Vitals [Part I]

Vitals

by

K. R. King

Author’s Note: The main character's name is spelled in the traditional Celtic way and is pronounced “See-air-uhn”.

Part I

She found my body behind a rusted dumpster with blood pooling around my head, seeping from my chest and lower abdomen. My pulse was weak. I could taste blood in my mouth but was powerless to stop it from coming up, and as I lifted my left arm to touch my throat, I felt the torn tissue from the knife gash, my body gave in to shock, and everything around me plunged into darkness.

As I slowly came to, my eyes fluttered the blurry room away and I could hear through the fog a voice speaking words that I could not understand over and over again. I started to move my neck but found that I was unable to turn it from side to side. I heard the soft, repetitive sound of the EKG machine in the background and it was then that I knew where I was. Then I could hear the voice more clearly and my eyes focused upward toward its source, a nurse in blue scrubs. She asked me for my name, but when I tried to answer, my throat strained from the pain of the wound and the sound was weak. All I could do was whisper as my jaw quivered. "C..Ciaran Shaw...S..Special Agent, FBI."

I tried to prop myself up against the pillows and the nurse moved immediately to help me. As my vision continued to return to normal, I saw the figures of three men and a taller woman form a semicircle around the biobed. The first two men, I did not recognise, but the third was definitely Deputy Director Davis, and the woman was my partner, Eve Gray. She was the one who found me behind the dumpster. My head was throbbing now, as well as my thoracic cavity and hips. It was difficult to remember everything that had happened, but I assumed that once Davis started talking, it would all come back. Right now, however, all I cared about was my current medical condition. I looked to the nurse and asked, "How bad is it?" in my strongest voice.

"You'll have to wait for the doctor to hear the full report," she replied. Her eyes were warm and comforting, not to mention the deepest hue of blue I had ever seen. She had dark hair which was neatly pinned up, not one follicle out of place and although she wore her medical scrubs, which are not made to be form-fitting, she was fairly petite and pleasant to look at overall. "She should be back any minute now, she just ran to pick up a quick call." Just as she completed the sentence, a brunette wearing a white coat with a clipboard in one hand and a black pen in the other came up behind the nurse, smiling. Her identification badge designated her as E. Glass, MD.

"It's good that you're awake, Agent Shaw, I'm Doctor Glass, your primary physician here in the ER, and I'm just going to give you a rough idea of what's happened to your body. Presently, you've sustained a gunshot wound to the back of your head, causing skull fractures in the parietal bone, as well as subdural hematoma in the cerebrum. You also sustained two more gunshot wounds to your lower abdomen. Lastly, it appears as though someone attempted to slash your throat until next to nothing was-"

"Look, Doctor Glass, was it?" I began slowly, then continued, "I appreciate all the medical terminology...but this isn't a test on it...I just want to know how bad this is and the prognosis and recovery time and all that." I smiled gingerly, trying my hardest to remain composed, as every breath was staggeringly painful and the rest of my body ached beyond agony.

"In short, Agent Shaw, you've been through the wringer...whoever it was did such a number on you that it is going to be at least six months before you check out of this hospital. I managed to remove all of the bullets except the one in your head, and that's only because it wasn't there. Seems to have ricocheted away and beyond that, it's up to your forensics people to figure out where it could be now. I was able to stop the hemorrhaging and sew it all up for you, but your brain is still swollen from the contusions and that will take some time to recover from the trauma. For now, your short-term memory is severely impaired, so you'll need to adapt to the effects of that, which include misplacing personal belongings and other occurrences and behaviours within about a day's length, but much of your long-term memories were erased as well, I'm afraid." She slipped her pen into the holder on the clipboard. "I'll leave you now to visit with your colleagues for as long as you can stay awake, but if you experience severe pains and/or fatigue, call your nurse. Just ask for Keely Ward, and she'll give you something to help relax you so you can sleep, alright?"

"Thank you." I squeaked out before she disappeared from the room completely. I slumped back against the bed, literally at a loss for words.

