The Brand Ch. 11

8

The detective found her way back up to the hospital's closed psych ward. She stopped at the nurse's station to let the secretary know that she was back, and then turned toward the ward's right wing. As she walked down the brightly lit corridor, Powers took in its pink brick walls, its heavy wood doors with their inlaid glass and the sixty yards of inhospitable brown carpet.

She had lingered, only for a moment, behind the partially opened door to Victria's room. Yes, she'd happened upon a case note put into the WPD system about Carpenter's and May's presence at the deli. Powers had yet to read through the news report about it from the paper's web archive. Homeless? Talk about; starting from scratch, thought the detective as she advanced down the corridor.

Melody's room, 11-05, was the last on the right. Powers knocked, and then entered. Neither Melody nor her roommate, a young girl, a little blonde haired twelve year old going on sixty-three, was present. The room's floor was covered in the same pasty chocolate brown, the pitted stone walls painted a pinkish beige and the two plastic coated twin mattresses were fitted with patterns of blue teddy bears, with matching blue blankets and two very flat pillows. Powers peeked just inside the open bathroom door and saw that it too was empty.

Turning suddenly, Powers startled a woman that had been standing in the doorway. The head nurse, Diane, Powers recalled, had whitened instantly, and then reddened.

"I didn't mean to sneak up on you." Said the nurse; laughing nervously.

"You didn't." Powers replied, not looking at the woman; her attention drawn to the empty pad and pen on the ledge beyond Melody's roommate's bed.

"Your Jane Doe is in the solarium," the nurse intoned, "With the rest of the group."

Powers turned to face her again and watched as the woman folded her arms and took a few steps back into the corridor. Her gaze never wavered, though she was still embarrassed about having been startled by the tall female detective. She was of average height, five foot six, somewhere in her forties, subtle patches of light grey in her strawberry blonde hair, healthfully slim in her glowing white slacks and happy yellow turtle neck sweater.

"I have a name for her." Said the detective as she advanced toward the open door, "Melody May."

"Oh great." Said the nurse excitedly; taking pace beside Powers as they headed back toward the opposite end of the corridor, "I'll put it right into the system. Did you learn anything else?"

Powers shrugged. Perhaps I should keep my mouth shut; just mind my own business, the business of the case.

"The woman who came in with Ms. May is certainly quite attached to her," she said."

"How attached?" asked the nurse as they advanced toward the solarium?

"She wants Ms. May to be brought up to her room."

"Hold on." Said the nurse, stopping short, "She was shot; right?"

Powers nodded, turning to face her.

"Yep." She answered, "She has enough rehab to get through, and enough of her own PTSD to manage herself through, let alone Ms. May. The buck shot caused a good amount of nerve damage to her legs, below the knees. She's a tough one though, demanding. When I left, she was telling Dr. Peebles about how she found Ms. Melody on the street."

So much for keeping your mouth shut Cassandra. Fuck it. We're all just trying to help this lost little lamb of a woman.

"The street?" repeated the nurse, "Homeless?"

"Sounds like. I guess Charpentier is a tier two executive in some marketing firm. I don't know. Maybe she took May in on a whim, sort of release some conservative pressure, and let her heart bleed a little."

The nurse leveled her gaze at Powers, seeming taken aback by her comment. The detective stared back, tilting her head slightly.

"Honestly Diane," Powers continued, "The woman has a very nasty streak; a total narcissist. I think maybe she can't keep any friends because she alienates them all away with her over inflated sense of self. Come on; what sort of person has to troll for a perspective partner among Hartford's homeless? I mean; in my line of work; that's where we find victims and the people who abuse or kill them for recreation."

The nurse seemed to vacillate between conceding and wanting to comment.

"No matter people's troubling circumstances," she said; gesturing her head toward the solarium, "They have parents and families and miss being home. The homeless have pasts too, and they're human beings, deserving of compassion."

"Oh I certainly don't disagree," Powers responded as they each resumed a slow pace toward the solarium door, "I'm just saying that, given convention, bars, social clubs or online dating sites, a rich and powerful woman has options, if she's motivated. Charpentier may or may not have been motivated by May's homelessness. But, the fact is that she was motivated by something, and what she got was a woman she barely knows, but depends on emotionally and who essentially owns nothing beyond her own body."

