Deep Night (5 page)

Miller shook his head. “No hospital.”

“Do you live around here?”

Miller waved vaguely toward the north. “I've got an apartment up on Cook Street.”

“That's not far from here.” Chris frowned as he tried to think of a way to convince the man to accept treatment. He could see blood trickling out of a wound on Miller's head and dripping onto his torn, dirty T-shirt. “I'll make you a deal. What if you let us take you to the hospital right now? You banged your head when you fell. It needs to be cleaned and treated, and I'm sure you could use a good meal. Then tomorrow, I'll pick you up and take you to your apartment. Okay?”

“I don't know.” His hand lifted to the bloody spot on his head as if he'd just realized he was hurt. “I'm not going to jail?”

Chris lifted his gaze to the cop, who shook his head negatively. “Not this time. Unless you've got something in those pockets that you shouldn't.”

Miller held up his hands, fingers spread wide. “I don't have anything on me. I just needed that one hit to get me by tonight.”

“What about tomorrow night?”

All the resistance drained out of Miller. His voice was barely above a whisper. “I don't know, Lieutenant. I just don't know. I thought my life was shit when I was over there, but it's a thousand times worse here.”

Chris leaned in closer. “I know, man. I know. You don't have to do it alone. I'm here for you.”

Miller looked up, his dark brown eyes floating in unshed tears. He didn't speak, but he nodded his agreement.

“Great decision. You were a good soldier, and you have the right to health care and counseling, among other things. We'll work on all that tomorrow, but let's get you off this street.”

“You're gonna help me?” Miller's voice broke.

Chris put his hand on Miller's shoulder and looked him directly in the eyes. “Absolutely.”

Sara led the way back to the ambulance. The crowd was completely gone.

“You've got this under control?” the cop asked, waiting for Chris's or Sara's confirmation.

“Yeah, we're fine,” Sara told him.

The cop gave them a wave and headed for his patrol car. Only the tall stranger who had helped with the crowd remained. For a second, he caught Chris's gaze, gave a little nod, then he, too, turned away and left.

Chris and Sara exchanged curious looks, and she shrugged in response to his unspoken question. Maybe he had been a Good Samaritan who was just passing by and stopped to help. But it was clear he wasn't part of the crowd.

“I'll ride in the back,” Chris volunteered, and tossed Sara the keys. He helped Miller climb into the back of the ambulance and settled him down on the cot.

“Are you taking me to the VA hospital? I don't like it there,” Miller complained.

“No, they don't take emergency deliveries, so we're going to Denver Health,” Chris explained. “They'll take good care of you there.”

Miller relaxed back against the thin mattress as the last bit of his energy drained away. Chris hooked him up to an IV and started some fluids flowing into the man's dehydrated body.

Several minutes later, they pulled into the brightly lit dock area where the ambulances unloaded patients, and Sara backed into a space. Interns came out and helped unload the gurney, and Chris walked next to it to the room where they transferred Miller to a hospital bed.

“I'll see you tomorrow, man,” he told Miller.

The man's fingers closed weakly around Chris's arm. “Don't forget,” he whispered.

“I will
never
forget,” Chris assured his friend.

Miller's hand fell back to the bed. “Thanks, Lieutenant.”

“You can call me Chris. I'm not your officer anymore.”

“Sure thing, Lieutenant,” Miller said with a weak smile.

Chris took the gurney back to the ambulance, and he and Sara drove over to the garage, where they sanitized the bus and replenished their supplies.

“So what was that all about?” Sara asked. “Old friend of yours?”

“Not really. He took a bullet during an attack, and I stayed with him. He almost lost his arm.”

“In Afghanistan?”

“Outside of Marjah. The Taliban was pretty solid in the area. We'd take it and lose it and take it again.” Chris fell silent for a moment as the memories flooded back. The bullets passing so close he could feel the disturbance of the air by his ears. The explosions of bombs and IEDs that shook the ground. The hollow thump of a Stinger missile leaving its launcher and the terror of not knowing where it was going to land, but by the whistling sound, aware that it was going to be too close for comfort. His ears ringing from the noise. His nostrils filled with the smell of blood and fear and sweat and dust. His heart pounding in his chest beneath the full battle rattle that consisted of about fifty pounds of body armor and protective gear as he ran from victim to victim, carrying his medical kit and trying to get to every soldier who had been wounded before it was too late or before he caught a bullet. He remembered Miller, lying on the hot sand, his blood pooling under his right shoulder and pieces of flesh and bone splattered around. Miller had been conscious, but in shock, so he hadn't really been aware of the incredible pain…pain that would probably be with him for the rest of his life. That is, if he survived the battle.

