A
syringe - and an empty one at that.
He softly touched the sharp needle with his soft fingertip. "Maybe this is what
I need," Carter murmured, not meaning a word of it. He slowly dragged the needle
down his finger, across his palm, and stopped at the painfully familiar veins at
his wrist. The track marks from last still adorned the skin; they were a
constant reminder of his weaknesses and pain. He contemplatively drew invisible
circles on his wrist with the needle - pressing the needle a little harder, a
morbid sense of pain and pleasure ricocheted through his body. The needle hadn't
even broken the skin; the circle of soft flesh surrounding the point of the
needle was slightly indented as Carter pressed a tiny bit harder.
A sudden sense of shame overcame him at that moment, and he guiltily lifted the
needle to where it barely touched his skin. No. He wasn't shooting up, of
course, but the guilt was the same as when he'd stolen the Vicodin. The drugs
weren't there, but the desire was - and that was probably worse than if Carter
was actually using.
Suddenly fluorescent light blasted through the room; alarmed, Carter jumped
slightly at the surprise. A sharp pain in his wrist caused Carter to
instinctively grab the injury as he squinted into the light.
"Carter? What are you doing in here?"
The familiar voice sounded strangely concerned and fearful. "Abby?" Carter
responded, finally able to see her slight figure.
There was no response; Carter watched Abby's unchanging expression of horror.
"Abby?" he asked again, struggling to his feet.
"What are you doing, Carter?" Abby repeated, her voice quavering.
Carter looked down, ashamed. She didn't need to know that he'd been bawling like
a child only minutes ago. "Just . . . thinking," he told her, praying that his
swollen eyes wouldn't give him away.
Abby again didn't respond, and slowly Carter followed her stare to the wrist he
was clutching - and the needle he'd dropped. He unwrapped his fingers from his
wrist and was alarmed at the amount of blood on his wrist and hand. 'What the
hell?' he thought, giving no thought to the needle next to his foot. "I . . .
cut myself," he told Abby hastily, making his way to the sink.
Abby was silent, and Carter silently cursed himself for being so stupid. "Have
you been depressed, Carter?" she finally asked.
Carter finished washing the blood away and turned around. "Why?" he asked, not
wanting to answer the question.
"I'm just trying to help," she told him. "You don't need to hurt yourself to
feel better."
Bewildered, Carter stared at her - then finally caught on. "You think I'm
hurting myself?" he asked incredulously. "Slitting my wrists or something?"
Abby nodded. "I wish you had just talked to me," she told him, visibly holding
back tears.
Carter stepped over to her and looked her in the eye. "Believe me, Abby," he
told her sternly. "I would *never* do anything like that. You just . . . you
surprised me when you came in, that's all . . . I just slipped."
Abby was confused. "You . . . slipped?" she asked uncertainly. "What exactly
were you doing?"
Carter chose to remain silent at this point.
"Oh, God, Carter," she whispered, taking a horrified step back. "You weren't-"
"No!" Carter exclaimed. "I wasn't shooting up."
Abby stared at him with disbelief. "Show me your wrists," she demanded.
Carter sighed. There was a fucking needle prick on his wrist - no way was she
going to believe that he hadn't been injecting some sort of drug. "I can't," he
told her mournfully.
Abby closed her eyes. "Then take a blood test," she murmured. "Something.
Something to prove to me that you weren't . . . relapsing."
"I can't take a blood test, either," Carter said quickly. He didn't want to tell
her why. His job was already hanging by a thread - no need to ruin his slight
chances by telling her why she couldn't investigate his blood.
"Why not?" Abby demanded. "If you haven't been shooting up then there should be
no problem."
"There is a problem," Carter muttered, looking down. "Just trust me. Please."
Abby stared at him. "I can't," she whispered miserably, turning around and
heading out the door.
"Abby?" Carter yelled, following her down the hall. "Abby!" He caught up to her
and grabbed her by the wrist. "Wait a minute! Where are you going?"
"Where do you think I'm going?" Abby snapped, pulling her wrist from his hand.
"Abby, you can't go to Weaver," Carter begged. "Please! This is my third strike
- I'll be fired!"
"Then take a blood test!" Abby cried.
"I can't!" Carter shouted back.
"Then I'm going to Weaver!" Abby turned around to leave, but quickly turned back
around and snatched his wrist. Her eyes widened at the long, thin slash on his
vein. Wordlessly she dropped his wrist and stormed down the hall.
"Abby!" Carter hollered, too terrified to move. "Abby!!"
--------------------------------------------
"Trauma coming in!"
Everyone's heads shot up in the ER as the paramedics burst through the ER doors,
and Cleo Finch ran to the gurney. "Looks like the bastard got to another one,"
she muttered, helping to wheel the bleeding girl to Trauma 1.
"22 year old female, name's Melissa Porter," one paramedic barked. "BP's 80 over
40, pulse is thready, down 10 minutes." He shook his head with anger. "Slit
throat, just like the rest of them."
Cleo gritted her teeth and swerved the gurney into the trauma room. "Carter!"
she yelled. "Come help me out here!"
Carter took one look at the dying girl . . . slowly he backed away, running
quickly down the hall . . .
Cleo let out a cry of exasperation as she wheeled the girl into Trauma 1.
Quickly she and the team of nurses worked to hook the young woman up to
machines, only to moan at the inevitable squeal. "She's already in asystole,"
Yosh murmured.
Cleo shook her head with fury. After a moment of rapid decision-making passed,
she suddenly yelled "Charge to 200!"
"Dr. Finch, she's already in asystole," Haleh told her, repeating Yosh's soft
reminder.
