Chapter 11
The next morning Martin awoke just before the alarm feeling more rested than he had in several days. Examining his face in the bathroom mirror while the shower water warmed up he noted the remnants of circles and a little redness in his eyes from lack of sleep but had to agree he looked better. After showering, shaving and getting dressed for work, he grabbed his coffee that had brewed thanks to the modern convenience of a timer. Breakfast was quick work this morning as he hoped to get into the office ahead of everyone else – well, except Jack, the man seemed to live there, but wanted a chance to be settled and at work.
Luck was with him this time and the beginning of his morning worked just as he'd hoped. He got into the office, satisfactorily passed Jack's inquiring glance and was working through some reports that had been dropped on his desk when the rest of the team arrived.
The day began with an odd case, a woman found in a mental health ward with no idea of who she was. Sam began lightly investigating it on Jack's okay, then Jack disappeared on personal business and before long the team was actively tracing this amnesiac woman's last days, hours, minutes trying to piece together her life. .
Martin focused on the case and as the day continued he didn't think of anything but the job and his next question, next search, next line of investigation. However, there were moments, the oddest moments, when something snuck up and grabbed him, like in the afternoon when he and Vivian were watching some video footage, all of a sudden he felt a stabbing pain in his abdomen and for a moment couldn't breathe, then the chills began and he struggled not to shiver although his skin was clammy and cold. However he brushed it off as the case was coming together quickly and by the end of the day he was only too happy to head home.
He was so thoroughly exhausted when he got home he was certain sleep would come without difficulty and he went to bed without any extra assistance. However as had happened in the past no sooner had he fallen asleep then the nightmares started. His subconscious mind had managed to record bits and images and was mixing them up in his head and bringing them forward.
Without the distraction of conscious thought Martin's mind sifted and sorted the images and played them constantly and with increasing speed so that his sleep was filled with images of bullets and weapons' flashes and a car slamming into a gunman; he 'saw' himself falling down a flight of metal steps; Dornvald standing over him shooting him over and over again; Danny bleeding, his own chest oozing blood until at last he would bolt upright in bed shaking, dripping in sweat, panting and stumbling to turn on the light while checking his chest and abdomen for blood.
Rising from his bed Martin headed to the bathroom and ran cold water over his face trying to wipe the sweat away. Peeling off his t-shirt that was soaked in sweat he tossed it into the hamper. He wet a washcloth, wrung it semi-dry and then wiped the cool cloth over his arms and up his shoulders, across his chest and abdomen wiping away the sweat and cooling his body. His eyes watched the movement of the cloth in the mirror and he stopped and stared at the scars that would forever be reminders of how much his life has been changed.
Rousing himself from his reverie Martin opened the medicine cabinet, grabbed the bottle of Vicodin, popped the lid and shook one pill into his hand. Glaring at the tablet as if it were the enemy for a moment he popped into his mouth and dry swallowed it. Tossing the bottle back into the cabinet he closed the door forcibly, put the wash cloth back on the towel bar and headed back to his bedroom. Deciding to forego a shirt for the remainder of the night he climbed back into bed, switched out the light and resigned himself to the sleep that would come when the pill finally began to work.
The next two weeks passed in similar fashion, during the night Martin slept soundly never bothered by any dreams or flashes of pain, however, during the daytime it was a different story. During the day he would frequently be assaulted with flashes in his mind, sometimes he would conjure sounds that had him looking around to see if someone had actually spoken or perhaps heard the sounds he did.
He caught himself once while standing at the white board adding information to the timeline of their recent case and he 'heard' gunshots, it was only through extreme control was he able to hide his fear and his instinctive desire to duck for cover. The only other person in the bullpen at that time was Danny and while Martin had been telling Danny what he was adding to the board, Danny had his back to Martin grabbing some sheets off the printer and didn't seem to notice that Martin's voice hesitated for a longer than normal period of time.
Another incident occurred when he, Danny and Sam were searching in a hospital following a lead on their latest missing person, a paramedic. They split up and Martin found himself in the ER talking to other EMS teams that were there.
