Badge of Betrayal

I instinctively dropped to my knee to let my cruiser absorb most of the blasts as the unknown female inside the van racked and fired the shotgun again and again. Just around the front corner of my cruiser, I could see the bearded meth head clumsily reach in the front of his pants as he let out an intense howl as he bum rushed my car. He finally retrieved the giant Taurus .44 magnum revolver he had been groping for and aimed wildly in my direction as he ran. He tried firing the big hand cannon but it took him a second to realize he hadn't thumbed the safety to the off position. As he did so he stopped briefly. At the same moment the twelve-gauge had run out of ammo.

I leaned left around my door and immediately released a quick double tap from my big .40 cal Smith and Wesson, catching the giant meth head center mass in his chest.

To my horror, he kept coming toward me, raising the big Taurus and firing one of the massive slugs that slammed right into the breast plate of my GH Armor Systems protective ballistic vest. The impact of the slug literally threw me back eight feet and right onto my ass. Amazingly, I didn't drop my weapon and I released another quick double-tap that caught the bastard right in the throat and forehead, respectively. The bearded son of a bitch literally fell dead at the front of my cruiser, his head bouncing hard off the heavy push bumper mounted in front of the grill.

I literally couldn't breathe, first from the shock of the shotgun blast and then the follow-up from the .44 slug that would have ended my life, if not for my top-of-the-line body armor.

I struggled to get back to my feet quickly while furiously trying to will my lungs to draw in air. Just as I was drawing down on the mini-van, I realized I was staring down the barrel of that 12 gauge that was being wielded from the back seat of the mini-van by a scrawny, blonde, anorexic-looking meth-head woman who was screaming like a banshee through her rotten meth teeth. I still couldn't see the little seven year old girl.

I had no choice but to fire.

I let loose another double tap from my Smith and Wesson just as another blast spewed forth from her shotgun. The rear passenger side window of the van shattered and I had no idea if I hit anyone. The screaming had stopped.

Suddenly, my entire right side felt like it was on fire and I could no longer use my right arm. My knees buckled and then gave out on me completely as I collapsed onto the pavement. A few seconds later, the taste of blood began to fill my mouth and I knew that I was critically injured.

As I lay on the hot asphalt highway groping for my sidearm that I had dropped, I could see a bloody, scrawny arm reach down from the driver's seat of the van and grab the keys that lay on the ground there. The arm slowly picked up the keys and closed the door. After what seemed like minutes, the mini-van came to life and clumsily chugged back down the highway. By the time I finally retrieved my weapon, the van was gone.

There didn't seem to be a part of me that didn't hurt. I didn't know where all I had been hit by the shotgun blasts. My body armor did the best it could, but it wasn't completely effective as one of the big shotgun pellets entered my chest wall just under my armpit.

With my left hand, I was able to press and key the lapel mike from my portable radio.

"Dis......patch......seventeen......twenty-five. Officer......down. Need......assistance......and...ambulance......"

The last thing I remember was the approaching sound of distant sirens. And then everything faded to black.

EIGHT DAYS LATER

"Patrick? Patrick....." I could hear a man's voice calling to me from somewhere in the darkness, but I had no idea who it was or where it was coming from. I struggled to find the source of the voice but couldn't find my way through the inky vacuum of nothingness. I was somewhere and, yet, nowhere at the same time.

"Patrick!" the voice called again, but louder this time. "Patrick, open your eyes!"

I started to see a faint glimmer of light. It was fuzzy and blurry at first but then began to shutter like a strobe light, only at a slower pace.

"That's it, Patrick! Keep on coming! That's it! That's it! Open your eyes, Patrick! Open 'em up!"

The light was bright, but not overly so. Soon my eyes were opened fully and the face of a man took shape. A good-looking man he was probably around my age with sandy blonde hair, blue eyes and a patch of hair just under his bottom lip. He was dressed in light blue medical scrubs and encumbered in a white cotton lab coat. The name embroidered in emerald thread above the right breast pocket read "Dr. Nathan Slattery".

"Yes! That's it! Welcome back, Patrick!" The room erupted in applause and I realized that I was surrounded by a roomful of people.