Cleo stared for a moment at the young woman in the gurney; only a long, thin,
bleeding line across her throat . . . "Time of death, 14:31," she muttered
hoarsely. Swiftly she turned to leave; stepping on an empty syringe, she kicked
it aside and out of sight.
----------------------------------------------------------
"Dr Weaver? Can I talk to you for a minute?"
Kerry wearily looked up from her paperwork. "Yes, Carter," she answered. "But
make it quick."
Carter cleared his throat nervously. "I was just wondering . . . if Abby had
spoken to you at all today," he murmured. "In the last few minutes or so."
"No," Kerry told him, narrowing her eyes. "Should she have?"
"No," Carter responded quickly. "No. It's not important. I was just wondering."
He opened his mouth to say something more, but decided against it and quickly
turned away. He was safe - for the time being . . .
-------------------------------------------------
Abby furiously tore into the lounge and ripped her locker open noisily. How dare
he do this . . . how dare he do what she most feared . . . how dare he make her
into a failure as a sponsor - and as a friend . . .
She bit her lip to keep from crying as she pulled her coat from the locker and
rapidly put it on. She had to get out of here. She had get away from him - that
lying sack of shit - and she had to get the hell away from this hospital. All
she wanted was to be home again, and to be in Luka's arms again. She wanted to
love and be loved by a man who would *never* lie to her face and betray her
trust. Fucking Carter!
Quickly she reached into her locker and retrieved her cell phone. Luka thought
she was out getting doughnuts - he was probably pacing the apartment at this
point. He might even have called 911 to see if her broken, bleeding body had
been picked up. Abby chuckled through her anger. He was such a worrywart - then
again, he was *her* worrywart.
But she had had to check on Carter this morning. She couldn't have gone through
the day without knowing what was going on, even if it meant lying to Luka and
potentially putting herself in danger.
Of course, now that she knew what Carter was up to, she wished she'd just stayed
home with Luka.
She dialed the number to his cell phone and was relieved to hear him pick up on
the first ring. "Abby?" he asked anxiously, not bothering with "Hello."
"Hey, Luka," she answered, letting out a sigh of relief. "Sorry for taking so
long-"
"Where are you?" Luka interrupted, obviously alarmed. "Goddammit Abby, I've been
worried sick!"
"I'm . . . stuck in traffic," Abby told him, immediately feeling guilty for
lying to him again. "Rush hour, I guess."
"You've been gone for 4 hours," Luka informed her. "Where the hell did you go
for doughnuts?"
Shit. "I had to some errands," she explained. "I told you that!"
"For four hours?!"
"Yeah, well, it's been a busy day," she grumbled. "But the doughnuts are on the
way."
"Screw the doughnuts," Luka said softly. "All I want is to see you, safe in my
arms."
Abby closed her eyes dreamily. "That's all I want, too, Luka," she whispered.
Her eyes clouded with tears and quickly she said "I'll be home right away, all
right?"
"All right," Luka murmured. "I love you."
Abby smiled, and a tear rolled down her cheek. "I love you, too," she told him.
"Bye."
She was putting the man through hell just by being away. Abby turned off the
cell phone, wiped away a tear, and reached inside the locker for her purse. A
brief thought of talking to Kerry Weaver flashed through her mind, then went
away as quickly as it came. She could always talk to Weaver tomorrow, if need
be. Right now she could only think of one thing - and it was the man waiting for
her in his hotel room. The faster she got home, the better.
Abby slung her purse over her shoulder and slammed her locker door shut. A piece
of paper on the sofa caught her eye; curiously she picked it up and read it
over.
The realization hit her upside the head like a sledgehammer. Oh, God. OH, GOD.
Her eyes fluttered with disbelief as she scanned the bank statement over and
over again. No. No. It couldn't be. There was no way in FUCKING HELL that this
man could be the killer-
The creak of the lounge door opening caused her to turn her head - a wave of
absolute terror ran through her as a man's gloved hand clamped over her mouth
before she got a chance to see his face . . .
The sharp, stabbing pain of a syringe in her throat tensed her stomach, then
dulled her senses as her heart went mad . . .
Abby barely felt the cold metal run across her throat, only a searing pain that
slid along her skin . . . she felt the blood trickle down her neck, then the
hand release from her mouth . . . no need to silence her anymore, since Abby
didn't have the air to scream . . . she heard only footsteps, walking past her
groggy eyes . . .
. . . then nothing . . .
Disclaimer: Nope, these ER docs aren't mine, although I'm thinking of investing
in one of them. Does NBC really need all of these beautiful people around? They
can spare one or two, I think. Would anyone *really* miss Carter?
And even though a few of them will get hurt, I guarantee you - I will return
them safe and sound. Except Carter. I'm not returning him at all :P
Rating: R, for language and harsh scenes of violence
Spoilers: Through "Survival of the Fittest." In other words, Mark and Elizabeth
aren't married yet, Elizabeth is still pregnant, Carter and Rena are together,
etc. (Serves me right for starting a fanfic before May Sweeps!)
-----------------------------------------------------------------
Abby awoke to the sound of a *bang*, a *thud*, and a "Shit!" Her eyes snapped
open as she strained to here any more noise - who was outside the hotel room?
Was that a footstep? Whose voice was that, only inches from the hotel room door?
Abby abruptly sat up in the large bed and touched the knife on the nightstand,
still watching the empty doorway. Whoever was outside the door was having a lot
of trouble with the door. Abby craned her neck to listen, and another profound
"Shit!" was whispered in the hallway.