As he was showing their MP's photo the doors to the ambulance bay whooshed open and personnel came rushing through with an injured person on a stretcher. As they rushed past he heard the paramedic inform the doctor: "White male, mid-30's gunshot wound to abdomen." As the words hit his ears he felt a slash of pain across his torso and images flashed through his brain. He could 'see' fluorescent lights flashing above him; 'feel' his body strapped to a backboard, his neck contained in a cervical collar. He 'felt' the movement of the stretcher as he was wheeled into a room.
As rapidly as the stretcher bearing the injured victim passed him by so did the images and sensations. Martin was left shaking with chills while beads of perspiration dotted his forehead. Using the ensuing activity as an excuse he slipped out of the ER and stepped out into the ambulance bay eager to get some fresh air to clear his mind. Danny found him there a short time later.
"Martin, hey, I've been looking for you. We found his partner and he's heading to the office with Sam right now. Martin?" Danny stopped in front of Martin and noted the pallor of his partner's face. He reached out a hand to touch his shoulder but stopped just as he saw Martin's eyes flash recognition at his presence. "Did you hear me? Hey, you okay, man?"
Martin cleared his throat and rubbed a shaky hand over his face before turning to face Danny fully. "Yeah, man, I'm fine. Just need some lunch or something, low blood sugar. So, we're out of here you said?"
Danny narrowed his eyes and assessed his partner thoughtfully as he answered. "Yeah, we're good. I came to find you, so let's go."
"Great."
That night Martin's sleep was fitful at best as the bottle of Vicodin, the container of his enemy and ally of the past few weeks, was empty. With no pills to help with sleep Martin passed the night alternately staring out the window at the scene of the city at night and tossing in his bed.
The next week Martin's physical appearance started showing the strain of the mental and emotional burden he had managed to contain up until then.
"Martin, hold the elevator for me." Danny called. Martin paused halfway into the elevator, turned and saw Danny jogging to catch up. Danny reached the elevator and stepped in behind him. As the doors closed he turned to look at his partner and friend who was doing his best to appear normal.
"So, interesting case today, huh?" Danny started neutrally as the elevator began its descent.
"I suppose."
"How 'bout we grab some dinner, there's that great steak place just around the corner, my treat."
Just then the elevator signaled the ending of their descent, garage level. As the doors opened Martin stepped out of the car and turned to Danny who was following closely. "Sounds good," his agreement surprising them both.
The two friends ate their dinner in a companionable manner while chatting about sports. When their plates had been cleared Danny asked the waiter for two cups of coffee and then sat calmly, waiting while Martin eyed him suspiciously. After the waiter delivered their coffee, Danny spoke.
"You know that case we had a week or so ago with the paramedic?"
Martin looked at Danny with confusion. "Yeah." He remembered it just fine, the hospital, the ER, the sleepless nights since then, yeah, he remembered all right.
"You know when Cole got shot – I tried to stop the bleeding." Danny looked at his hands that he'd raised slightly, palm up. "I couldn't though."
Martin sat quietly.
"Sometimes I still see it, you know, the blood." Danny stopped speaking and studied his hands another moment before he looked at Martin who was watching him carefully.
"For a moment it was like being back in the street – back when Dornvald…"
Martin nodded and for the next few minutes neither man spoke. Martin chanced a couple of looks at Danny. He could tell his friend was struggling a bit with the memories. Strangely relieved that he wasn't alone in dealing with flashes back to the shooting he decided to throw a couple of his cards on the table.
"Right after the fall down the stairs, you know, when chasing Simmons, it was like I – I could 'see' –I don't know how to say this without you thinking I'm crazy but I could see images in my mind . . . flashes of things that go back to the shooting."
Danny nodded encouragingly he knew just what Martin was talking about. How many times had he awoken in the night with images of Martin's blood gushing through his hands; he'd lost count.
"When Sam took me to the pharmacy that night and went inside leaving me out in the car I must have dozed off a bit but then I heard a horn and when I opened my eyes there was a blue van in front of me and Dornvald appeared and shooting started – only," Martin chuckled nervously, "only there wasn't anything or anybody there."
Stopping for a moment already afraid he'd said too much Martin chanced a quick sip of his coffee and glanced surreptitiously at Danny gauging his friend's response. To his relief Danny looked thoughtful and calm there was no incredulity or judgment in his expression.
"I still jump if a car backfires. Also, I don't always sleep that great." Danny added.
"Yeah, I was having trouble sleeping and that's why Jack got on my case and sent me home early."
