| We can easily forgive
a child who is afraid of the dark; the real tragedy of life is when men are afraid of the light. |
| Plato |
1042 MDT, Thursday, July 19, 2001
Warehouse District, Denver, Colorado
Special Agent Tanner sat perched in the abandoned warehouse, his rifle still trained on the scene in the alley below him, waiting for the all clear from his team leader, Chris Larabee.
The ATF bust had gone off according to plan -- they'd all done their homework, and with Agent Standish as their inside man, all their intel had been spot on; Ezra was nothing if not thorough.
Vin's stomach growled and he was looking forward to a big meal when they were finished. When was the last time he'd eaten? Dinner, last night, Vin recalled -- that is, if two glazed donuts and a can of Coke count as dinner. At least he'd had lunch yesterday ... a bag of chips, another soda, and a pack of Ding-Dongs.
Well, he'd make up for the lack of nutrition today, he vowed, imagining a bacon double-cheeseburger with a side of fries and a hot apple-turnover, maybe even a chocolate milk shake. Vin's stomach growled again, and he was tempted to place his hand over his microphone in case the noise was loud enough for his teammates to overhear.
But, just as the sharpshooter was fighting the itch to break his stance, to pack up and rejoin the others, he noticed something.
"Larabee?"
"Go ahead, Vin."
"We've got a civilian approachin' from the south side."
"JD, you copy that?" Chris asked another of his team.
"I'm on it, sir!" the young voice called back.
Vin checked the progress of their newest team member as he wended his way around the paramedics who were tending the wounded among the illegal gun merchants they'd just taken down. Vin checked back on the civilian, catching her clearly in the scope of his rifle.
Her hair was long, brown, and wavy, flowing messily over her shoulders and down her back. Her eyes were dark, but not brown, Vin decided, catching a glint of light which made him think, maybe, hazel. She had a freckle just slightly down and to the left of her unadorned lips and a slight dusting of dirt on her skin. There were no wrinkles at the corners of her mouth or eyes, and Vin pegged her somewhere in her early to mid-twenties. He then let his scope slip down her body, along her pale neck, over her well-formed breasts, to the inch of skin revealed by a too-short, once-pink T-shirt and low-waisted, faded blue-jeans, with a tear in each knee, caused by wear not fashion.
Then he saw another glint at her side -- a watch was the first guess to pop into his head, though it shouldn't have been. She took another step forward, swinging her arm slightly as she moved, and then Vin saw it.
"Gun!" Vin yelled into his microphone. "JD, she's gotta gun!"
Vin heard chatter on the line after that, and he knew the other team members were scrambling to back up JD. But Vin was already in position. He moved his scope the faction of an inch necessary to place the bridge of her nose in his cross-hairs, then he waited, following her as she moved closer to the crowd of officers and medical personnel.
Closer to JD.
"ATF! Hold it right there, lady," Vin heard JD's order through his ear piece, and the sharpshooter knew the young agent finally had the woman in plain view. "Drop your weapon."
Vin's rifle was primed and his finger was ready. But as he continued to watch her through his high-powered scope, he thought he saw a sadness in her eyes, a loneliness, and his stomach twisted with unease.
"Drop your gun!" he heard JD again through the ear piece. "Drop it or I'll shoot." Vin didn't even need to look to know that JD had his weapon drawn and cocked, it was standard procedure. What he didn't know was how close the other men were to JD's current location.
Then he saw it, clearly through his scope. The young woman squinted her eyes partially closed as if willing herself into the act, then she brought the gun up and pointed it directly ahead of her, at where JD must be standing.
Vin squeezed the trigger on his rifle and watched as her head was thrown first back from the impact, then forward as the bullet shot out the back of her skull. Her body began to twist and flail just a moment before bullets riddled her torso. He continued to watch through his scope as she fell to the ground, the gun no longer in her hand. Small spots of blood began to soak through her shirt as the convulsion of her limbs finally ceased.
"I got her!" JD yelled into his mike, and Vin thought he heard a tinge of regret mixed in with the kid's initial elation, fear, and relief.