"As long as she hasn't forgotten all her training, I'm not too concerned." Davis piped up in his gruff, though teasing voice.

Eve stepped closer toward me, smiling cautiously, while Davis and the other two men, more agents, I assumed, hung back to let her talk to me before they reacquainted me with the events of the previous evening and harangued me with questions about the attack.

Special Agent Evelyn Gray is a woman who has never cried a single tear in her entire life, or so I would venture to bet if I ever got the chance to. She is always on time and always smiling when she comes in to work. The day Davis introduced her to me, I was ready to throw all my previous doubts regarding necromancy out and go jump into my old partner's grave to get him back. She drove me up a wall and nearly out of a sixteenth story window, I'll tell you that right now. That was five years ago. Today, I can't imagine a day without her in my life.

I had always seen the cup as half empty until, one day, as we were suiting up to go bust down some doors with the local SWATs, I actually let her explain to me the senselessness of my half-empty mindset. Long story short, by the time the perps were cuffed and being slammed into a couple of old Crown Vic black and whites, she had me nailed. "So..how're you holding up?" She asked, sitting beside me and putting her hand on mine.

"Well...if I could move just one bone in my body without this irritating agony, I'd be much happier, but overall, I'm okay. Thanks." I gritted my teeth as I spoke, taking my other hand and putting it on top of hers.

"Yeah, no kidding. You took...quite a beating there." For a moment, we shared this mutual charge of electricity. But I could tell that she was fighting it, so I slid my hand back to where it was before and moved on.

"That's what everyone's saying...I'm not sure I want to be reminded about what happened. See, I can't exactly remember everything, so I'm not going to be much help with the investigation."

"Speaking of which," Davis said, "I hate to do this to you right now, but I am going to need a few minutes alone to debrief you." He looked to the others, Eve in particular, and she nodded, standing and moving toward the door. Before she slipped out of view entirely, she looked at me with this expression of genuine...something. I wasn't quite sure if I was reading her correctly, especially considering my present medical state, but it was something different from the usual look of concern. Something more, and it would have to wait.

"Alright, Davis, go ahead." I said, fluffing up my pillow despite the pain I experienced twisting my arm behind me to get it exactly where I wanted it.

"What's the last thing you do remember?" He took out a small, flat device and a stylus with which to take notes.

"I remember getting into my car and then I forgot something back at the office, so I drove back and as I was walking through the parking garage, I heard something move behind me and-" I tried to think, but nothing was coming to me, so I shook my head in frustration and continued, "I think he hit me then…I can't remember much more after that…."

"He?"

"Yes, definitely a male…about six feet even, black shoulder-length hair, dark eyes. But that's all I can remember right now."

"Forensics picked up traces of blood at the scene. There are two different DNA fingerprints, one is yours and one is not. We ran the DNA through the FBI's criminal database and it's a match for Ridley Thrace."

"What?" I was stunned. But after a moment of reeling about in my brain, a memory struck me hard. "I thought we put him away for good? What the hell?"

"Nah, don't you remember that case? That was high profile, major crimes."

"You know, this may come as somewhat of a shock to you, Davis, but it's a little difficult to remember much of anything right now…" I said with a flare of sarcasm in my scratchy voice.

"Good point. Well, five years ago, when Gray first signed on to replace Flynn…there was a serial killer on the loose in the city and he was targeting agents in the FBI. We thought maybe he was ex-Bureau…"

"Oh…"

"Thrace was our prime suspect….and you and Evelyn took him down together, with my authorisation. We thought the DA cleaned up on that case, but…Thrace's lawyers were able to introduce some new evidence to clear his name and so they had to let him go. And while you may not be able to remember being the leading agent on that case, Thrace sure as hell did, and we believe absolutely that he's the one responsible for this." He cleared his throat and looked away for a minute before turning back to me. "Look, Shaw, I know this can't be an easy thing for you, this amnesia and all the pain and everything, but…we're gonna get the bastard for this, if nothing else. That's a promise." He smiled at me grimly and went on to say that he'd check back with me later and keep me informed. The other two agents quietly followed him out.