"I remember. So is it getting any easier?
"It was." Martin replied and stopped as his cell phone began to ring. Pulling it from his jacket he noted the caller ID, command post at MPU. Sighing inwardly, as he figured it was a case and he was catching this week he gave Danny a quick glance and mouthed the word "case" as he flipped open his phone and answered
Danny listened to the side of the call he could hear and since he was backup this week quickly realized they'd caught a missing person case; at least they'd gotten a decent meal.
Thirty minutes later the two of them were in a parking garage with the police and evidence techs trying to piece together the slim fragments of information they'd been given on their latest MP, Gina Hill, psychiatrist. Danny talked with the tech who was measuring the strip of rubber that appeared fresh, likely left by whoever abducted Dr. Hill. After ascertaining that an SUV was the likely vehicle to have left such a track he returned to the doctor's car where Martin was searching while an evidence technician finished shooting pictures. Danny noted Martin flinched each time the flash went off but quickly recomposed his face, hiding the reaction.
As Martin stepped from the car Danny came up beside him and filled him in. "Looks like a robbery gone bad."
"Yeah, I don't know. Her ID is missing but there's still two hundred bucks in her purse." Martin gestured to the purse that was lying just to the rear of the car, the contents spilled onto the concrete. "And it looks like she went down swinging, look at the scuff marks from her shoes when she was dragged away."
"Looks like she was dragged into a truck or SUV based on the rubber left behind. The driver smashed through the guard arm at the exit as they lit out of here. Whoever did this wasn't taking no for an answer."
The two agents shared an experienced look knowing the slim evidence they had thus far did not bode well for their MP.
An hour later the team was back in action. Samantha and Martin were at Don McGraw's residence, Gina Hill's fiancé. As Sam questioned the man about Gina's habits, any strange phone calls or hang ups, any suspicious mail or people she seemed to be afraid of Martin struggled to take notes. Several times he had to stop and clench and unclench his hand in an effort to stop the shaking and then began taking notes again. At the end of the interview he flipped the pad closed and placed it inside his jacket pocket while making a mental note to be sure no one saw those notes as the handwriting was slanted and shaking and anyone who saw it would know something was wrong. He didn't want anyone looking at him as if he was fragile anymore.
By morning the team was still no closer to finding Gina Hill and the toll from the back to back cases showed on everyone. Coffee and the adrenaline needed to fuel an investigation kept people going but only for so long and one by one the team alternated in grabbing a couple hours of shut eye. For Martin's part his few short hours of down time was spent taking a long hot shower trying to ease sore muscles and tension and then fitfully tossing on his couch for less than an hour before giving up entirely.
The drive back downtown proved as disturbing as the ride uptown had been only a short time earlier. At each red light he was forced to stop at his heart would race and he'd begin to sweat. Great, by the time I get back to the office I'm gonna need to change my shirt.
It didn't help that twice other vehicles cut in front of him when he was slowing for a red light and he was forced to swallow back on the bile that threatened.
Upon arriving at the office he quickly stopped at the men's room to splash some water on his face and tried to compose himself. After a few minutes he felt able to make it to his desk without either throwing up or letting anyone see that he was at less than full speed.
In the bullpen the team was running down their leads and sharing their information when Martin arrived. The afternoon raced by as leads were followed out, anxious calls by Gina's fiancé were returned and then the pattern emerged as Vince was identified and rapidly the pieces came together. Once they figured out Vince was the 'other man' in Gina's life the team tracked down other women who had been lured into his dangerous web, the atmosphere took on a charged quality as if the team sensed their time, and thus Gina's was running low. When security footage came in from a local pawn shop showing Gina Hill with the man they identified as Vince buying a rifle, they knew their time was up.
Martin pulled up outside Gina's residence. The lights were on and there were vehicles in the driveway. He crept cautiously to the window and peered inside. He saw Gina and Don, Don tied up and Gina shaking in fear, he angled his eyes slightly and saw the reason for the fear, Vince.
Stepping back from the window he pulled out his phone and hit the speed dial to Jack.
"Malone."
"Hey, Jack, he's here. He's at Gina's house."
"Okay. We're going to send the cavalry in. Don't do anything until they get there." Jack commanded.
Martin was about to answer when raised voices from inside the house caught his attention. He stepped closer and heard Vin shouting for Gina to shut up.