Chris had pulled the wound closed and slowed the bleeding. But he hadn't been able to leave until the enemy had been pushed back, offering a blessed, if temporary, moment of quiet and calm. For several days, because there had been so many injuries, Miller had had to stay in the on-base hospital, waiting his turn to be transported. Chris had visited him every day, as he did all of the patients. He sat and talked about music and movies and home. And he listened as the soldiers voiced their fears and hopes and dreams. All the while, they were all just waiting for the next attack or the next rush of casualties from a roadside bomb or the insanity of a suicide bomber running onto the base. Waiting…always waiting…

“Chris, are you okay?”

Sara's worried voice penetrated his thoughts, and he pushed those memories back into the dark closet where they belonged. “He was a good soldier,” he said.

“Are you going to pick him up tomorrow?”

Chris tossed the last of the garbage in the Dumpster, took off his gloves and dropped them in too. “Yeah. I'll catch a nap in the afternoon.”

“You can't save them all,” she told him as she replaced her kit in the back next to his, then slammed the ambulance's doors closed.

He straightened his shoulders and met her gaze steadily. “I can try.”

“God, I hope it's a quiet night,” Chris moaned as he climbed into the passenger side of the ambulance.

“You're going to be pretty useless.” Sara gave him a worried frown. “You look like crap, you know.”

“Thanks for the confirmation.” He yawned and made no attempt to hide it. “I used to be able to stay up for ninety-six hours straight with no sleep.” He yawned again. “I must be getting old.”

“Yeah, twenty-seven is over the hill.” She put on her seat belt, started the motor and drove out of the garage.

“It feels like it today.” He had been on the go ever since their shift ended this morning at six. After a quick breakfast, Sara had gone to bed and Chris headed for the hospital to check on Miller.

The hospital had already released him, and he was waiting outside for Chris to pick him up. The cut on Miller's head had been stitched up and covered with a bandage that looked even whiter against his dark skin. He hadn't signed up for any sort of veteran's assistance since he moved to Denver, so Chris took Miller to the VA hospital and helped him get scheduled for outpatient treatment. That, of course, had taken several hours, because government bureaucracy never flows quickly. On the way back to Miller's apartment, they had stopped for lunch, then picked up some things from the grocery store in spite of the man's protests. Chris had barely made it to his Medical Physiology class.

He'd been planning to catch a nap once he got home, but the city had chosen that day to jackhammer the street out front. Sara was gone, probably taking her test, and he was tempted to borrow her sound machine, but he dared not go into her room. As tired as he was, he hadn't been able to block the noise out long enough to fall into a deep sleep.

“Do you think it was wise to let him go home?” Sara asked. “He'll probably be back on the streets tonight.”

“He said it was his first time, and I believe him.” At Sara's skeptical look, Chris added, “I checked out his arms and there were no marks except the one from last night.”

“They shoot up in other places, you know. Did you check between his toes?”

“Of course not.”

“You're too gullible.”

“You'd do the same thing.” He challenged her with a knowing grin. She was the one who had always rescued the sparrow that fell out of its nest or the baby bunny that was being terrorized by dogs.

She glanced his way and smiled. “Okay, probably. But you've got a lot going on right now. You can't let him interfere with your job or school…especially if he's a junkie.”

“We talked a lot today, and I think he's just feeling lost. I've hooked him up with the VA. They're going to run some tests and schedule counseling. I think he's got a bad case of PTSD.”

“Oh…one year of med school and you're the expert?” she teased.

“He's not the first guy I've known who had it.”

They were stopped at a red light, and Sara turned to him. “You seem okay. How did you manage to get through the war and come back untouched?”

Untouched? Only he knew how far that was from the truth. “I'm lucky to have my family around. Plus, I think it helped that they're all first responders, because trauma and danger are part of our lives and have been for years.”

“Miller doesn't have any family here?” The light changed, and she drove forward. The streets in LoDo were crowded, mostly with students who were hitting the bars instead of studying for finals. At least the Rockies were still on the road, so the after-game overload of drunken fans wouldn't add to the mix.

“He's from Kentucky, and apparently, he had a girlfriend who promised to wait for him.”