It was starting to really piss me off that I couldn't clearly remember something that had happened only five years ago. And apparently, it had been a pretty big deal, too. Doctor Glass popped in again, still holding her handy dandy clipboard. I just sighed and tried to make myself a little more comfortable, but to no avail.

"I hope they didn't grill you too hard," she said.

"Nah, nothing I can't handle. I've been with the Bureau for almost fifteen years now, I'm used to it by now. But you, Doctor, you've got to keep calm if you don't want people to realise how new you are to this whole thing."

"How could you tell?" She blushed, roses surfacing in those olive-toned cheeks.

"How could I not? All that term talk from before? I mean, come on! What is this, your first day in the ER?"

"Second, actually," she laughed out of embarrassment, "but close enough, right?"

"Yep! Well, this is my fifth stay in this same hospital now," I said after sharing a moment of laughter with her, "and I doubt it's my last."

"Really?" She seemed surprised.

"Really, I just love what you’ve done with the place!" I answered, almost with a hint of pride in my voice, then I asked her, "What, don't you have all sorts of files on me for my medical history? It seems like everyone's always got a file here and a file there…files, files, everywhere-" I laughed again, but this time, a sharp pain seared up my spine and straight into my eyes. I grimaced tightly as the pain began to overwhelm my eyesight.

"Keely!" Doctor Glass shouted, "Keely, prep another dose of morphine for Agent Shaw!"

The next thing I knew, I was on cloud nine. No pain. Just peace. I could open my eyes again and there was Doctor Glass, standing over me. She asked if I felt better and I nodded.

"So, five times…"

"That's right," I slurred a little, "I play hard."

"So I've noticed."

———————————————————————

Six Months Later…

Nothing! Not a goddamn single thing!

Six months in the hospital and not a single message on the machine! That is so cheap, I thought to myself while setting my wallet and badge down on the counter along with my keys. I guess that's what I get for being in the FBI. That's what I get for following my heart and going for my dreams: nothing. And if it sounds like I'm feeling sorry for myself, I am! After all, who else is there to do it? No one! Just me, myself and I, and all three of us feel pretty lonely right about now. When I think about it, I realise that I am all I have had for the last twenty years. My mother died two weeks before my tenth birthday and my dad retired from the force shortly after that, suffered from severe depression and PTSD, then moved away to Illinois and I haven't seen or spoken to him since.

Of course, the only person who knows about any of this is Eve, and that's only because she tricked me into talking about my past with the help of Starbucks and a giant bag of chocolate-covered pretzels. We shared a laugh, at my expense, of course. I'm not one of those emotional triple bypass kind of girls-at all, so when I had finished telling her my story, it was sort of a 'foiled again' moment for me. Just imagine me sobbing like some sad little child, mascara running madly all over my face and down my chin. Pathetic. Twenty years of loneliness and it all amounted to five trips to the emergency room and a backward house with an upstairs kitchen. I should be so proud.

Anyway, so no messages, so I dragged my weak and throbbing body into the master suite, which, lucky enough, is located just to the left of the downstairs entryway, and collapsed contently atop my California King size bed, letting out a chirp of relief as I sank into its soft, squishy mattress. Of course, I planted my face right into the biggest, fattest, and fluffiest feather down pillow I own and had to force myself to turn over onto my back so I wouldn't suffocate to death. Although, and just being totally honest, I'd take accidental asphyxiation over triple gunshot wounds and a slashed up throat any day. But hey, that's just me, right? You never know, there are some pretty sick people out there. I've put several of them away myself, which is the reason I'm even feeling like shit right now.

Just as I settled myself and closed my eyes, a knock at the front door served as a pair of pliers for them. "Damn it!" I opened them back up and swore under my breath a few more times. Of course it would have to happen at the very second I'm ready to crash straight into hibernation just like a bear.

A second knock, harder and more obnoxious than the first.

"I'm coming, shit!" I yelled down the hallway. "Not exactly in the keenest shape, jackass! Just you hold your goddamn horses a minute!"