"Kill's mine," Vin said simply, glancing down at his watch and noting the time. "Yer shots were late, JD."
Vin then removed his mike, though it was against procedure, it was against everything he'd been taught when he signed on for this government position, and it was against all his better instincts about maintaining cover and back up for his team members.
But he just couldn't at the moment care.
He turned and, with his back against the wall, he slid to the floor, his weapon just dead weight in his lap.
He knew without having to ask anyone on the ground.
Suicide.
What was the current statistic? Ten or eleven percent of all law enforcement kills were in actuality suicides. "Raise a gun and we will fire" -- Vin scoffed at the unofficial motto. Normally, of course, he wouldn't -- firearms were his specialty, he lived day in and day out with them either in his hands or within reach. Hell, he practically felt naked without one. And his sharp-shooting skills had saved his team members -- his friends -- more times than any of them could count.
But today, it was different.
He'd known, though there was no way from his vantage point to prove his suspicions. And not to kill her, well, that just wasn't an option, because what if his gut instinct had, this one time, been wrong and it was now JD lying there dead instead of that woman?
Vin didn't know how long he'd sat there before he noticed Chris walking across the empty warehouse floor. "Vin? It's time to go."
The sharpshooter nodded to his team leader, but for some reason his legs refused to move and he remained sitting against the wall.
"Vin, you okay?"
"Was the gun loaded?" he had to ask. He had to know for sure.
"It doesn't matter. You did what you had to do. You saved JD's life."
"The clip was empty. WASN'T IT?" he asked with an insistent edge to his voice.
Chris finally nodded.
I didn't save JD's life, Vin sighed to himself. But at least I saved him from committing a homicide.
Tears welled up in Vin's eyes then, as that second realization hit him. That young woman committed suicide but he'd committed cold-blooded murder.
He turned his head as his stomach twisted suddenly. Then he was on his hands and knees, vomiting foamy, yellow bile onto the concrete floor. His throat burned and the fluid left an acrid taste in his mouth.
But Chris was there, holding his long hair back from his face, then, when it was over, sitting next to him on the floor and offering him a handkerchief. Vin nodded his appreciation as he took the white cloth and wiped his mouth.
Chris then spoke briefly into his microphone. "Buck. Head back to the office with the others. Vin and I will follow. And get JD started on his incident report." Chris then removed the communication device from his ear. He rubbed his hand down Vin's arm, until he reached his hand, entwining his fingers with his partner's.
Vin looked over at him with hazy blue eyes, longing to be in his enveloping embrace.
Stupid, Vin thought. He was a grown man, not some little kid with a skinned knee. He'd never needed anyone to comfort him through any of the shit he'd been through all his life, so why was he even thinking about crawling into this man's lap, wanting to be held and hugged and cradled, wanting Chris to kiss away all the crap in the world, like his ma used to kiss his scrapes and bruises?
Despite his wanting, Vin didn't move, except to quirk his lips into a lop-sided, not quite half-hearted smile. Chris squeezed his hand, giving him a sympathetic look.
"Let's get back. I wanna get this debriefing over A.S.A.P.," the team leader said, pronouncing the abbreviation as if it were an actual word, a-sap. Chris waited patiently as Vin silently packed up his equipment. Then the pair headed down to the unmarked, company car and back to the office.
1517 MDT
Denver Offices of the Phoenix Field Division
of the Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco, and Firearms
"Here," was all Vin said when he handed his incident report to his supervisor, Agent Larabee.
The man nodded, but as the sharpshooter turned to leave the office, Chris stopped him. "You're on suspension, as of now."
Vin raised his eyebrows. Standard procedure mandated desk-duty or leave, at the discretion of the agent's immediate supervisor. He hadn't known which one Chris would choose in this instance, but suspension?
Chris explained: "Orders from Internal Affairs, pending their investigation. Which, for you, begins tomorrow at ten-thirty with a psych evaluation, followed Monday at oh-eight-hundred with your first interview by the I.A. investigators."
He nodded, then turned again to leave. If it came down from Internal Affairs, there'd be no fighting it, no use arguing about it.