“Let me guess…she didn't.”

“Apparently, not even a year. She has two kids and a husband.”

“That must have been a shitty homecoming.”

“To say the least. Plus his parents are both dead, and he has no brothers or sisters.”

“Why Denver?” she asked.

“He said it looked so pretty on TV during football games. He thought it would be a good place for a new beginning. But he hasn't been able to find a job, and he's about to get evicted.”

“So, he really does have an apartment? I thought he might be lying about that.”

Chris snorted. “
Apartment
might be an exaggeration. The place is a rat hole. Other than having a roof over his head, he'd probably be better off on the streets. I saw at least six rats, and there were bugs everywhere.”

“Sounds depressing.”

“Which I'm sure isn't helping his mood. Do you know of any place that's hiring?”

Before she could answer, the radio caught their attention.
“Male, early twenties, jumped from the third floor. Suspected DK or high. Auraria Lofts, 1051 14th Street. PD's on scene, request fire with EMS. Ambulance 25, did you copy?”

Chris picked up the microphone and responded, “Ambulance 25 en route.” He glanced at Sara and said, “So, what's your guess…drunk or high?”

“Failure to fly…I'd guess drugs,” Sara commented as she turned on the next street and then the next until they were heading in the opposite direction. It was a term medical personnel used when there was a jumper.

“Think he survived?”

“Doubtful. Depends on if he landed on concrete or bushes.”

The siren bounced off the buildings, magnifying the sound and sending people scattering because they couldn't quite tell which direction it was coming from.

“I don't know how you're going to fit babysitting Miller into your schedule,” Sara said, continuing the previous conversation.

She was as good a driver as he was, but sitting in the passenger's seat made him nervous. He realized his fingertips were digging into the armrest. “It won't be that bad. Once I get him in a program, maybe he'll make some friends. And if I could get him a job…”

“Oh, right. I know a couple of places that are looking for people. His military background should help.”

“And I'll vouch for him.”

Sara slid him a sideways look, but didn't voice her opinion about that.

They drove around to the back side of the campus housing unit, where a crowd had assembled. Two cop cars were parked off to the side, and they were keeping people away from the kid on the sidewalk. Sara parked the ambulance as close as she could, and they hopped out, retrieved their kit and jogged to the body.

Two young men and a woman were standing near the body. The girl was sobbing and one of the guys looked near tears, but the other one was staring off into space, a dazed, blank expression on his face.

“What did he take?” Sara asked as she pulled her gloves on.

“Nothing, ma'am,” the first guy answered. “We were just sitting around listening to music.”

“So, he fell out the window?” Chris asked.

“Uh…yeah…that's right, he fell,” the first guy confirmed. The other boy was still staring at something in the distance and didn't appear to be engaged in the conversation at all.

“Look, we can't help him if we don't know the truth.” Chris focused on the girl, who was clearly the most upset, and probably the most likely to cave. As expected, she whirled around and faced the two boys.

“They need to know. We can't just let him die.” She turned back to Chris. “We were eating gummies, and he just leaped to his feet and climbed out the window. He said he was going to fly across the campus.”

“Gummies, huh?” a deep voice said from behind Chris. He looked over his shoulder and saw that it was the tall stranger from last night. The man moved his arm to reveal a shiny gold badge hooked on his belt that had
U.S. DRUG ENFORCEMENT AGENCY SPECIAL AGENT
clearly stamped on it. “Where are they?”

“They're gone,” the first boy said. “We only had a couple…”

“They're in our room,” the girl admitted after giving the boy an angry glare. “I'll get them for you.”

“I'll go with you,” the agent volunteered in a tone that didn't allow her to refuse.

Chris put on his gloves and knelt on the other side of the body. Sara had been checking for a pulse, but the splatter of blood and chunks of brain on the sidewalk didn't bode well. She looked up at Chris and gave a very small shake of her head. There were only a few incidents when they were not obligated to try to resuscitate, and those included decapitation, rigor mortis or visible brain matter. This definitely qualified.

All of a sudden the guy who had been almost catatonic rushed forward and wrapped his hands around Sara's neck. It happened so fast that she didn't see him coming. He lifted her off her feet and started screaming, the spittle splattering on her face.

“You fuckin' killed my friend. He was okay until you got here. What did you do to him?”

Chris vaulted over the victim and slammed into the guy's side with a midsection tackle. The kid's hands automatically loosened and Sara tumbled off to the side, but in a split second, he turned his attention on Chris.