"Meaning?"

"Meaning; considering her current circumstances, Ms. May was certainly victimized by something in her past and Charpentier clearly prefers the company of such a person because she herself was victimized. At least; that's how I read it."

The nurse stopped again, and gave Powers a look of dour confidence.

"Does Dr. Peebles have any idea about this?" she asked.

"Oh I think he's figuring it all out right now as we speak."

The nurse followed the detective into the solarium. They stood beside each other, just inside the door, and scanned the large room. The space was long, its south wall bordered by a row of seats before which were set a series of tables. Its north wall was comprised primarily of a bank of tall windows, which afforded patients and visitors a view of clear skies and snow covered roofs. The far west end of the room was furnished in counter top and cabinets, and the east side had more seating that flanked a ping pong table.

The patients were lounging in pairs or other odd or even clusters here or there. Melody and her roommate Patrice were seated amid a small crowd of patients gathered before the solarium's single antique television. The television was bad enough with its wide glass screen and bulky rear housing. But, what made it worse was that they were all staring, dazedly fixed, at yet another airing of Forest Gump. Powers couldn't fathom how the film, good enough to sit through only once, had joined the ranks of TV Land America's Christmas holiday main stays. The actor was alright, what was his name? Powers thought of him as the older brother or uncle next door. Was it Dom Janks, Ron Stanks, Hank Thomas? Powers lazed through her thoughts as she watched Melody staring blankly toward a section of window above the solarium's ancient TV.

"And how is Ms. May?" Powers asked the nurse in a hushed voice, "Any sign of life beyond a steady heart beat and respiration?

"No. Nothing's changed." The nurse whispered back, "Although, I think that Dr. Peebles wants us to make sure Patrice doesn't ideate as Ms. May's exclusive care provider."

"Why?"

"Because that's why she's here. I mean, I can't say too much about it, but Patrice has been caring for a parent for such a long time that, well, her childhood never happened, I guess you could say. Right now, they're in the same room only because another bed isn't available and Patrice is the only patient we feel comfortable pairing her with."

Powers assessed the young girl, her worried face, her tired, nervous stare and the few crow's feet beside her pale blue eyes. It was then she saw all the grey running through her shoulder length blonde hair. Patrice put nervous fingers against her chin every time she spoke, as if to be ready to stop herself or pluck back some misspoken truth or offensive remark. And yes, she was speaking, to Melody: slack jawed, glazed eyed, sweet faced Melody.

Suddenly, an intern, dressed in scrub pants and a white lab coat, came into the room and passed through the detective's line of sight. She watched him take a chair, set it to the left of the TV, and then sit himself upon it. What's this? Powers and the nurse glanced at each other. The nurse quickly wagged her head and glowered. It was enough.

"Is he a patient from the ward?" she whispered.

"No," said the nurse, "But I don't know who he is?"

The nurse began to step toward the man, but Powers put a hand on her arm. Together, they watched the man, young, cleanly bearded, pleasant faced, as he observed Melody. Presently, Patrice felt the man's look. Caught, he smiled warmly. Patrice smiled back shyly, regarded Melody, unfolded a handkerchief she had on her lap, and then proceeded to wipe Melody's drool with it. An instant later, the young man stood and brought his chair in closer, and positioned it so that he wouldn't disturb any of the other patients or visitors watching the television.

Powers and the nurse watched a conversation unfold between Patrice and the young man. She was clearly at ease and, based on both of their body language, it was obvious that Melody was their topic of discussion. Powers observed that Patrice was shrugging a good deal as well as shaking her head. A moment more, and with one last troubled gaze at Melody's lost green eyes, the young man shook Patrice's hand, and then got to his feet.

"Excuse me sir?"

Vance was just about to duck out of the room when he laid eyes on the pretty black haired woman leaning against the wall by the solarium's exit. In fact, he thought her very attractive, charmingly conventional. It surprised him, her glamorous plain Jane appeal; not a single piece of jewelry on her. Vance put on the smile, hoping that it would inspire one of her own, until he saw her raise her badge and ID into his field of view.

"I'm Detective Cassandra Powers." She said, "May I have a word with you?"

"Uh," said Vance; clearing his throat; his excitement suddenly turning cold, "I, I; sure."

"Out into the hall please."