"Patrick? Can you hear me okay?" the doctor asked. How could I not? He was talking overly loud like he was trying to make a kindergartner comprehend theoretical physics.

I nodded my head and tried to answer, but my throat was burning and I couldn't quite make the sound.

"It's okay, Patrick. Don't try to talk, just listen for now. The reason you're having trouble speaking is that you've had a breathing tube in your airway and have been on a mechanical ventilator for the last week. We just took the tube out and it can irritate your vocal cords and throat. You'll be sore for a few days and it will take a while for the swelling in your vocal cords to subside. You'll be hoarse for a day or two, as well," he explained. "My name is Nate Slattery, Patrick. I was the trauma surgeon who operated on you. The rest of the people in the room right now are the team of doctors, nurses and other medical personnel who have been taking care of you."

I looked around the room with my eyes and could only slightly turn my head to either side. My neck was stiff as hell.

"You're going to be stiff and sore for a while, Patrick," Dr Slattery went on. "You've basically been lying in the same position for a week without moving. We're going to gradually work with you to help you get back on your feet, okay?"

I nodded slightly mouthed an "okay".

"Great! I'm going to let you get back to resting again, Patrick. We're going to keep a close eye on things for another 48 hours, especially your breathing. If you seem to struggle with the breathing some more, we may have to put you back on a ventilator again. We don't want to, so hopefully you'll continue to get stronger and breathe more on your own," Dr Slattery finished.

As I looked to the right and left of my hospital bed I could see numerous heart monitors and IV pumps pushing fluids into my body. It looked as if I had tubes coming out of me everywhere but I was too tired to take much more in and my eye lids were quickly becoming heavier and heavier.

"You get some rest now, Patrick. I'll be back later in the day to check on you during my afternoon rounds. But before I go, I just want to say what a pleasure it has been to meet you and be able to help care for you. I know a hero when I see one, sir, and you are the real deal," he said with a wide smile.

As he said those last words, the room once again filled with applause and then one by one, everyone exited my intensive care suite until there was only one nurse who busily fussed over each and every monitor and checked all of my IV solutions to make sure everything was running smoothly. And then I couldn't stay awake any longer and faded back to sleep.

I must have slept the rest of the day and night again because I don't remember Dr Slattery checking on me again. When I awoke, there was a fairly bright ray of sunshine beaming into the room.

A lone nurse, dressed in a royal blue set of scrubs, was intently checking all of my monitors and IVs again and making her notes on a handheld computer charting system of some sort. She caught me looking at her as she was charting my latest set of vitals.

"Good morning!" she chimed with a gorgeous smile. She was young, probably in her early 20's and definitely no older than 25. Her pin straight, sandy hair was pulled back into a single pony tail. Her face was sort of round, with dimpled cheeks and set of very full lips. There wasn't a single tooth in her smile that was crooked or out of place.

Her eyes seemed huge and were undoubtedly the most beautiful I had ever seen. The color was an amazing aquamarine; the kind you wouldn't think could be real. Overall, she was the very dream of the nurse you always fantasize about having if you were hurt or sick.

She bent down towards me and leaned on the handrail of my hospital bed. The view down the front of her scrub shirt revealed some of the most spectacular cleavage I had ever seen. I hoped and prayed right there that it wasn't just the heavy pain medications I was on that were clouding my judgment and that her chest would look just as amazing if and when I ever was off the narcotics.

"How are you feeling?" she asked with a caring smile.

"I dunno. Okay, I think," I croaked in a rusty voice. I examined the two IV lines that were running into my left hand and left arm.

"Well, at least you're talking again. How is your pain, on a scale of 1 to 10?" she quizzed.

I really didn't feel anything when she asked. But when I tried to move my right arm a shot of searing pain burst up through the entire limb and up into my neck to where I could literally feel the pain in my right ear.

"Fuck, that hurt!" It was the most intense pain I had ever experienced. Immediately my eyes began to fill with tears and I was almost on the verge of crying from pain, which I hadn't done since I was a child.

"Here, let me put a pillow under your arm. That might help," she said as she grabbed a pillow from a linen cart just outside my ICU room. She gently lifted my right arm and I braced for another shot of searing pain. But she did it so gently, that I barely noticed a thing. It seemed as though her very touch could alleviate pain. She ever so gently took my right hand in hers and asked, "Can you wiggle your fingers for me?"