"Vin? I need your badge and service weapon," Chris added, reluctance plain in his voice.
Vin fished into his back pocket and removed the leather wallet which contained his ID and badge, then slipped out of his shoulder holster. He set them all on his team leader's desk, then left the office without another word.
At his own desk, he retrieved his duffel filled with a change of clothes, the bag he always kept packed for odd-hour raids and stake-outs.
He didn't bother looking about the office as he headed towards the door. There was no one there to say any good-byes to anyway -- after the debriefing, the others had all taken the opportunity for a break, a shower, a meal -- all except JD.
Vin passed the young man's desk, noting him still typing away on his version of their incident report; JD had discharged his weapon, too, though Vin knew his single bullet was the one that killed the girl.
"See ya, JD."
"Huh? Where you goin'?" JD looked up suddenly from his computer screen, surprised.
"I'm on suspension 'cuz of the shootin'."
"Guess I'll be on suspension, too, then," the dejection was clear in the kid's voice as well as in his young features. It wasn't meant to be a punishment, but Vin knew it was hard not to take it that way.
"Doubt it. I killed her."
The young man they all affectionately referred to as kid hung his head, looking as young as they all sometimes treated him. "Wish it hadn't been you."
Vin gave a half-quirk of a smile. It was a nice sentiment, but if he hadn't killed the girl, JD would have. And Vin knew that wasn't something the kid would have been able to handle -- not as green as he was. He could see how just being involved in the incident was wearing on the kid. He'd had a hard childhood, too, but hard in a different way than Vin. It was hard in a way which, somehow, still allowed him some innocence -- innocence which Vin and the other men felt obligated to protect because they themselves no longer held any of their own.
"Ya gonna be okay?" the sharpshooter finally asked.
The kid nodded, though slowly. "I-- I thought for sure she was gonna fire before I could even get off a round."
Fear. Vin knew the feeling all too well. Up in his perch, peering through his scope, he was insulated from that emotion -- rarely did anyone discover his location in time to return fire. But he knew what it felt like to confront a person who had a barrel pointed straight at you. JD may have felt differently had he been close enough to see what Vin had seen in the girl's features -- the pain, the desperation, the anxiety -- but he doubted it. It was unlikely that he consciously wouldn't have seen anything except the barrel of that gun pointed straight at his heart.
"Ya gonna hang out with Buck tonight?"
"Yeah. I told him I was fine, but he said his date canceled and that he didn't have anything else to do. You wanna come over? We'll probably get pizza. Maybe watch the game."
The game being baseball -- though Vin wasn't enough of a sports fan to even know who was playing against the Rockies that evening. Vin shook his head. "Thanks anyway," he said, then left the office.
As Vin waited for the elevator, his stomach rumbled; he'd never gotten around to breaking for lunch. He had snacks in his desk, but he didn't feel much like going back into the office to get anything. He'd grab something later.
The elevator ride down to the parking garage was a solitary one -- would have been even if there'd been anyone else sharing the lift, but there wasn't.
As he entered the parking structure, he felt his cell phone vibrate against his hip. He pulled the offending piece of technology from the clip on his belt and answered, "Tanner."
"It's Chris. You gonna head out to the ranch?"
The Larabee Ranch. Thirty-two acres of lush hills and valleys. Enough space to forget the city of Denver and all its citizens even existed a mere half-hour drive away. "Don't know."
"Thought you might like some company. I'll grab some steaks on the way home."
"Sure," Vin said, though it was more out of habit than desire.
"I'll see you later," Chris said, then paused, obviously waiting for a response, though Vin had none to offer. "Vin? We can talk about it tonight, if you want. Or not. It's up to you."
"Okay. See ya later," Vin finally replied then hung up the phone without waiting for Chris to return the farewell.
Once at the Jeep, he flung his duffel into the well in front of the passenger seat and his cell phone into the glove box. The well-worn, but well-tuned engine purred immediately to life when he turned the key. He then made his way out onto the city streets, but he did not turn east toward Chris's ranch.
There was something else he needed to do first.