Hang dog; Vance followed. The nurse eyed him suspiciously before moving off to talk to Patrice.

"Did you enter this hospital with the intention of impersonating a medical professional for a specific reason," she asked crossly, "Or just for the sheer Hell of it?"

"I didn't mean any harm." Stuttered Vance, "I just thought it was a good idea to-"

Vance stared; floundering, gesturing helplessly with a few small waves of his hands.

"Uh; yeah-"he muttered, petering out finally.

"Name sir." Said the cop as she withdrew a pen and note pad from the inside of her coat.

"Vance; Ma'am." He said, looking down.

"Vance Charpentier?" she asked.

"Uh; yes." Said Vance; raising his head again, "How did you know?"

The detective put her pad and pen back into her coat, and then eyed Vance squarely. Again, he tried to work the magic of his smile, but it still had no effect. Vance settled his gaze on the detective's shoes.

"Because you look like your sister." The detective said flatly.

Vance quickly raised his gaze again.

"Oh my God; how is she?"

"Better. Did she send you to check on Melody?"

The nurse returned and took a position beside them; folding her arms beneath her breasts and eyeing Vance expectantly. .

"No." answered Vance, "After I finally saw her text, it took me forever to get here. After she got out of the ER, they wouldn't let me anywhere near her. Through a bit of eaves dropping, I found out that Melody was up here. I felt helpless, so I thought the least I could do was to see how she was, which is probably what Vic would have wanted me to do. Can I see her?"

A bubble of silence filled their space as nurses and patients chattered around them. The detective's gaze never wavered as the nurse glanced at her, and then stepped back toward the station. Finally, deciding that Victria's features were even more appealing framed within a masculine countenance, Powers cleared her throat, and then said:

"Come with me sir."

The detective tilted her head toward the secure exit, and then gestured for him to walk ahead of her. Powers followed Vance through the door, and then to the elevators. It was a bank of four and someone among the small crowd already waiting had pressed the down button. When the first door opened, the small group entered. Powers indicated that they would take the next one. It arrived presently. The pair got in, and then Powers pressed the button that would take them to the seventh floor.

"I just can't believe it." said Vance as the elevator went into motion, "I thought my sister would have some kind of home surveillance set up."

"It's looking like Ms. May just let them right in." Powers intoned; turning her gaze from the numbers over the door, "As for an alarm, your sister doesn't have any commercial system installed. But, she certainly had a more personal means of home defense in place."

"Home defense?"

Powers paused.

"Your sister shot three men; dead."

"Holy shit! A gun; Vic has a gun?"

"Two guns."

"Wait, she's legal, right?"

Powers raised an eye brow.

"Yes, they're licensed to her. Does it strike you that she took the legal route in order to be in possession of fire arms?"

Vance paused, seeming to give the question some thought.

"Well; no, actually." He said; shaking his head, "Vic is very shrewd and not prone to miscalculation; generally speaking. She wouldn't think of doing anything to tear down what she's built for herself. Her job, for example; getting where she is in her firm was very important."

Vance paused, brow furrowing, sighed and punched his fists inside the pockets of his lab coat. Then he looked at the detective again.

"Will, will she have to go to prison?" he asked, hushed and solemn.

Powers sighed.

"I think the facts of the case will lead the state's attorney to assess that your sister shouldn't be charged with anything. However, the families of the deceased may lodge a civil suit, so don't be surprised."

Powers paused; sighing heavily. Suddenly, she stepped to the control panel, pressed the elevator's stop button, and then turned to face Vance again.

"The way the scene looked," the detective continued, "May was downstairs. She opened the door while Charpentier was still in bed. The intruders subdued May. We believe your sister was ready for the one who was sent to check the second floor. She gets him at the top of the stairs. The second fired once from the bottom of the stairs. He gets a shot off, but she's still at the top landing, so gets him while he pumps another round. The last one probably gave her an ultimatum. She had to face him then, he likely having a gun to May's head. Somehow, your sister fakes him out with her second gun, he misfires towards her legs, she's seriously wounded at that point, but she makes damn sure he goes down too. We find her nearly an hour later, a trail of blood behind her, she having crawled to Ms. Melody, her arms wrapped around her ankles."