Third knock, even louder and harder.

"What the hell is your problem, are you deaf or something?! I just said to hold on! For shit's sake, asshole, I'm coming as fast I can!" I said as I opened the door to find a scrawny FedEx delivery man standing on my porch with a medium-sized brown parcel in his left arm, clipboard in the right one. I guess he had heard me that last time because he turned pink and suddenly very sheepish. Whatever. That's the way I preferred men: pink from embarrassment, sheepish, and whenever possible, absolutely silent. He handed the clipboard to me without a word and so I signed off on it. When I went to give it back and take the parcel, he scanned over my signature and suddenly came to life.

"You're that agent, aren't you? Shaw, yeah, that's it, Ciaran Shaw! You're the FBI agent they found behind that dumpster that got beat to shit down at the Hoover Building, right?!" His eyes were all alight like some kind of sick, twisted Christmas tree. It was starting to piss me off.

"Wonderful…" I muttered to myself. Really, this was too much, but it wasn't the first time I'd had…fans, shall we call them? Sure, that's a mild enough word; it wasn't the first time I'd had "fans" trying to weasel their way into my business. So I smiled my biggest, phoniest smile and reached for the package, but he decided to keep running his mouth.

"That must have been so scary for you! Not to mention embarrassing as hell, being FBI and all, huh? I mean…you totally got taken down by a serial killer and you barely made it out of that whole thing alive! You are so lucky, lady! Sooo lucky!" He was still holding my package. I gritted my teeth.

"Lucky, right…why don't you just give me the box and get the hell off my property before I teach you the meaning of the word lucky, hmm? God, don't you people have any kind of respect anymore?" I took the parcel out of his hands and slammed the door. I leaned against it for a minute, rolling my eyes, and then felt another pair staring at me through the side window, so I opened the door again and threatened that if he didn't vacate the premises immediately, he'd soon know what it's like to get the Ridley Thrace treatment firsthand, courtesy of Special Agent Ciaran Shaw. Needless to say, he bolted back to his little delivery truck with his tail between his legs and was gone shortly thereafter. To tell you the truth, I wish he had called my bluff. I was eager to kick someone's ass after everything I'd been through the past six months.

After having scared the ever-so-"friendly" FedEx guy away, I was actually feeling quite proud of myself, and I enjoyed the mild endorphin-release from that whole episode. I closed the door and turned back to make my way over to the black onyx marble coffee table. I sat myself down on the most comfortable couch an FBI agent can afford, set the box on the table, and stared it down, scanning meticulously. There was a return address, but no name, which is why I decided against ripping the thing wide open like Christmas morning. Although, it donned on me that today happened to be my birthday. A special occasion indeed! But considering the fact that I have had no communication with my father twenty years running and no siblings to speak of, there was no one except for Eve who knew my birthday and surely she would not have left her name off on purpose, even as a surprise. Eve has never been good at surprises, mainly because she can't keep a secret long enough to get away with them, especially when they concern yours truly. And so I stared long and hard at this plain brown parcel sitting on my coffee table for several more minutes.

In fifteen years with the Bureau, I had never received anything so suspicious, let alone a package without a return addressee—that I could remember, anyway. My memory hadn't been completely recovered, of course, so I was still struggling here and there with the details of the attack, but at least I remembered where I live and what my social security number is and the like. Numbers and places weren't the problem for me; it was specific events and even a few people I had trouble remembering still.

I eyed the box suspiciously for several more minutes, scanning over and over as cautiously as possible. I thought about opening it, but quickly talked myself out of it in case it might contain some type of incendiary device or anthrax-laced card, or worse: body parts. It was fairly heavy, after all. Heavy enough for a heart or maybe even a brain! Then something caught my attention from the corner of my eye. It was the corner of a piece of white paper that had been taped to the bottom of the package by, or so I assumed, my mysterious Secret Santa. I reached for the paper, but another knock at the front door caused me to pull my hand back sharply. I think my heart even stopped beating for a few seconds! I tossed my head back, prepping my voice for a good nagging tone. "Who the hell is it?!" I shouted, trying to regain my composure and sound irritated all at the same time.