I followed her command and moved my fingers somewhat. The simple task caused pain throughout my arm, but it was tolerable.

"Good! That's definitely an encouraging sign!"

She lay my hand gently back on the pillow and I was slightly disappointed that she had let go. The very touch of her hand was exquisite and incredibly comforting.

She returned to my bedside and once again leaned in towards me. Again the sight of her beautiful cleavage was good medicine in itself. But even in my near hallucinogenic state, I mustered the will to not stare too long.

"Doctor Slattery says that he expects your right arm to heal completely. Doctor Sloan was the surgeon who operated on that and Doctor Slattery was very impressed with how well it turned out," my nurse explained.

"What....happened?" I creaked. Her face lost all expression.

"Doctor Slattery said that you were hit by at least two shotgun blasts. They pulled six large lead pellets out of your right arm, one from your right lung and four more pellets from your right hip and thigh. One of the pellets penetrated your right lung so far that it nicked your pulmonary artery. One of them in your leg punctured your right femoral artery. Pretty much everyone is amazed that you're still alive, Mr. Quinn," she finished.

"Wow..." was all I had the energy to whisper.

She placed her hand gently on my left bicep and squeezed ever so slightly. "You're a real fighter, Mr. Quinn. And you're a true hero -- especially to me. The whole state is talking about you and you even made national news," she said with that angelic smile.

I was intrigued to know what all happened. I had no immediate recollection of the event itself. All I knew is that I was hurt and hurt bad. But I was too weak at this point to press for much more.

"I'm going to go finish my charting," she said. "But I will be right outside your room. I have two patients that I'm taking care of and your rooms are side by side. So I promise I will never be too far away. In the meantime," she said as she grabbed what looked like a large TV remote, "you can press the large red button on here if you need anything -- anything at all. And," she continued, "if you feel up to it, you're more than welcome to watch some TV. The TV controls are on the same pad as your nurse call button. But try not to stay awake too long. You need rest and lots of it. You still have a long way to go."

I nodded my understanding as my throat was still too sore to do much talking. Again, she leaned in and gave my left arm a gentle and comforting caress. As I looked at her angelic face and deep aquamarine eyes, I could see tears forming.

"You have no idea how much it means for me to be able to take care of you, Mr. Quinn. Get some rest. And call if you need anything, anything at all." She opened the sliding door to my ICU suite and left for her desk.

I hadn't even asked her name. Fortunately, I saw a large dry erase board near the foot of my bed that listed today's date, the room I was in and the name of my physician and my nurse. Her name was Shannon. Nurse Shannon Sullivan. Irish, just like me. How lucky could I get!

I was tired and groggy, but not quite sleepy. I felt alone, incredibly alone and I missed Shannon already, even though she was only a few feet away. I looked down at the remote and decided to flip on the TV for a bit. The clock in my room told me that it was almost twelve, so I decided to watch a bit of the noon news and see what was happening in the world.

The television was already set to one of the local channels in Red River Falls and the end credits for a soap opera were rolling and the news was next.

The noon news started and a very young male and female anchor sat at a black glossy desk. Our local station, KRFV channel 5, was a typical entry level broadcast job. Most of the anchors and reporters were straight out of college and didn't stick around long. Many of them yearned for better jobs, once they got done cutting their teeth in Red River Falls. A number of KRFV alumni could be seen at TV stations in the Twin Cities, Omaha, Kansas City, Denver, Cheyenne, Billings, Des Moines and many other larger cities throughout the upper Midwest, Great Plains and Rocky Mountain states.

Female anchor: "Good day and welcome to Channel 5 News at Noon. I'm Heather Gilchrist."

Male anchor: "And I'm Dave Conroy. We begin our broadcast with some exciting news coming out of Holy Family Regional Medical Center in Red River Falls. Doctors and hospital staff say that the local law enforcement officer who was involved in bringing an attempted kidnapping to a halt has successfully come out of his medically-induced coma and is now awake, talking and breathing on his own."