1557 MDT
Denver County Morgue
"Agent Tanner, ATF," Vin offered before the receptionist could ask for his ID, which he no longer had to show her. "There was a Jane Doe brought in early this afternoon. Multiple gunshots. I need to speak with the M.E. about the case."
The woman, a civilian, nodded, then picked up the phone. She talked quietly into the receiver and Vin couldn't quite make out her words, but a few moments later she hung up then told him to wait.
There were two chairs in the corner of the small lobby, and no magazines. Vin figured this office didn't get many walk-ins. He paced the floor, slowly, not really having the energy to do much else -- it had been a long day, after a long week, so he wasn't really surprised how tired he was. As he continued to wait, he absently rubbed his temple, trying to ease the dull throbbing there. Minutes passed before the door opened and an older man in a white lab coat over a gray suit came up to him, holding out his hand in greeting.
"Dr. Olvesky, Chief M.E. What can I help you with, Agent?"
"Jane Doe: brought in this afternoon. Multiple gunshot wounds to the body, one, um--" he swallowed the small bit of bile which rose in his throat, "--one to the head. Need ta know if you've ID'd her yet."
"Follow me," was all the coroner said as he lead Vin down a long, brightly lit hallway. It seemed almost irreverent, the sharpshooter thought, though he knew this was no funeral home. This was a place of work, not mourning.
They stepped into a side room and the doctor moved to a small desk where he shuffled through some manila folders, finally removing the one he sought. He opened it and scanned the contents, finally saying, "Caulfield, Meghan. Nineteen."
Nineteen? Vin's heart sank at the number. A few years younger than he'd guessed. "How'd ya ID her?"
"Her parents did the whole Child ID Kit a while back -- ironic, really. They were worried about kidnapping when they should have been worried about her running away...."
A runaway? Vin's heart sank further. He should have known. He was just like her once, alone on the streets. Cold, hungry, desperate. But, suicide? It shocked him now, he was so far away from that life, had pushed so many of those memories so deeply inside of himself, far away from the light and his current life.
"...The police had her prints on file. There's a copy of the initial missing person report from two years ago if ya wanna see it." He handed the folder to Vin, who opened it up, but didn't really see any of the words on the paper before him. All that he could see was in his mind: the girl's face, dead center in his cross-hairs.
The doctor moved further into the room which was lined on two opposing walls with large, square metal doors. Personal-size cold-rooms, one per body. Without hesitation, the man stepped up to one door and popped it open, sliding out a long, metal table.
Vin approached, not sure he wanted to, but unable to stop himself. The M.E. pulled back the white sheet to reveal an ashen form. There was a single, clean hole just a fraction to the left of center between her now-closed eyes, and without even checking Vin knew there was a hole five times as large on the opposite side of her skull where the bullet had exited. It didn't matter how many rounds JD had pumped into the girl's chest -- she was beyond feeling anything before the kid had even pulled the trigger.
Vin tore his eyes away from her young face, finally forcing himself to read the contents of the file -- scanning it, anyway, for the one bit of information he needed. Then he just nodded, handing the folder back to the doctor.
"Anything else I can do for you today?"
Vin was about to say no, but then asked, "Have they been notified, the family?"
"Yeah. But we have to hold the body until the incident investigators release her. Worst part. All the damn paper work they put the survivors through before they can even bury the body and try to move on with their lives."
Vin nodded, but he had no words for the man. He turned and left the stark room, back to the blinding lights of the hallway, to make his way outside. He climbed into his Jeep, then pulled away from the curb, heading west on Highway 70.
He had a good hour's drive ahead of him, if the traffic was light, which, at this time of day it wouldn't be. But he had to go. He had to see her family.
1849 MDT
Dillon, Summit County, Colorado
He sat outside the house for nearly forty-five minutes. The lights were on in two of the front windows, but he'd seen no shadows moving behind the curtains, had seen no one enter or exit. Vin had planned to talk to the family, but once he'd arrived, once he'd cut the engine in his Jeep, he realized he didn't have anything to say to them.