"It's me!" A familiar voice faintly replied from down the hallway, through the foyer, and on the opposite side of the front door.

"Come in, it's open!"

It was Gray.

I heard the echoing of the handle down the hallway and into the guest parlour, where I was stationed (now staring intently at the white slip of paper sticking out from the underside of the parcel) as it turned to let her into the house. I heard the soft clattering of her heels on the tile floors and then she appeared beside me on the sofa.

"Glad to see you made it home alright," she said as she joined me, "but what exactly are you doing and what is that?" She pointed at the package and waited for my response, her voice furrowing slightly out of curiosity.

"Not a clue…not one single solitary clue, it doesn't have a name."

"What do you mean?" She looked at me with an expression of genuine puzzlement.

"I mean there's no return addressee or anything—might be a note here from the sender, I was thinking. See this scrap of paper? I saw it sticking out from the underside of the box and I was going to take it off just as you startled the living hell out of me." I was sure to add a slight tone of indignant irritation to my voice for effect.

"Oh, I'm sorry, Ciaran, I didn't mean to-"

I cut her off. The guilt had already begun to burn into my skull.

"Don't. It's not a big deal. I know you didn't mean to scare me like that or anything…" I broke off my little staring contest with the slip of paper long enough to rub my eyes and smile at her, then I put an arm around her to offer an apologetic hug. "Actually, I'm very glad you came over to check up on me. I appreciate it."

She beamed at me, her blue eyes sparkling kindly, and pulled me close so that my lips rested lightly on her neck for a moment, and in that moment, I forgot all about the mysterious package and the slip of white paper that had been taped to it.

"Can I ask you something?" She pulled away with a note of hesitation in her voice. I held my breath, hoping she was about to open up the whole can of worms I mentioned earlier. Were we really about to go there? I hoped so. My gaydar on this girl is so far off the chart, so I was very excited to hear some kind of confession of longing or better yet, an admission of her secret five yearlong attraction to me. I guessed I was about to find out.

"Of course, anything." I returned to staring at the package.

"Well, okay, I know you don't remember most of what happened the night of the attack, so before I ask you this, I have to tell you that…that night…when I found you behind the dumpster, you were laughing…" she trailed off.

"And I gather you want to know why I was laughing." I finished the sentence for her.

"Well, yeah, but if you don't recall, then it's pointless…"

"Wait, let me ask you something." I closed my eyes a second, turned to face her and took a deep breath to help stifle myself. "Is that, er…is that how you find me? My laugh?"

She nodded. There was a moment of absolute silence before I erupted into ear-splitting laughter. Evelyn did not appear to understand my reaction, as her eyes narrowed angrily, and then she snapped sharply at me.

"You think it's funny?!" she hissed, "why is that funny to you?!"

"I do, actually…I mean, that is one hell of a tip-off!" I said in between fits. "Think about it! You're on your way home and then you hear this laugh and it turns out to be me…that's pretty funny! Admit it…it's giggle-worthy." I just kept on going.

"You are so bad, Ciaran," said Eve, chuckling along with me after re-crossing her legs and slumping back against the sofa, "that is bad…"

Slowly, we came back to Earth and found ourselves gazing upon the FedEx box once again.

"So, what're you going to do?" She inquired quietly.

"I don't know yet, I was hoping you might have a suggestion or two."

"Well, I would start with that note." She lifted up the box so that I could pluck the slip from the belly of the parcel and then returned it to the coffee table as gentle as possible. I spread the slip flat and began to read with Eve looking over my shoulder, her soft, warm breath tickling my skin. It read:

“Happy Birthday. -T.”

"Great! Now I'm sure as shit not going to open this thing!" I said nervously, a chill searing up my spine. "Get Davis on the phone." Before I had even finished my thought, Eve had pulled out her cell and speed dialed him.