Female anchor: "You'll remember that Mason County Deputy Sheriff Sean Patrick Quinn was the first officer to respond to the Amber Alert over one week ago when he spotted the van that was used in the attempted abduction of seven year old Bridget Sullivan." The television cut away and started showing video of the crime scene, including my police cruiser, which looked like it had been driven through every single level of Hell. "Deputy Quinn pulled over the mini-van and was immediately ambushed by the driver, 33 year old William Raymond Jackson, and his female accomplice, 31 year old Kimberly Amber Trenton. Both suspects were from Cherokee Flats."

Male anchor: "Jackson was Sullivan's non-custodial father. Sullivan's mother has had a restraining order against Jackson and a judge permanently terminated his parental rights nearly six years ago. Authorities believe that Jackson, who was recently indicted for a series of federal drug charges, may have kidnapped Sullivan to use her as a shield as he and Trenton attempted to escape justice and flee to Mexico."

Female anchor: "As Deputy Quinn pulled the vehicle over, he was ambushed by both suspects and shot several times with a 12-gauge shotgun and a large-caliber handgun. Quinn was able to return fire, killing Jackson at the scene, and mortally wounding Trenton. Trenton attempted to flee the scene, but was found unconscious behind the wheel of the mini-van, which came to rest in a shallow ditch alongside US Highway 120 about a mile from the shooting. The van was located by a State Trooper who had been called in to assist. Trenton had been shot twice in the abdomen by Deputy Quinn. Attempts to revive Trenton were unsuccessful and she was declared dead at the scene."

Male anchor: "Bridget Sullivan was found with her arms and legs duct-taped and lying on the floor of the mini-van between the front and middle seats. She was unharmed through it all and was eventually released back to her mother, Shannon Sullivan, who works as a nurse at Holy Family. A Red River Falls Fire Department ambulance, which was returning from a patient transfer to the Twin Cities, was in the area at the time of the incident and paramedics were able to render emergency care, which doctors at Holy Family credit with saving Quinn's life." The video ended and the camera returned to the two anchors in the studio.

Female anchor: "All week long family, supporters and friends of Deputy Quinn have held vigil at Holy Family, awaiting good news, which finally came today. Doctors at Holy Family have upgraded Deputy Quinn's condition to critical but stable, meaning he is still under the highest level of care but continues to make improvements. News Channel 5 will bring you the latest updates in this story as they occur."

The news continued with a local story about a bank teller in Red River Falls accused of embezzlement. I didn't really care and thumbed the button to click off the TV. The images of the scene of the shooting played over in my mind and my memory of the incident began flooding back into my brain. I was amazed at the video images of the large pool of blood -- my blood -- on the ground next to the open driver's door of my cruiser. My once proud vehicle was so shot to pieces from the repeated close range blasts of that shotgun that it almost looked like it had been driven high speed through a cloud of dragon flies.

There was no way to explain why I was still here. I almost felt guilty about it, knowing that there were people in the world who had succumbed to less severe injuries. All I could do was try to be thankful that I had survived for my wife and boys. But most of all, I thanked God that the little girl, Bridget, had made it out alive. I had shot wildly and blindly. But it appeared that my aim had been true and I had somehow managed to neutralize both suspects.

It suddenly dawned on me that since waking up the day before, I had yet to see my wife Clarissa or my two boys, Nicholas and Jacob.

Reaching down, I thumbed the nurse call button. Shannon appeared at my side instantly, her ample cleavage bounding as she rushed into the room.

"Are you okay? Is something wrong or do you need something?" she asked excitedly.

In a very raspy voice I managed, "Where....is my... family?"

The excited and worried look on Shannon's face turned to one of reservation and concern.

"Well," she started, "Mrs. Quinn decided that for now you need your rest and she will come see you when you are feeling more up to having visitors..." she said kind of nervously.

"I....don't understand..." I said, searching for something to convey my bewilderment. How in the world could my wife not be there at my side when I needed her most? Suddenly, I felt a new pain -- one of anger, hurt and resentment.

Shannon again took my left hand and held it tightly with both of hers. "I...I think Mrs. Quinn just wants you to heal and get better." I detected a lie, not a vicious one, but one of trying to compensate for my wife's inaction and distance. "And besides," she went on, "I don't think she wanted your boys to see you like this. I think she wants them to see you when you're doing better," she finished with a little more hope in her voice.