Cautiously Abby grasped the knife and stood up from the bed. She slowly stepped
across the hotel room floor, cringing as the familiar *squeak!* of a loose board
revealed her movement.
Just then, a voice: "Abby?"
Abby's shoulders sank in relief, and she let out the deep breath she'd been
holding. "Luka," she murmured, placing the knife on the counter. Quickly she
stepped to the door and unlocked it. "Having a little trouble?" Abby asked, her
voice cracking with sleep.
Luka nodded sheepishly. "I can never get that damn card to slide properly," he
explained softly.
Abby smirked and placed a hand on her hip. "It *is* pretty difficult, what with
the card having two whole sides and all." She rubbed her eyes with her other
hand and stepped out of the doorway. "How was your shift?"
Luka shrugged as he shut the door behind him. "Pretty quiet," he told her. "Did
I wake you?"
"Oh no, not at all," Abby grumbled as she got back into bed. "I just happened to
be awake at 4 in the morning. My pre-dawn stroll around the hotel room is very
important to me."
Luka sighed and took off his coat. "I'm sorry, Abby," he murmured. "I really
didn't mean to wake you."
Abby was quiet; she sensed the guilt in his voice. "It's better I got up now,
anyway," she mumbled, her voice muffled by the pillow. "I'm on in 4 hours, after
all. I hear that too much sleep isn't good for you."
Luka sat down on the bed and stroked Abby's hair. "Another victim was brought
in," he murmured. "Kaylie Gottesman. Another rich girl."
Abby sighed. "They haven't arrested anyone yet?"
"No. No one besides Malucci, and he was released." Luka paused. "I don't think
you should go into work today, Abby."
Abby turned over and looked at Luka. "Why not?" she asked. "It's just six hours.
I can do six hours with my eyes closed. Which I may have to do, since I got
about 10 minutes of sleep between the bumps in the night and the unruly
Croatians banging at the door."
Luka shook his head. "I'm serious. Whoever killed these women is still out
there."
Abby stared at Luka in disbelief. "County is swarming with cops, Luka," she
stated. "It would have been more likely for me to be killed tonight in the hotel
room than at the hospital." She sat up and looked him in the eyes. "It will be
fine. I will be fine."
Luka looked doubtful. "It isn't safe," he murmured. "What if Malucci comes
back?"
"Do you really think Malucci did this?" Abby asked softly.
"All I know is that three of the four girls were killed when Malucci was out of
prison," Luka informed her. "It isn't safe over there." Gently he touched his
forehead to hers. "Please, Abby. I can't . . . I can't let you be hurt."
Abby's own eyes began to well with tears as she saw his do the same. In an
instant she saw more pain in his face than on any of the dying patients she saw
every day at the hospital. But she couldn't stay home. She had to get to Carter.
If he was relapsing, and she could have stopped him . . . well, she'd never
forgive herself.
Abby was torn from her thoughts as a tear from Luka's mournful eyes ran onto her
cheek. "All right," she whispered to him, wiping away the tear and kissing him
gently. "I'll stay home."
She understood why he was so insistent, of course. He tended to be a little
clingy with Abby at times, and it got to be sort of annoying - but deep down,
Abby knew how angry Luka was with himself for not protecting his wife and
children. There was no purpose in hurting him further.
Abby felt Luka's strong arms embrace her, and she relaxed in his warmth and his
steady breath on her ear. Maybe an overprotective boyfriend wasn't so bad, after
all. She could always just stop in at County to check on Carter.
-------------------------------------------------------
"And no one's been arrested?"
"I can't discuss it."
"Well, do *you* think Malucci did it?"
"I can't discuss it."
Randi glared at the uniformed officer. "You might as well be outside the goddamn
Buckingham Palace, for all the info you're giving me," she snapped.
Just then a hush fell over the ER; always one for unwarranted tension, Randi
watched eagerly to see what was going on. But her jaw dropped as she watched
Malucci stroll into the ER, an indifferent expression on face. "He'd better
avoid Weaver," Randi murmured, shaking her head and turning away.
The eyes of the entire ER followed Malucci through the Admit area, down the
winding hallways, past the lounge and -
- right into Weaver.
"Malucci!" Kerry snapped. "Watch where you're going!"
Malucci plastered a grin onto his face and mockingly saluted her. "Yes, chief,"
he responded.
Kerry glared at him. "You're on thin ice, Malucci," she informed him sharply.
"You shouldn't even be here."
The humor drifted from Malucci's face. "Why is that?" he asked.
"Talk to Romano. He's the one who made the final decision." Kerry glared at him
scornfully, even though she did feel a little bit of pity for the guy. After
all, he was about to face Romano. She quickly moved past him, but not before
returning Dave's sarcastic salute and barking "Dismissed!"
--------------------------------------------------------
"Good morning, all," Carter greeted Haleh and Lydia at the admit desk. "How is
everyone on this fantastic morning?"
Haleh looked at Carter strangely. "Just fine," she responded, raising an
eyebrow. "How are you, Carter?"
"I am very well, thank you for asking, Haleh," Carter told her warmly. "Is the
ER busy today?"
"A bit," Haleh replied, still confused. Was this the same Carter who'd been the
living dead yesterday?
"I've got to go," Lydia said bluntly, moving past the happily humming Carter as
he shuffled though charts.
"Me too," Haleh muttered quickly. She caught up with Lydia. "What's gotten into
Carter?" she whispered once they were out of earshot.
Lydia shook her head. "I don't know," she replied. "But I hope it wasn't through
a syringe."
The pair took another glance at the beaming Carter and almost ran into Abby, who
was tearing through the hall. "Excuse me," she mumbled as she moved around them
to the admit desk, leaving behind two bewildered nurses.