In the silent wake of her story, Vance stared, astounded, his mouth slightly open. Powers let her gaze linger on his face a few seconds longer, before she looked sadly away and reached again toward the elevator's controls.

"I've never seen anything like that." She admitted in a hushed voice; her eyes riveted to his.

Vance had already been charmed thoroughly enough. But her admission, its shaft of light in the gloom of her tough lady cop exterior, only served to drive him to want her more. He wondered then, as she looked away as the elevator's doors opened, if she'd surprised herself with her honesty.

"Can you tell me anything about Ms. May?" asked Powers as they stepped out onto the seventh floor.

Vance walked by her side, thinking there was really nothing he could say or at least admit knowing. What is it you really need to know, he thought, especially if Vic was in the right? Why should I tell you anything? It all sounds cut and dry to me. They glanced at each other, and he knew she saw his reservation. Powers shrugged then, and said:

"I'm just a; prying bleeding heart, I guess."

Vance smiled.

"I know nothing about her." Vance admitted, "I just know that Vic loves her. I've never known her to love anyone as much as she loves this Melody."

Powers looked away before Vance could see a sudden flush rise in her cheeks as unanticipated yet pleasant goose flesh rose along her neck and shoulders. I like his smile, Powers thought. I want this woman, thought Vance. Maybe I'll get a chance. Unhurriedly, they strode side by side through the corridor that led to the hospital's TTU, Transitional Trauma Unit. As they approached the nurse's station, staff seemed in a sort of agitated state; high pitched rapid fire call and response, hustling, flashes of scrubs and lab coats, a gaggle of staff crowding one particularly upset nurse. Both Vance and Powers noticed her cradling her right arm.

"Oh no." Vance said quietly.

"And if you ever come near me again, I will fucking rip some meat out the next time; you stupid fat ass bitch!

Powers herded Vance toward Victria's room.

"No, I will not fucking calm down!" she screamed.

Just as they prepared to enter the room, two large orderlies were exiting. Powers and Vance let them pass, and then went into the room. Peebles was leaning against the heating vents below the window, scratching the back of his neck and gazing at the drawings he'd gathered from the floor beside Victria's bed. Looking up, he noticed the detective, and then raised an eye brow upon seeing the young man she'd brought with her. Vance stared incredulously at his sister; her eyes two gleaming black jewels of hate, her face a molten eruption of fury, her slight body strapped securely to the bed.

"Vance; Christ, where have you been?" she hissed.

"Well," he started slowly, "I had a lot of snow to shovel my car out of. And then-"

"Never mind! Vance, tell them I'm fucking nuts and I need to be wheeled up to the psych ward."

Peebles sighed heavily.

"We had to restrain her," he said; stepping closer to the foot of Victria's bed, "She chose to give the nurse that tried to sedate her a good chomp on her arm. Once we got her wrapped up, we were able to successfully inject her. However, it hasn't taken effect yet. She's fighting it; obviously."

"Have you seen Melody?" asked Victria, staring pleadingly into her brother's eyes.

Vance nodded.

"She's fine." He answered; turning away from her gaze, "I mean; she's safe where she is. Vic; she's totally non-responsive. She's going to need some serious treatment and counseling. And you; your legs: how bad is it?"

Victria quickly glanced at the detective, and then at Peebles.

"I'm fine." She said; looking back at her brother, "I'll be walking perfectly fine in two months; three months tops."

In the silence that followed, Victria watched her visitor's discomfort; their eyes flit or stare in any direction but hers, their positions shifting. Powers went to the chair, and then proceeded to pull it to Victria's left bedside. The detective then gestured to Vance. Taking the invitation, he crossed round the bed, and then took a seat by his sister. Victria looked down, suddenly shame faced as Powers and the psychologist stepped out of the room.

"Does Mom know?" she asked.

"I told her; yes." He answered, "But she's wicked snowed in at the house in upstate. I texted her again this morning; told her you're okay, but I'm not sure she got it. You know how Mom is with tech."

Victria met her brother's gaze, and seemed to be looking at him as if he'd just suddenly appeared in the blue chair.

"Dude," she said; brow furrowed, head tilted, "What's the deal with the doctor get up?"

"Top secret ops." He said; smiling slightly.

"Huh?"

Vance was about to explain, but the room's phone rang. Quickly, he got to his feet and picked it up.