Two years she'd been on the streets, two years since her parents had first filed the missing person report on their runaway daughter. They didn't know her anymore than he did. He wanted to know why she'd run away from her home, her family, but he suddenly realized that her parents wouldn't have the answers he sought -- hell, if they did, most likely they wouldn't be admitting them to themselves let alone to a stranger, to the man who had gunned down their daughter in cold blood.
Finally, Vin started up his car again, pulled an illegal U-turn and headed back to Denver. "Stupid," he muttered to himself. What a perfect ending to a perfectly crappy day.
As he found his way back to County Road 53, heading back toward Highway 70, Vin's mind turned towards food. His joints were getting that uneasy feeling to them, almost shaky, and his muscles felt heavy, tired, though his stomach was queasy again and the thought of a meal really didn't appeal to him. Only then did he remember his dinner plans with Chris. Steak, the man had said. Normally that would have made his mouth water, but not tonight.
He glanced at the LED on the dash which displayed the time, realizing he was over-due at the ranch by a good hour and a half, though they hadn't set a specific time. Without saying so, Vin knew Chris would be expecting him to be waiting at the ranch.
He thought he probably ought to call. Tell Chris not to wait for him. Maybe he'd be in the mood for steak and company tomorrow, though Vin had a hard time believing it at the moment.
The sharpshooter slid the upper-portion of his seat belt down over his shoulder, then leaned across to open the glove box where he usually kept his cell phone when not on duty, but just as he did so, a wave of nausea struck, causing his head to swim. He quickly jerked upright, but that only caused his vision to collapse in a foggy white haze.
He then felt himself pitch forward.
1959 MDT
The Larabee Ranch, Lookout Mountain
"Pick up," with the phone to his ear, he demanded impatiently between rings. "Come on! Pick--"
"The party you have dialed is unavailable," came the pre-recorded voice. "Please leave a message after the tone, or press pound to leave a number where you can be reached."
Chris waited for the beep signaling the start of the recording. "Vin, it's Chris. Where are you? I've got those steaks marinating. Call me back!"
The ATF team leader paced once again across the kitchen floor. Damn cell phone, he thought. Vin probably forgot to recharge the battery again. He would have tried the number at his apartment, but knew the leak in the roof from the last heavy rain had damaged the line and the man had yet to call out a repairman. Damn, lazy Texan, he fumed.
Chris picked up his phone again and pressed another number on his speed dial. A moment later a cheerful voice answered.
"Buck, it's Chris. What's your 10-20?"
"Whoa, there, Chris. We ain't on company time. It's okay for ya ta speak English, ya know?"
"Buck," Chris warned. He wasn't in the mood for his old friend's teasing.
"Just out with JD, cruisin' the drag fer some ladies," Buck said, and Chris readily pictured the man's happy leer and JD's embarrassed blush.
"Buck!" Chris heard JD protest in the background. "You said we're just gettin' ice cream!"
"You anywhere near Vin's place?" Chris continued.
"Reckon I'm not too far. Why?"
"Swing by there, would you? Just see if he's home. Make sure he's okay. I haven't heard from him since he left the office and after this morning...."
"Say no more, ol' pard. I reckon the li'l fillies can hold out just a while longer for me and JD to come sweep 'em off their feet."
"Bu-uck!" came JD's muffled protest again.
"Thanks," Chris said before hanging up. He resumed his pacing, then decided to call the office. He didn't expect anyone to be there, even though Ezra had been the last to show up from his break after their raid that day and had still been doing paperwork when he'd left for the ranch over an hour ago.
"Agent Standish," the man answered, to Chris's surprise.
"Ezra, it's Chris. Vin isn't there, is he?"
"No, sir. I am blissfully alone -- finally able to get some work done without the inane cacophony which usually fills this small closet which we so grandly call an office. I swear I am going to abscond with a pair of ear protectors when next we are at the firing range---"
"Ezra? If you see him, or if he calls, tell him to call me."
"It would be my pleasure."
Chris hung up the line again. Hopefully Buck would find him at his apartment. Maybe he'd gone home to shower and change, but had fallen asleep instead -- he had looked very tired, and Chris wouldn't blame him.