Having grown up with two older brothers and having survived some intense hand-to-hand combat training, Chris was pretty good at defending himself. But this guy was high on something and, judging by the size of his muscles, probably juiced on steroids. It was a dangerous combination that made him inhumanly strong. He came to his feet and charged like an enraged bull.

Chris tried to dodge, but the man took him down. They landed in the flower bed and started rolling around as each man struggled for dominance. It took him a few seconds, but Chris managed to flip the man onto his face and pin his arms behind his back just as the cops ran up to help. One cop dropped to the ground and snapped on a pair of handcuffs, and Chris leaned back on his heels and gasped for breath.

“Hey, thanks for getting here so quickly,” he said, his tone dripping with sarcasm.

“You were doing a great job,” one of the cops said with a chuckle as he jerked the guy to his feet.

Chris recognized him as one of his brother's buddies, so the jokes weren't unexpected. He knew they had gotten to him as quickly as possible. The departments might be rivals on many levels, but they were always brothers in the field. Just like the military.

“You going to sit there all day?” Sara asked.

“Just getting my wind.” Chris stood and tried to brush the dirt and crushed flower petals off. The navy-blue cargo pants didn't really show it, but his white shirt was horribly stained. Sara joined him next to the flower bed while the police stretched crime scene tape around the area. Unfortunately, the boy's body lay as it had landed.

The agent and the girl returned from the building.

“Can't you cover him up?” the girl asked, recoiling from the gruesome sight.

“Sorry, but we can't. It would contaminate the body,” the cop explained. “The coroner and the crime scene techs are on their way.”

The agent handed the cop a bag of colorful gummy bears. “More Uncle Dandy's Candies,” he said.

“What are they?” Since being on the streets, Chris had been getting a crash course on drugs. So much had happened so quickly since the legalization of marijuana that it was difficult to keep up with all the constantly changing rules. Even government officials and law enforcement were scrambling to understand the new laws.

“If these are like the last ones I sent to be tested, they're gelatin, sugar, vodka and minced marijuana,” the agent told him. “Problem is, they taste like candy that kids are used to eating a handful at a time. It's easy to overdose that way.”

They stepped away from the body, but didn't leave. It was standard procedure for the medics to stay with the body until the coroner arrived.

“I'm Nick Archer. I work out of the Austin office, and, as you probably know, pot's not legal in Texas…yet. Personally, I think it's just a matter of time, and I guess they do, too, because they sent me up here to check out how the drug scene has changed since you guys made it legal.”

“I'm Chris and this is my partner, Sara. Thanks for your help last night. That crowd was crazy.”

The coroner arrived and Chris quickly briefed him on the incident. The man nodded and went to the body. Relieved of duty, Chris, Sara and Nick headed toward the ambulance.

“It looked like you needed an extra wall of defense,” Nick said.

“So, how long will you be in town?” Sara asked.

“Another week. I'll probably be bumping into you again. This is the second flier I've seen since I got here two days ago.” Nick heaved a sigh. “It was really stupid for you guys to pass legislation without having some sort of regulations in effect. There's no quality control. Some gummies have small traces of THC, while others have a shitload.”

“Are they jumping because it causes hallucinations? Or do they think they're invincible?” Chris asked.

“Both, probably,” Nick answered. “We're still trying to figure it out.”

The CSI team arrived and took over the scene.

“We're on shift until six a.m., so the night's young,” Chris said. “See you around.”

Nick gave them a mock salute and turned back to the crime scene.

Chris changed uniforms, and they almost made it to their post before they got another call, this time for a middle-aged man having a heart attack.

“I've got to study for my psych final next week,” Sara commented as she turned onto Colorado Boulevard with lights flashing and siren blaring.

“I've got three finals next week. I was hoping you'd help me with neuroscience. It's kicking my butt.”

“Sure, we'll have a study weekend.”

“Rusty and Julie's wedding is on Sunday.”

“Well, we can study all night.” Sara pulled into the parking lot of a chain hotel. “I'm going to let you take the lead on this one. You need the practice. Let's go save a life.”

Saturday night shifts were his favorite. They were always busy, and the time passed quickly. The first two calls had been car wrecks. One had patients with injuries serious enough for them to be transported to Denver Health, but the other accident was minor, and the occupants had declined treatment. The third call had been a woman who had gone into diabetic shock.