"Everyone's gone crazy around here," Haleh mused as she and Lydia walked away.
Abby quickly surveyed the Admit area; once her eyes settled on Carter, she let
out a sigh of relief and stepped over to him. "I've been looking for you
everywhere, Carter!" she exclaimed. No need to mention the numerous
possibilities for his whereabouts that had run through Abby's mind only minutes
ago.
Carter smiled at her and put his chart back. "That is so sweet," he told her,
pulling her into a strong embrace. "You are such a good friend to care about me
like that."
Abby raised her eyebrows as she feebly patted Carter's back. "Uh . . . thanks,
Carter," she managed to murmur. This was weird.
The embrace lasted for several seconds of silence, and Abby could feel it
growing long and awkward. "So, Carter," Abby finally stated as she forcibly
pulled herself from the hug. "You seem . . . happy today. Are you all right?"
Carter beamed at her. "Never better," he said happily.
Abby nodded slightly as she took a step back and inspected this grinning man.
The last she'd checked, Carter had been depressed enough to sulk in a cloud of
cigarette smoke, cutting off any human contact at any cost. And now -
A childish giggle interrupted Abby's thoughts, and she curiously looked at
Carter. "What?" she asked.
Carter giggled again. "Malucci's talking to Romano," he explained, his eyes
dancing with delight. "Romano fired him."
Abby's eyes widened with shock. "Romano fired Malucci?" she repeated. "For
what?'
Carter cocked his head at Abby, his smile fading slightly. "For killing 4
people," he told her, speaking as if she were a child. "Haven't you been here
for the last few days?"
Abby nodded vaguely. So Malucci was getting fired - but was he really the
killer? He had no motive, no real reason to kill these girls. As far as Abby
knew, Malucci didn't even know any of the last 3 victims. 'Except Deborah West,'
Abby remembered. 'She was his alibi for Jing-Mei's murder.'
But why would Malucci kill his alibi? Had she been covering for him? Maybe she
was going to go to the police, and Malucci had stopped her -
God. Abby didn't want to think about it. Luckily Malucci wouldn't be at County
anymore, so she would be able to breathe a little easier. Maybe Luka would let
her out of the hotel room if Malucci were out of the picture - or better yet,
behind bars. Abby cringed when she considered lying to Luka again. It was bad
enough that she was here after she had called in sick - if Luka found out that
she wasn't actually out getting doughnuts . . . if he found out that she had
gone to the hospital . . .
But what if his fears were well founded? What if Malucci decided to go on some
vindictive killing spree, slaughtering anyone and everyone in the ER who got in
his way? A shudder racked Abby's shoulders and quickly she decided that she
needed to leave.
Her eyes darted in Carter's general direction, and she noticed the blank glaze
that had suddenly appeared in his eyes. "What's wrong, Carter?" she asked
worriedly.
Carter wasn't listening. Instead he walked away abruptly, snatching his chart as
he left. Abby watched him leave in bewilderment. She didn't want to think about
what was going on with him. She was tired of thinking.
--------------------------------------------
Shouts of fury and frantically ringing phones filled the police station as a
haggard looking woman, about middle age, timidly walked in. "I'm looking for the
person handling my daughter's murder," she informed the nearest officer. Her
words were stern but her voice was trembling.
"What's your daughter's name?" the officer asked as he led the woman to a filing
cabinet.
"Madeline," she answered. The note in her hand was wrinkling in her clenched
hand. "Madeline Crane." The officer proceeded to open the cabinet and sift
through the files, and the woman quickly added, "She was the second girl
murdered by the serial killer."
The officer nodded in comprehension, and quickly he withdrew a folder. "How can
I help you today?" he asked, shutting the cabinet and studying the woman's
miserable face.
She held up the sweaty note with a shaking hand. "I . . . I found this in her
apartment," she murmured. "I was gathering her things and . . . and this fell
out of her purse."
The officer took the note and studied it. 'Watch your back,' the note read
simply, signed with a mangled signature. "Do you know anyone who would try to
threaten your daughter?" the officer questioned.
The woman shook her head. "Only her boyfriend, but his initials aren't J.C."
Quickly she peered at the note and pointed at the signature. "I studied the damn
thing for an hour and the only letters I could get out of the signature are the
first ones: J and C."
The officer nodded. "I'll make sure this is counted as evidence," he told her as
he folded the paper and placed it inside the folder.
The woman smiled at him gratefully and touched his hand. "Thank you, officer,"
she said softly.
--------------------------------------------
"Dr. Weaver, I've got that chart you wanted," Randi informed Kerry. She absently
handed Kerry a chart and turned back to her magazine. "Madeline Crane, right?"
"Yeah," Kerry murmured as she read through the charts. She was surprised to see
that Madeline had come into the hospital previously, only a month before she was
killed. Ordinarily, this wouldn't be strange to Kerry, but it now created a link
between Madeline, the hospital - and the only suspect. Intrigued, Kerry quickly
scanned the old chart for the doctor who had tended to Madeline.
Malucci. Of course. Her suspicions were correct.
"I checked up on the other victims, too," Randi suddenly spoke up, trying not to
lift her eyes to Kerry. This was getting juicy. "Kaylie Gottesman and Deborah
West. They also have charts from a few months ago." Unable to resist, Randi's
gleaming eyes darted towards Kerry's bewildered face. "And both were seen by
Malucci." She watched Kerry for a moment, then excitedly added "Don't you find
that suspicious?"