It was bad enough when you had to kill a criminal who wouldn't think twice about capping your ass, but a young girl.... No one had told JD yet, but Vin somehow knew: she had a gun but there was no ammo, there wasn't even a clip. Hell, the damn gun was so old and rusty, it probably would have misfired if she'd had it loaded! Probably found it somewhere, Chris figured, since he couldn't believe anyone -- even a novice -- would pay money for that hunk of metal.
Chris continued to pace back and forth in his kitchen. Where are you, Vin? Call me.
Ten very long minutes later, the phone rang and the receiver was instantly to his ear. "Hello?" He hoped it would be Vin, but he figured it was probably Buck.
"May I speak to a Mr. Chris Larabee, please?"
"Speaking," Chris groaned, just about ready to hang up on the unwanted phone solicitor.
"This is Summit Medical Center over in Frisco."
Hospital? Chris's mind froze as his stomach seemed to drop clean to the floor.
"Mr. Larabee, you're listed as Emergency Contact for a Mr. Vincent Tanner. Is that correct?"
Chris nodded.
"Sir?"
"Y-yes. What's happened?" he managed to stammer.
"There's been an auto accident, sir. Are you his next of kin?"
Auto accident? Oh, God. "Yes. I mean, no. I-- I'm his-- his friend."
"We need to reach his next of kin, sir. Can you help us?"
Help you? Chris's mind screamed. Next of kin? Did that mean Vin was... was....
"Is he dead?"
"I'm sorry, sir. I can only discuss this with his next of kin."
"He doesn't have any. There's only him. And-- me."
"Do you have Power Of Attorney, sir?"
Power of.... Hell, he had power, he was the goddamned leader of the best goddamned ATF team in the goddamned country. He had as much power as he needed just a phone call away. "No, but I'll get it."
He finished quickly with the impersonal woman, telling her he'd be at the hospital as soon as he could.
On his way out to his truck, he dialed Assistant Director Orin Travis on his cell phone -- he wasn't a judge, unfortunately, despite his nickname, but he knew enough of them that he ought to be able to help him out. At least, Chris hoped.
"Travis? This is Chris Larabee. I'm sorry to disturb you, but-- What? No, sir-- Yes, sir-- Sir-- Yes. I, ah, need a favor: Agent Tanner-- Yes, sir, Vin Tanner. He's in the hospital-- No, sir, not in the line of duty, sir. Car accident-- No, sir, they won't tell me anyth-- Yes, I yelled-- Yes, I told 'em who I am-- No, they didn't, sir. Not one goddamned bit-- Yes, sir-- I need Power Of Attorney, sir-- No family-- I don't know if he's conscious. Hell, I don't even know if he's alive! --sir? Yes, sir. Summit Medical Center in Frisco-- Thank you, sir."
Chris was nearly to the interstate by the time he hung up the cell phone. "God dammit!" he yelled until his voice echoed through the large cab of the truck. God damn the state of Colorado. God damn the federal damn government. He was Vin's next of kin. He was the closest thing that man had to a next of kin, but in the government's eyes he was nothing. Just because they didn't have a God damn piece of legal paper saying what they meant to each other.
Though the roads were fairly clear, it was still the longest ninety-minute drive of Chris's life. He just had no idea what he'd find at the hospital. Maybe in person, with his badge -- or his goddamned drawn and cocked service weapon -- he'd get some answers.
Finally, he pulled into the parking lot, found an empty space not too far from the entrance, then ran into the building.
The woman behind the desk was on the phone. Chris felt like ripping it from her hands, tossing it across the room, just to get her attention, but he didn't. He gripped the edge of the counter instead and waited. A few eternal moments later, she hung up the receiver. "Yes, sir?"
"Vin Tanner -- he was brought in about two hours ago. Car accident. I need to know how he's doing."
"Are you a relative, sir?"
"Yes," he lied.
"Your name?"
"Chris Larabee."
The woman shuffled through a few folders, then typed something into her computer terminal. "I have you listed as Emergency Contact. Says here, no next of kin." She looked up at him with her eyebrows raised.