An hour later, two more people joined us around the box, all looking perplexed as hell: Deputy Director Allen Davis and trusted FBI Forensics Analyst Nichelle Truex.

"Wow." Truex whispered.

"I don't believe this," muttered Gray, shaking her head.

"You're telling me this man sent me an empty box?" I stated blankly before burying my face in my hands and walked away. Eve followed close behind and Davis hung back to talk to Truex a few minutes longer. "What a hack."

"Alright, well, now that we've all succeeded in painting ourselves as flaming imbeciles," said Davis to Truex, his instructions echoing down the corridor our way, "why don't you at least make this look like it's worth something to us and dust for prints and nail scrapings." Then he turned on his heel and headed toward us. "Well?" He asked. I just stared back at him. What was he expecting me to say at this point?

"Well what?" I replied coolly, waxing indignant.

"This man is extremely dangerous, Ciaran, and you're not taking this seriously." He harped on, but I tuned him out at the whole 'taking this seriously' bit.

"No prints!" came the familiar chime of Nichelle Truex from the doorway of the white room.

"Just as I suspected, thank you, Nichelle, that's all for now."

"Sure." She went back to work on some other stuff, leaving me alone and standing in between two people who did not appear to be very happy with me-at all.

"Look!" I finally said, "I'm sure he's very dangerous like you said, but if you expect me to start shaking in my boots over some washed-up hacky sack who, apparently, forgot to include the bloody human heart or limb of some variety in his little stalker box as a part of some elaborately twisted way to get under my skin so I'll play cat-and-mouse until he catches me and drags me to his basement where I find out his mother demeaned and/or abused him sexually as a young boy so that's why he's a closeted woman-hating and reclusive homosexual, but that's the shocker that comes to light right before beats me to shit all over again, murders me brutally and then defiles my dead corpse, then let me make myself perfectly clear: he failed, miserably.

In fact, I couldn't care less about this fruitcake and I'm going to make sure he knows it. By the way, was anybody smart enough to run a check on the return address because if this asshole's last little zinger was any indicator of his intelligence, I'll bet anything it's something cliché and lame, like an abandoned warehouse or probably even the old, decrepit house he was raised in—you know…?" I crossed my arms and leaned against the wall. Everyone just stood there with the most stunned expressions on their faces. I think Eve, in particular, seemed genuinely impressed by my genius. Brownie points!

"Er, actually…you're right," Davis responded tepidly, "it was the house one you mentioned…"

"Yeah…this isn't rocket science, you know…we've dealt with hundreds of serial killers, this one is no different." I said.

"But Thrace wasn't there and no one knows where he is now."

"Great." I sighed. "I guess if you want something done right, you've gotta do it yourself…look, why don't I just go track him down like usual and bring his manky old ass in for questioning?"

"We will, as soon as we can locate him."

"This is ridiculous, you weren't listening!" I replied, frustrated as hell, "I'll find him…you know what? No. You go ahead and sit around here all day with your heads all up your asses and Eve and I will actually go get the son of a bitch and drag his ass back to DC by his toenails so we can straighten all this bullshit out. How about that?"

Davis shook his head. Clearly, I had upset him, but it didn't make any difference to me. Besides, he knew I was just tired of feeling so useless from being cooped up in that yawnfest of a hospital for six months. He knew how anxious I had been to get back out there and kick some major serial killer ass.

"Just….be careful, Ciaran, he's a slick bastard, despite what you may think….you just don't remember him, and I can't afford to lose you just because you couldn't take this situation seriously."

"It's got nothing to do with taking it seriously, Director, it has to do with you trying to strike the fear of God into my heart over this man, which is the point I'm trying to make here! He's only a man…although, I have to say I'm not too thrilled about the fact that I'm being stalked and targeted the same day I've been released from hospital after six months of surgeries and torturous physical therapy because of this man that I don't even remember putting in prison five years ago, but that doesn't mean I'm going to let fear stop me from putting him right back there all over again. Believe me, I'm going to find him and he's going to regret ever fucking with the FBI."

To be continued...