Stepping back he put his phone back up to his ear. "Look, things are coming apart in there. I've got to go." Flipping his phone shut he slipped it back inside his jacket pocket, pulled his gun from the holster and moved quickly to the back door. Trying the knob quietly he was relieved when it turned easily and opened, unlocked. Good.
Stepping through the door he quickly and quietly closed it behind him. Tightening his grip on the handle of his gun he stepped through the kitchen and positioned himself at the edge of the room behind the doorframe and listened to the voices in the other room.
"You betrayed me, Gina. Just like all these women do." Vince yelled.
"Just stop. Just stop this and you can walk away."
Martin could hear the pleading fear in Gina's voice. He knew enough about her and Vince to know that she was in way over her head, doctor of psychiatry notwithstanding, she had no idea what Vince was truly capable of doing.
"Oh, I'm going to walk away when I'm done here."
At Vince's infuriated response Martin risked a quick glance into the room to assess the situation. As he did he felt a wave of nausea roll over him and clamped his teeth hard on the inside of his mouth to keep his focus. His eyes swept the room and he saw Vince and the gun he holds, he saw Gina pleading for it all to end. Ducking back from the edge of the doorframe Martin looked at the gun in his hand and saw his hand shaking. Pulling in a column of air down into his lungs he willed the pain to stop flaring in his chest, the sound of bullets raining against metal to silence in his head, he pushed back the sound of desperation in Danny's voice and the sensation of being dragged from a car and lain onto the cold, wet pavement while his shirt was soaking with his own blood and sticking to his chest.
"You can take some money, just…"Gina pleads.
"This isn't about money. It never was!" Vince shouts.
"Okay. Please, Vince, just leave him out of this, okay?"
"You want me to hurt him, this fine upstanding man of yours, because I am going to blow his head off!"
"Baby, I'll do anything. Just let him go. I'll do anything you want."
"You're going to have to work really hard to change my mind."
"I'm going to give you whatever you want."
"Ah, see. That's what I'm talking about. Listen, I hope you get a good view of this one."
Martin focused again and stuck his head and gun hand around the doorframe. "FBI. Drop the gun!"
Immediately Martin ducked back behind the wall as Vince whirled and fired a volley that punched holes into the wall. Acting on training and adrenaline Martin returned fire, two quick shots hit Vince dead center in the chest. The impact threw Vince backwards swinging the rifle to the ceiling where his trigger finger reacted off of nerve impulses still firing and sent the next volley straight up into the ceiling. As Vince was propelled back and away from Gina and Don Martin took a final shot, dead center and sent Vince through the glass door out into the chilly night air.
Forty minutes later Jack pulled up, lights blazing, siren wailing. He was ahead of the coroner but behind Danny and Sam who both managed to beat him to the address. He saw Sam talking to a police lieutenant standing over the body of Vince while crimes scene technicians started taking photos. He walked over briefly and looked down at Vince, noted the three holes 'center mass', the glass sprinkled around him, the curtains tangled beneath his body. Ducking under the crime scene tape he headed up the steps and into the house. There he saw Gina Hill and Don McGraw being checked by paramedics while Danny questioned them and jotted notes. Looking further he saw crime scene technicians photographing the living room scene and the interior of the window that Vince had been propelled through. Noting plaster on the floor he looked up and saw the damage to the ceiling when Vince apparently fired into the ceiling.
Seeing movement from beyond the living room Jack focused and saw Martin appear. He took in the sight of his agent, pale, dark circles under his eyes, expression almost dazed perhaps desperate. Narrowing his eyes Jack flicked his gaze to Danny who had turned abruptly upon hearing Martin's approach. There was something watchful, intense in Danny's eyes as if was assessing his partner. Jack noted the subtle movement on Danny's part as if in support and he watched Martin's reaction or complete nonreaction as if he wasn't even aware anyone else was there. Making a decision Jack approached his agent with a nonchalance he didn't feel but he didn't want to spook the man. Reaching Martin he gestured slightly and the two of them moved partially down a hall away from the occupants of the living room and front entrance.
"Martin, you all right?" Jack purposefully pitched his voice low both to keep others from overhearing as well as to not disturb the man.
Martin looked at him and then his eyes slid right past him and stared off. Jack turned to look and found that Martin's line of sight still encompassed the remnants of the glass door through which Vince had exited the house.