"Look, I'm all he's got."
"I'm sorry, sir, but we have a patient confidentiality law in this state and---"
"I don't goddamned care what we have in this state! You've got my friend in there and I don't even know if he's alive!"
"Sir, I'm gonna have to ask you to keep your voice down."
"You can ask all you want, but I'm gonna keep on yelling until I get some answers!"
"Sir, please."
"Look, lady---"
"Let me call my supervisor," she interrupted with an upheld hand, then picked up the phone again. Chris swore under his breath and tried not to think of the gun in his shoulder holster. "You said Larabee, didn't you, sir?" she finally asked him. He nodded. A few moments later she disconnected her call with the press of a button, then dialed a new extension. Chris waited, all of his energy focused on not punching something.
"Mr. Larabee. The doctor will be with you in a moment." The woman pointed to some very uncomfortable looking chairs made of orange plastic. "You can wait right over there."
Chris let out the breath he'd been unconsciously holding and nodded. Guess Travis had come through for him again. Thank God. Chris resumed the pacing he'd been doing earlier in his kitchen, before he'd known where Vin was. The doctor couldn't have gotten there soon enough to satisfy him if he'd materialized the moment the receptionist had hung up the phone.
"Mr. Larabee?" a man, impossibly looking younger than JD and wearing a white lab coat over green scrubs, approached him. Chris nodded, hoping to hell this was the guy who cleaned the bed pans and not the doctor responsible for Vin's well being. "I'm Doctor Barrett."
Oh, just great, Chris moaned to himself.
"Mr. Tanner was in a single-car accident earlier this evening."
"Is he alive?"
The young man nodded. "He was found unconscious at the scene, but regained consciousness in the ambulance. He's had surgery to repair a compound fracture of his left humerus."
"Can I see him?"
"I can take you upstairs, but you'll have to speak with his attending doctor about visitation."
Chris nodded. Vin was alive. That was all that mattered at the moment. He'd worry about getting in to see him when the time came.
"Sir, I can take you up, if you'd like."
They walked down a long hallway, past doors marked "Restricted" and "ICU" before standing and waiting for an elevator.
"I thought he'd be in ICU."
"No, sir. He's been admitted to a room upstairs."
Chris was relieved. He'd been both visitor and patient in hospitals often enough in his life to know that meant Vin's injuries weren't critical -- that he was safe and would be all right.
The elevator ride took them up to the fourth floor, after which they proceeded directly to the central receptionist's station. The young resident spoke quietly to the woman in a floral-print nurse's smock.
Chris looked around as he waited. The walls here were painted a pale peach color, unlike the standard white of the lower level he'd come in on. To each side was a short hallway ending almost immediately in double doors with small safety-glass windows and signs which read, "Restricted Area. Authorized Personnel Only." He saw a scrubs-clad attendant pause at the end of the hallway, then heard a sharp, low buzz which stopped a moment after the man opened the door.
"Have a seat, Mr. Larabee. Dr. Haller will be with you in a moment," the young doctor said, pointing toward a row of chairs along the wall.
"This is the Psych Ward," Chris stopped the man before he could leave.
"Yes, sir. Please, just have seat."
Chris impatiently tapped the armrest of the cushy, yet still uncomfortable chair as he waited. The Psych Ward. What the hell was going on? he fumed, annoyed at being made to wait, pissed at all the damn hassle, and just flat-out worried about Vin again.
"Mr. Larabee?" Chris looked up to find a woman about his own age, with short brown hair staring down at him. "I'm Dr. Haller." She offered him her hand when he stood and he shook it.
"Can I see him," was the first thing out of Chris's mouth.
The woman smiled but did not nod. "Mr. Tanner is under sedation at the moment."
"That other doctor -- um, Barrett -- said he'd had surgery."
"Yes, and it went well: the fracture has been reduced and set internally with screws, which will allow for a quicker rehabilitation stage. The sedation, however, was necessary for other reasons." Chris waited for her to continue, as his impatience grew quickly in his gut. He was afraid if he spoke again that he might yell.