Kerry stared at Randi for a moment. "Get me those charts as well, Randi," she
murmured, tucking Madeline Crane's chart under her arm. "And start answering
phones instead of playing Nancy Drew!"
---------------------------------------------
Romano paced around the office slowly, never taking his hateful glare away from
the visibly nervous Malucci. His muscular hands were folded behind his back, and
every time he passed Malucci, his hands clenched a little more. Suddenly Romano
stopped pacing; he stared at Malucci for a moment of terrifying silence. "Take a
guess," he snapped.
Malucci's eyes darted away from Romano in a sort of primal defeat. A guess? "Uh
. . . five," he mumbled. God. Compared to this, the interrogation room at the
police station seemed sort of comforting.
Romano chuckled sardonically. "Five," he repeated. Shaking his head with pity
for this ignorant fool, he strolled to his huge leather chair and took a seat.
"Five. Try fifty-seven."
Malucci looked vaguely surprised, but Romano continued lecturing angrily.
"Fifty-seven people who have called me up, threatening to sue the hospital
because they've seen you on the news for killing Jing-Mei. Fifty-seven lawyers
have cited their clients' lawsuits regarding you and your supposed attempts on
their lives. Any person who has crashed under your care is now demanding to see
us in court!" Romano was now shouting. "Am I making myself clear?!"
Malucci was quiet. "Why did you call me up here, again?" he asked finally. "I
have a shift to begin."
Romano snorted. "It's in your better interest to keep your fucking mouth shut,"
he snapped. "As of now, you no longer work in the ER. In fact, I'd recommend you
getting out of this hospital before I call the police."
A shocked chill ran through Malucci as he slowly absorbed Romano's words.
"You're . . . you're firing me?!" he cried, his lungs feeling suddenly deflated.
Romano smirked at him. "I can't afford to have you on staff anymore," he
explained, a certain evil dripping from his words. "Once this whole thing clears
up you may be invited back to County. But that depends on how quietly you
leave."
Malucci was dumbstruck. "What exactly am I being fired for?" he asked
uncertainly.
Romano considered this for a moment. "I find you to be a threat to my staff and
my patients," he stated simply. "At the hospital we'd prefer to help people, not
murder them."
"Bullshit!" Malucci suddenly shouted, prompting another death glare from Romano.
"You know I didn't kill anyone! You're afraid of all the damn lawsuits that are
popping up - and of the hospital's fucking reputation! God forbid I should
receive some kind of credit for being honest! I was wrongfully arrested for
first degree murder, and now I'm being FIRED?" Malucci was becoming hysterical;
finding the wooden chair a constricting soapbox, he stood up furiously. "You may
be saving yourself from the patients' lawyers but there's no way in hell you're
going to avoid seeing mine! Damn it!" Malucci ran his hand through his hair.
"You're ruining my career just to cover your ass!"
Romano watched Malucci, fury growing inside of him. Calmly he stood up and moved
past Malucci; swiftly locking the door, he whipped around and snapped "Let's
talking about covering one's ass, shall we? Where were you when Dr. Chen was
killed?"
The blood that had rushed to Malucci's face in his fury quickly drained back
through his body at this question. "I was with a patient," he murmured.
Romano nodded exaggeratedly. "And where were you, with this patient?" he asked.
Malucci glared at him. "What are you getting at?" he asked bluntly.
Romano scowled contemptuously. "Two nights ago Dr. Chen was found murdered in
Trauma 1. You were paged several times, and then we searched the hospital for
you. We were two doctors short that night, Malucci. Since you went missing and
Dr. Chen was obviously incapacitated, we were dangerously short on ER doctors."
Romano made a conscious effort to stir up all of his bitter hatred as he hissed
"Your absence could have very well killed Dr. Chen."
Malucci felt physically wounded at Romano's nasty comment. But Romano continued
to rant, taking morbid pleasure in Malucci's pain. "It wasn't until we heard
about your arrest in the news the next morning that your presence was verified,"
he continued, seating himself into his leather chair again. "I took the liberty
of stopping by the police station shortly after you were arrested yesterday. I
was . . . perturbed, to say the least, to find out that your alibi consisted of
statutory rape." Malucci's glare quickly faded, and Romano began to look
triumphant - but still angry. "So imagine my shock when I received a call from
the Sheriff's station a few hours later, saying that you've been released and
that your alibi is now that you were with a Deborah West in the ICU after a mole
biopsy."
Malucci could literally feel the life draining from his body. He was caught in
his - well, Deborah's - utter lie. And the worst part was, if Romano knew about
it, then he now had grounds to fire Malucci.
Shit.
"So, being naturally inquisitive, I checked Miss West's file," Romano continued.
"And again, I was surprised to see that she came in for a pregnancy test, not a
mole biopsy. She was released an hour after she was seen. By you, I might add.
Which now begs the question - " Romano leaned forward; his narrowed eyes were
only a foot away from Malucci's face - "where were you at 9 o'clock two nights
ago, Malucci?"
Malucci hung his head. "I was at a bar with her," he murmured miserably. "I
ditched the last hour of my shift and I had sex with a minor." His head snapped
back up and there was anger in his eyes. "Are you happy now?"
Romano snorted. "Happy? No. Not at all. Because of you, one of our colleagues is
dead, along with three other innocent young women. Because of you, this hospital
is no longer safe for patients or doctors. And because of you . . ." Romano
shook his head with disgust. "Just go, Malucci. Get the hell out of my office
and my hospital."