Jack cast his gaze up and down and noted that beyond the pallor and dark circles that Martin was sweating and shivering. While Jack knew his agent was experienced, still it never got easier when firing one's gun and especially if that meant taking someone's life, but this seemed extreme.
"Why don't you tell me what happened." As senior agent he had to get a preliminary statement. In short clipped sentences Martin outlined everything that transpired since hanging up his cell call earlier. Jack listened and nodded and jotted a couple of short notes. When he asked Martin for his gun he learned Danny already had secured it.
"All right. I'm gonna have Danny and you go back to the office. You can start writing up your preliminary statement there and then head home. We'll tackle this more tomorrow. All right?"
For a moment Jack wasn't certain if he'd been heard but then Martin nodded his head slightly. Putting his hand on Martin's shoulder Jack squeezed briefly and then turned back to find Danny standing there watching the two of them.
"You secured his gun?"
"I have it here." Danny reached into his overcoat and pulled the gun, encased in its holster, out and handed it to Jack.
"Good. I want you take him back to the office. He's given me a statement. I need him to write up his preliminary statement for review and put it on my desk. Then take him home. He'll be interviewed by the shooting review team tomorrow."
"Got it."
Turning back to Martin Jack found him still standing in almost the exact position he'd left him.
"Martin."
Martin's eyes focused a bit and he turned to look at Jack. For a moment the room spun and instead of seeing Jack standing less than five feet above him he saw Jack hovering beside him. For a moment he felt the cold wet pavement on his back. For a moment he felt pressure on his chest that made it near impossible to breathe. He heard Jack's voice speaking but it was as if he was far away and while he could see his lips moving he couldn't make out the words.
"Martin!"
Blinking his eyes rapidly Martin shook his head slightly and realized that Jack was standing right in front of him. Turning slightly he took in the sight of Gina Hill's living room and saw flashes from cameras recording a photographic diary of the scene while other techs lifted bullets from the ceiling and took measurements on the floor.
"Martin, I'm going to have Danny take you back to the office. All right?"
"Yeah."
"I need you to go with Danny now. All right?"
"Sure."
Martin followed Danny out of the house, down the steps, under the crime scene tape and out to the curb where Danny's car was parked. Climbing into the passenger side he mechanically fastened his seatbelt and then sat, hands folded on his lap and waited for Danny to drive the car.
Outside Jack stopped Danny with a hand to his shoulder. Surprised Danny turned to look at him.
"What is it?"
"I think he's in shock. Get him warm. Get his prelim quick and then get him home."
"Got it, Jack."
On the drive back to the office Danny kept glancing over at Martin who for his part seemed oblivious of the scrutiny and sat quietly in the passenger seat. At the office Danny followed Martin off the elevator and down the corridor to the bullpen. He watched as Martin booted up his computer, shrugged his jacket off and settled in beginning to type. Danny sat at his desk and typed all his notes from his interviews at the Hill residence into an after action summary and then listed the questions he'd need to review again before they were done.
By the time Danny completed that task Martin was printing his summary. The two men moved to the small conference table in the middle of the bullpen and Danny went scanned through the summation and then began asking the questions all over again looking for any changes in the details, there were none.
Danny hadn't doubted Martin's story the first time he'd heard it and since his interviews of Gina and her fiancé only verified Martin's actions he didn't expect anything to change. What was troubling though was that Martin's responses were almost robotic, as if he was reciting actions that he'd seen, not actions he'd participated in. Danny looked closely and noted that Martin's eyes were unfocused, his skin pale and there was a thin sheen of perspiration on his face and yet the man trembled as if he was cold.
Running quickly through the rest of the questions Danny jotted his notes and left everything on Jack's desk. He'd call and explain why his full analysis wasn't typed after he got Martin settled at home; Jack was right, the man was in shock.
45 minutes later he pushed open Martin's apartment door and followed him inside. Martin had kept his hands stuffed in his overcoat pocket ever since they left the office, even seated in the car, and now as Danny stood just inside Martin's apartment he watched as his friend just stood there hunched in his jacket with his hands stuffed in the pockets.
"Why don't you grab a shower, I'll make us something to eat." Danny watched as Martin's eyes met his briefly and saw doubt and fear and something he couldn't quite finger before the man shuffled down the hall to his bedroom still wearing the overcoat.