"Mr. Tanner is your employee?"
Close enough, Chris nodded.
"Can you tell me if anything's happened at work recently -- or in his personal life -- which may have upset him?" Chris frowned at her question. What the hell did that have to do with Vin's car accident? "Was he passed over for promotion? Break up with his girlfriend? Anything like that?"
"Doc, what's going on here? Why's Vin in the Psych Ward?"
"Mr. Larabee. The police officer first on the accident scene believes that Mr. Tanner may have intentionally driven his car off the side of County Road 53 at the Straight River bridge."
"Why in the hell would he-- Now, wait a minute." Just then it dawned on him and the anger filling his gut flared. "You think he tried to drive his car into the river? That he tried to kill himself?"
"I'm going to detain your friend for the next three days for further evaluation. He's in a deep state of denial over the incident and I just can't release him until I'm sure he won't try to harm himself or anyone else."
"He's in denial, because he didn't do it. Whatever happened to him wasn't a suicide attempt. I know him. He isn't like that!"
The doctor nodded her head. "You'd be surprised how often I hear that from friends and family. It's a very common reaction, but, once you've had a chance to think over the past few days, weeks, months, little things will start to come to you. Signs, which, at the time, didn't seem important, but cumulatively, well...."
Chris shook his head. "That man is a highly trained agent for the ATF---"
"A stressful job can always be a factor," she interrupted, opening Vin's file to make a notation.
"No. You don't get it. The ATF does psych evaluations on us all the time. And, he's clean. I'm his team leader, I'd know."
"And do you know what he was doing way out in Dillon this evening when he lives fifty miles east, in Denver?"
"No."
"And do you know there are witnesses who saw him steer his car straight off the road toward the river?"
"No. But, answer me this: what the hell was he doing trying to drown himself when he has access to every goddamned assault weapon ever made? If that man wanted to kill himself, he'd know how and he wouldn't be here afterwards for you to psycho-analyze." Chris noted the woman writing in the file again. "What'd you write?"
"Clearly your friend is not only a potential danger to himself, but, if what you tell me about access to firearms is true, then he's a potential danger to others as well. My initial evaluation stands. Your friend is here for the next three days."
Chris fumed. He wanted to yell at the woman -- damn shrink -- she'd twisted his words, heard only what she wanted to hear. There wasn't any damn way Vin was, is, or ever could be suicidal. The man'd made it through too much crap to quit now, especially now when they'd finally found each other.
"If you'd like to wait here, I'm going to check on Mr. Tanner again. If he's doing well, I'll let you see him for a few minutes."
As the doctor walked away, Chris heard the buzzing sound again which unlocked the double doors, allowing her to pass through, deeper into the ward which somewhere held Vin.
Chris reached for his cell phone, but then remembered tossing it aside onto the seat in his truck. Instead he dug into his pocket for his credit card. He inserted it into the slot on the nearby telephone, then dialed a number he had memorized.
"Judge," he greeted the Assistant Director by his nickname. "It's Chris Larabee again. I'm here at the hospital-- Yes, sir-- No, sir, I haven't seen him yet. They've got him locked up in the Psych Ward-- I don't know. His doctor wouldn't listen to a thing I had to say-- Yes, sir, I did tell her-- No, I don't believe he is-- Internal, yes, I think that's a good idea. They'll have all his previous evaluations on file back at the Bureau-- Tomorrow? --I know it's late, but I was hoping he wouldn't have to spend the night here. They've got him sedated-- Yes, sir-- Thank you, sir, I'll be waiting for your call."
Chris hung up the phone. He didn't trust psychologists or psychiatrists, but at least the ATF ones were a known quantity and usually on their side. He didn't know what was up with this civilian shrink -- why the hell was she so set on believing Vin was a danger to himself or anyone else?
He was just about to insert his credit card for another call when the doctor returned. "You can see him, but only for a few moments."
He followed her across the lobby, pausing until they heard the doors buzz, then they stepped through and into the carpetless hallway flanked by closed doors and smelling of sweet disinfectant and acrid urine.