Malucci slowly stood to leave; there was nothing he wanted more than to get the
hell out of this place. It seemed that a judgement had already been made on him
- nothing could be the same again. He quietly opened the door but was stopped
when Romano added, "It's quite interesting, you know. The same girl whose
testimony would have sent you to jail for statutory rape was found dead in her
mansion only hours after your arrest. Strange how things work out like that." He
sneered at Malucci. "Just something to think about."
Malucci gaped at him. "Deborah?" he whispered. "Deborah was killed?"
"Oh, I see the absolute heartbreak in your eyes," Romano commented
sarcastically. "I'm sure you *really* loved her. And I'm sure that you were
really looking forward to that trial." He rolled his eyes and swiveled around.
"I'm doing you a favor by letting you go quietly. I could call the police right
now and tell them all the lurid details. You would be crucified in court and you
know it. You should be thanking me for -"
"For what?" Malucci asked angrily, shutting the door. "Why don't you just call
the cops? If you think I killed Deb and Deborah and the other girls, why don't
you call the fucking police and have them arrest me again? I know that's what
you want. Don't pretend that you're helping me. I know that you're dying to see
me behind bars."
Turning back around, Romano looked down and took a deep breath. Several seconds
of silence passed, and Malucci quickly opened the door again. "I know you didn't
kill Chen," Romano suddenly told him, not looking up. "And I don't think you
killed the other two - you didn't have any attachments with them that I know of.
But West . . ." He looked up at Malucci, a taunting suspicion in his eyes. "I
don't know about West. I'd rather not get the authorities involved until I have
substantial reason." He turned around in his chair again and grumbled "Now get
out."
Malucci moved through the opened door quickly. "With pleasure," he muttered,
slamming the door behind him.
--------------------------------------------
Elizabeth nervously picked the nail polish off her thumb as she stared at the
lounge door for any kind of movement. Sinking into the lounge sofa had helped
her aching back, but Elizabeth had quickly realized how difficult it would be
for her to get up if she had to.
She was seriously rethinking this idea of surprising Mark for lunch. He should
have been off twenty minutes ago; Elizabeth had timed it so that she would only
have to spend five minutes there. Where the hell was he? Even being here, in the
familiarity of the ER lounge, was nerve-wracking. She couldn't move a muscle
without feeling that she was being watched. This baby was feeling more
norepenephrine though his mother's body than any child should need to.
Just then the door opened, and Elizabeth's shocked chill was warmed by Mark's
familiar smile. "Hey!" he exclaimed, stepping to the sofa to give her a kiss.
"What are you doing here?"
Elizabeth smiled. "I wanted to surprise you for lunch," she told him.
"That's so sweet," Mark smiled. "But you're supposed to be on bed rest. Doctor's
orders."
Elizabeth rolled her eyes. "Romano hardly counts as an authority figure," she
scoffed. "Besides, I'm a doctor too, and I say that I've got some time before
this baby comes."
Mark grinned and offered a hand to assist her in standing up. "Speaking of
Romano," he mentioned with a gleam in his eye, "he is supposedly speaking to
Malucci as we speak."
Elizabeth's eyes widened as she took Mark's hand. "About?" she asked, hoisting
herself up from the couch.
"About Malucci's termination." Mark grinned at Elizabeth. "Apparently Romano is
concerned about the safety of his hospital."
Elizabeth chuckled slightly. "His hospital's reputation is more like it," she
mused. "I'm sure that I'll hear all about it when I get back to work."
Mark nodded. "So where should we go for lunch?" he asked.
"Anywhere, as long as I can get lobster," Elizabeth stated. "I've got an
incredible craving for lobster."
Mark laughed. "Sounds good," he commented. "We can go to the seafood place
across town."
Suddenly there were voices outside the lounge door - Elizabeth tensed before she
recognized the male voice. "Nothing's wrong," the voice muttered.
"You're lying to me," a woman's voice informed him, and there was a moment of
silence. "Fine. If you won't talk to me, then talk to Abby or another one of
your friends. But talk to someone!"
"Fine," the man grumbled.
Elizabeth listened as the man walked away, and then she looked at Mark
questionably. "Was that-"
The lounge door suddenly opened, and the young woman on the other end looked
surprised to see people inside. "Oh, uh, hi . . . Dr. Greene, right?" she asked
nervously.
"Yes, I'm Dr. Greene," Mark told her, amused. "And this is my fiancée, Dr.
Corday. Elizabeth, this is *Rena.*"
Elizabeth looked puzzled as she tried to read his face. "Rena . . . oh, Carter's
Rena! Of course!" she exclaimed.
Rena nodded uneasily. "Yeah, that's me," she murmured.
The lounge was silent; Mark felt the tension and quickly said "We should
probably go to lunch now, Elizabeth."
Elizabeth nodded earnestly. "It was lovely to meet you, Rena," she said, trying
not to stare. Was she *really* 19? She looked much older.
"You too," Rena said with a smile. She watched as Mark helped Elizabeth with her
coat, then smiled again as they walked past her. Suddenly a slip of paper caught
her eye - "Dr. Greene?" she asked, picking the paper off of the ground. "Did you
drop this?"
Mark stopped and took the paper from her. Studying it, he answered, "Nope. Not
mine. I don't have this kind of money."
"What is it?" Elizabeth asked, trying to see over Mark's shoulder.
"It's a bank statement," he told her. He handed it back to Rena. "It looks like
Carter's."
"How do you know?" she asked, reading the paper over. "There's no name or
anything."
"Check out the amount in the account," he told her.
Elizabeth looked at the statement and gasped. "My God - four million dollars!"
she exclaimed. "I can guarantee you that it's not ours!"
"What makes you think it's John's?" Rena asked again.