15 minutes later he heard footsteps just as he settled a plate with a sandwich and a bowl of Campbell's tomato soup at the table for the two of them. Looking up he saw Martin standing there watching him, his hair slightly damp from the shower and dressed in a pair of jeans and a thick pullover.
"Sit down, soup's hot." Danny indicated as he pulled out a chair and sat down. When Martin continued to stand he looked up and saw Martin holding his hand out to him. Puzzled Danny extended his hand and watched as an orange bottle dropped into it. Looking at the bottle and then back at Martin he conveyed his confusion with the wrinkling of his eyebrows.
"Remember when you asked me if it was getting any easier to sleep."
"Yeah."
"It was while I had the Vicodin; then I ran out."
Unconsciously Danny shook the pill bottle slightly and was surprised when he heard pills rattle within.
"That's not mine."
"Okay." Danny kept his voice low and neutral.
"I got that from – I got that --" Martin swallowed and swayed slightly on his feet before pulling out his chair and slumping heavily into it.
"Where did you get this?"
"I got it tonight at Gina Hill's. I ran out of pills a little while ago and since then I can't get it to stop."
Danny looked at the small bottle in his hand sure enough the prescription was made out to Gina Hill. Setting the bottle on the table in front of him he focused his attention back on the man in front of him.
"My mind won't stop playing the sounds."
"What do you hear?"
"Sometimes it's the sound of bullets ricocheting off of metal, sometimes it's a horn, sometimes it's…" Martin trailed off.
"What, sometimes it's what?"
"Sometimes it's you. I hear you calling my name or calling for the EMS. That case we had with the paramedic, when I was at the hospital interviewing people in the ER an ambulance crew brought someone in with a gunshot wound, all of a sudden I saw in my mind the images of fluorescent lights going overhead and felt like I was on a stretcher being wheeled into the ER."
"But you were unconscious for that."
"Was I? I don't know, maybe I was, maybe some part of me wasn't and was aware of what was happening to me, all I know is this keeps playing in my mind and I can't get it to stop."
"But you could before?"
"Yeah, I still had some of the pills left from when I was shot and I knew they made me pretty sleepy so I took one a night and got rest. Nothing helped during the day though and now that I'm out I don't sleep at night and I barely function during the day and then the whole shooting at Gina's tonight, Danny I could taste the blood in my mouth. I felt the bullets in my chest – when I shot Vince it was like those bullets were slicing me open. And I'm so cold and I can't stop shaking and – and I'm certain I'm losing my mind all over again."
Danny knew enough from his own bout of posttraumatic stress that this was beyond him, this was Lisa's specialty. After sitting quietly for a moment or two he tried again.
"Have you considered talking to Lisa again?"
"Yeah."
"And?"
Martin sighed, "I was hoping it would go away."
"How's that worked so far?"
Martin gave Danny a wry grin as he answered. "It hasn't helped at all."
"I didn't think so. So what do you say tomorrow –"
"I'll give her a call." Martin said resignedly.
"Hey, man, I'm not into the touchy feely stuff either and talking about your emotions but she helped last time didn't she?"
"Yeah, I was just hoping to be past all this, you know." Martin leaned forward and grabbed the spoon on his placemat and started sipping the soup. After a few spoonfuls he picked up half the sandwich from the plate took a bite.
Encouraged by his friend's willingness to at least eat Danny began doing the same.
"Still don't know how I'm going to get through tonight though." Martin stated softly.
"I do."
Martin looked up straight into Danny's eyes.
"How?"
"A little one on one at the court at the all-night gym. Then tomorrow, I drive you in and you meet with Lisa."
Martin looked at Danny's face and after a moment began to grin at his friend's positive expression.
"So we end the day on – what is it?"
"Well, when I whump your ass, which is what's gonna happen, we end the day on an up note. And there's no down note this time." With that Danny picked up the bottle of pills and tossed them to Martin. Martin caught them with one hand and then tossed them right back. Danny smiled as he slipped the pills into his pocket and zipped it closed over them; tomorrow he'd worry about getting them back into Gina Hill's house, tonight, tonight he was gonna play a little hoops with his friend and help him get through one of the toughest nights of any man's life.
THE END.