Mark took the statement again and looked it over. "There are four different
deposits of one million dollars each," he informed her, chuckling. "That's
probably his weekly allowance."
Rena smiled and shook her head. "I don't know . . . he couldn't even afford to
get his car fixed last week. And he came up short for cash at lunch."
Mark shrugged and handed the statement back to her. "Carter is a man of many
mysteries," he informed Rena as he and Elizabeth left the lounge.
-------------------------------------------------
Alone, in the dark trauma room, John Carter sat on the cold linoleum floor and
hugged his knees to his chest, weeping miserably. This was ridiculous. The mood
wings were out of control now - he hadn't banked on this. Not at all. Sure, he
knew that his actions might cause some sort of problems, but right now, he
didn't care . . .
He choked back a sob and lifted his head. This was it. Right here. This was
where Deb had died.
Carter lowered his head and cried again. He wept for what he had done, for what
he had failed to do, and for this disgusting indecision that wracked his mind.
He had already gotten himself in so deep . . .
He let his hands drop to the ground - then drew his right hand back in alarm as
it brushed past a sharp object. What was this?
Curiously Carter squinted in the dark and wrapped his hand around the small,
tube-shaped object. Bringing it up to his face, he nodded in recognition. A
syringe - and an empty one at that.
He softly touched the sharp needle with his soft fingertip. "Maybe this is what
I need," Carter murmured, not meaning a word of it. He slowly dragged the needle
down his finger, across his palm, and stopped at the painfully familiar veins at
his wrist. The track marks from last still adorned the skin; they were a
constant reminder of his weaknesses and pain. He contemplatively drew invisible
circles on his wrist with the needle - pressing the needle a little harder, a
morbid sense of pain and pleasure ricocheted through his body. The needle hadn't
even broken the skin; the circle of soft flesh surrounding the point of the
needle was slightly indented as Carter pressed a tiny bit harder.
A sudden sense of shame overcame him at that moment, and he guiltily lifted the
needle to where it barely touched his skin. No. He wasn't shooting up, of
course, but the guilt was the same as when he'd stolen the Vicodin. The drugs
weren't there, but the desire was - and that was probably worse than if Carter
was actually using.
Suddenly fluorescent light blasted through the room; alarmed, Carter jumped
slightly at the surprise. A sharp pain in his wrist caused Carter to
instinctively grab the injury as he squinted into the light.
"Carter? What are you doing in here?"
The familiar voice sounded strangely concerned and fearful. "Abby?" Carter
responded, finally able to see her slight figure.
There was no response; Carter watched Abby's unchanging expression of horror.
"Abby?" he asked again, struggling to his feet.
"What are you doing, Carter?" Abby repeated, her voice quavering.
Carter looked down, ashamed. She didn't need to know that he'd been bawling like
a child only minutes ago. "Just . . . thinking," he told her, praying that his
swollen eyes wouldn't give him away.
Abby again didn't respond, and slowly Carter followed her stare to the wrist he
was clutching - and the needle he'd dropped. He unwrapped his fingers from his
wrist and was alarmed at the amount of blood on his wrist and hand. 'What the
hell?' he thought, giving no thought to the needle next to his foot. "I . . .
cut myself," he told Abby hastily, making his way to the sink.
Abby was silent, and Carter silently cursed himself for being so stupid. "Have
you been depressed, Carter?" she finally asked.
Carter finished washing the blood away and turned around. "Why?" he asked, not
wanting to answer the question.
"I'm just trying to help," she told him. "You don't need to hurt yourself to
feel better."
Bewildered, Carter stared at her - then finally caught on. "You think I'm
hurting myself?" he asked incredulously. "Slitting my wrists or something?"
Abby nodded. "I wish you had just talked to me," she told him, visibly holding
back tears.
Carter stepped over to her and looked her in the eye. "Believe me, Abby," he
told her sternly. "I would *never* do anything like that. You just . . . you
surprised me when you came in, that's all . . . I just slipped."
Abby was confused. "You . . . slipped?" she asked uncertainly. "What exactly
were you doing?"
Carter chose to remain silent at this point.
"Oh, God, Carter," she whispered, taking a horrified step back. "You weren't-"
"No!" Carter exclaimed. "I wasn't shooting up."
Abby stared at him with disbelief. "Show me your wrists," she demanded.
Carter sighed. There was a fucking needle prick on his wrist - no way was she
going to believe that he hadn't been injecting some sort of drug. "I can't," he
told her mournfully.
Abby closed her eyes. "Then take a blood test," she murmured. "Something.
Something to prove to me that you weren't . . . relapsing."
"I can't take a blood test, either," Carter said quickly. He didn't want to tell
her why. His job was already hanging by a thread - no need to ruin his slight
chances by telling her why she couldn't investigate his blood.
"Why not?" Abby demanded. "If you haven't been shooting up then there should be
no problem."
"There is a problem," Carter muttered, looking down. "Just trust me. Please."
Abby stared at him. "I can't," she whispered miserably, turning around and
heading out the door.
"Abby?" Carter yelled, following her down the hall. "Abby!" He caught up to her
and grabbed her by the wrist. "Wait a minute! Where are you going?"
"Where do you think I'm going?" Abby snapped, pulling her wrist from his hand.
"Abby, you can't go to Weaver," Carter begged. "Please! This is my third strike
- I'll be fired!"
"Then take a blood test!" Abby cried.
"I can't!" Carter shouted back.
"Then I'm going to Weaver!" Abby turned around to leave, but quickly turned back
around and snatched his wrist. Her eyes widened at the long, thin slash on his
vein. Wordlessly she dropped his wrist and stormed down the hall.
"Abby!" Carter hollered, too terrified to move. "Abby!!"
--------------------------------------------
"Trauma coming in!"
Everyone's heads shot up in the ER as the paramedics burst through the ER doors,
and Cleo Finch ran to the gurney. "Looks like the bastard got to another one,"
she muttered, helping to wheel the bleeding girl to Trauma 1.
"22 year old female, name's Melissa Porter," one paramedic barked. "BP's 80 over
40, pulse is thready, down 10 minutes." He shook his head with anger. "Slit
throat, just like the rest of them."
Cleo gritted her teeth and swerved the gurney into the trauma room. "Carter!"
she yelled. "Come help me out here!"
Carter took one look at the dying girl . . . slowly he backed away, running
quickly down the hall . . .
Cleo let out a cry of exasperation as she wheeled the girl into Trauma 1.
Quickly she and the team of nurses worked to hook the young woman up to
machines, only to moan at the inevitable squeal. "She's already in asystole,"
Yosh murmured.
Cleo shook her head with fury. After a moment of rapid decision-making passed,
she suddenly yelled "Charge to 200!"
"Dr. Finch, she's already in asystole," Haleh told her, repeating Yosh's soft
reminder.
Cleo stared for a moment at the young woman in the gurney; only a long, thin,
bleeding line across her throat . . . "Time of death, 14:31," she muttered
hoarsely. Swiftly she turned to leave; stepping on an empty syringe, she kicked
it aside and out of sight.
----------------------------------------------------------
"Dr Weaver? Can I talk to you for a minute?"
Kerry wearily looked up from her paperwork. "Yes, Carter," she answered. "But
make it quick."
Carter cleared his throat nervously. "I was just wondering . . . if Abby had
spoken to you at all today," he murmured. "In the last few minutes or so."
"No," Kerry told him, narrowing her eyes. "Should she have?"
"No," Carter responded quickly. "No. It's not important. I was just wondering."
He opened his mouth to say something more, but decided against it and quickly
turned away. He was safe - for the time being . . .
-------------------------------------------------
Abby furiously tore into the lounge and ripped her locker open noisily. How dare
he do this . . . how dare he do what she most feared . . . how dare he make her
into a failure as a sponsor - and as a friend . . .
She bit her lip to keep from crying as she pulled her coat from the locker and
rapidly put it on. She had to get out of here. She had get away from him - that
lying sack of shit - and she had to get the hell away from this hospital. All
she wanted was to be home again, and to be in Luka's arms again. She wanted to
love and be loved by a man who would *never* lie to her face and betray her
trust. Fucking Carter!
Quickly she reached into her locker and retrieved her cell phone. Luka thought
she was out getting doughnuts - he was probably pacing the apartment at this
point. He might even have called 911 to see if her broken, bleeding body had
been picked up. Abby chuckled through her anger. He was such a worrywart - then
again, he was *her* worrywart.
But she had had to check on Carter this morning. She couldn't have gone through
the day without knowing what was going on, even if it meant lying to Luka and
potentially putting herself in danger.
Of course, now that she knew what Carter was up to, she wished she'd just stayed
home with Luka.
She dialed the number to his cell phone and was relieved to hear him pick up on
the first ring. "Abby?" he asked anxiously, not bothering with "Hello."
"Hey, Luka," she answered, letting out a sigh of relief. "Sorry for taking so
long-"
"Where are you?" Luka interrupted, obviously alarmed. "Goddammit Abby, I've been
worried sick!"
"I'm . . . stuck in traffic," Abby told him, immediately feeling guilty for
lying to him again. "Rush hour, I guess."
"You've been gone for 4 hours," Luka informed her. "Where the hell did you go
for doughnuts?"
Shit. "I had to some errands," she explained. "I told you that!"
"For four hours?!"
"Yeah, well, it's been a busy day," she grumbled. "But the doughnuts are on the
way."
"Screw the doughnuts," Luka said softly. "All I want is to see you, safe in my
arms."
Abby closed her eyes dreamily. "That's all I want, too, Luka," she whispered.
Her eyes clouded with tears and quickly she said "I'll be home right away, all
right?"
"All right," Luka murmured. "I love you."
Abby smiled, and a tear rolled down her cheek. "I love you, too," she told him.
"Bye."
She was putting the man through hell just by being away. Abby turned off the
cell phone, wiped away a tear, and reached inside the locker for her purse. A
brief thought of talking to Kerry Weaver flashed through her mind, then went
away as quickly as it came. She could always talk to Weaver tomorrow, if need
be. Right now she could only think of one thing - and it was the man waiting for
her in his hotel room. The faster she got home, the better.
Abby slung her purse over her shoulder and slammed her locker door shut. A piece
of paper on the sofa caught her eye; curiously she picked it up and read it
over.
The realization hit her upside the head like a sledgehammer. Oh, God. OH, GOD.
Her eyes fluttered with disbelief as she scanned the bank statement over and
over again. No. No. It couldn't be. There was no way in FUCKING HELL that this
man could be the killer-
The creak of the lounge door opening caused her to turn her head - a wave of
absolute terror ran through her as a man's gloved hand clamped over her mouth
before she got a chance to see his face . . .
The sharp, stabbing pain of a syringe in her throat tensed her stomach, then
dulled her senses as her heart went mad . . .
Abby barely felt the cold metal run across her throat, only a searing pain that
slid along her skin . . . she felt the blood trickle down her neck, then the
hand release from her mouth . . . no need to silence her anymore, since Abby
didn't have the air to scream . . . she heard only footsteps, walking past her
groggy eyes . . .
. . . then nothing . . .