Silent pursuit

Chapter 2: Shadows echoes

The surgical team was exhausted from a recent surgery, and the weight of that surgery was evident in the heavy night air in the medical facility corridor. Tiredness and relief on Dr. Fedola and the nurses' appears as they exited the theater.

The unconscious patient was transferred on a trolley as machines beeped periodically to signify that his heartbeat continued. The process had been difficult, a delicate balancing act amongst life and death. Tension in the hallway subsided as the medical professionals scattered when two figures who didn’t belong in a professional atmosphere appeared.

Travis, a big, broad-shouldered man projecting a calm authority, walked over to Dr. Fedola and adjusted his tie. His piercing eyes examined everything closely, as if attempting to solve a mystery. Anita, beside him, exuded confidence despite her little stature. But there was a tenderness in her eyes that went against her polished appearance.

"Good evening, Dr...." With a pause, Travis looked at the badge attached to her scrubs and said, "Fedola. Inspector Travis here from the Area G police station." Although he spoke calmly, there was a firmness in his voice that made it seem as though he was used to receiving responses. Dr. Fedola met his gaze with a slightly furrowed brow.

She replied, holding out her hand, "Good evening, Inspector Travis." Although their handshake was brief, there was a silent recognition of the roles they had played and an exchange that expressed recognition following an act of violence. Realizing that this was going to demand isolation, she asked, "Can we converse in my office?" Travis replied “Kindly lead the way” stepping aside to let her lead the way.

Anita followed close behind them, taking in every detail as her skilled eye scanned the area. Dr. Fedola motioned for Travis to take a seat in the quiet confines of her office as she took a chart out of the stack on her desk.

She had put a lot of thought into organizing the space, and the walls were covered in awards and medals that demonstrated her skill and commitment. Her hands shaking slightly when she opened the chart, but it was the only sign of her exhaustion.

"So, these are the details of the marks that we found on the victim's body," she said breaking the silence. She began as she flipped the pages, her voice composed. “I believed it was important that you realize the person responsible had no intent to stab them in a hurry. This was...organized, almost professional even”

Travis leaned forward to see what was being shown to him has it piqued his interest. "Professional? Could you elaborate?" Dr. Fedola gave a nod, her eyes becoming dark as she repeated the details. "Whoever is responsible has a thorough understanding of surgery. In the beginning, the incisions are not deep enough. It seems as though they meant for the victims to resist in order to heighten their misery. Before the last blow is given, the fingers are sliced. It's... like a ritual, a long, deliberate process intended to provoke the greatest degree of terror and pain." Travis's expression was a mask of concentration as he absorbed her words.

He murmured to himself, half to himself, "This victim was lucky to be alive then," absorbing the information. He had a persistent doubt about something that didn't quite add up.

He turned back to face her as he stood up to go, his hand on the doorknob. "You know," he added softly, "you look very familiar, for someone I'm meeting for the first time.”

Dr. Fedola watched him leave her office, her eyes widening slightly at the comment, but she said nothing. She couldn't get rid of the anxious feeling in her chest as the door snapped shut behind him.

Tension pervaded the police station a week later. Travis spent several days researching information, analyzing paperwork, and scrutinizing any prospective leads. On the other hand, the case had come to a dead end and the cause of concern was starting to arise.

The D.P.O. sat behind his desk, his face unreadable, a large guy with graying hair and a mindset that commanded respect. He said, "We're closing the case," without even looking up from the pile of paperwork in front of him.

Travis was obviously frustrated as he stood at attention. "Sir, I beg to differ. We can't disregard this case as trivial." His eyes were glowing with determination, and his tone was stern but respectful.

When the D.P.O. did look up, his eyes grew stern. He got up from his chair and made a mocking gesture toward it, asking, "why don't you take my seat and position? Please come and have your seat, since you are up to the task." Travis tensed up, balling his fists at his sides.

"I dare not, monsieur. I respect your decision, sir. Permission to leave sir" he answered, his voice tense with held back rage. The D.P.O. dismissively waved him away.

"moron! if you knew it so well why are you beneath me. He murmured, "You are excused," turning back to the paperwork in front of him. With a curt salute, Travis turned on his heel and stormed out of the office. The hallway outdoors had the feel of a pressure cooker, with a sense of stress in the air.

Anita approached with a worried frown on her face as she watched him paced back and forth, attempting to calm down. "Travis, please calm down" she gently urged while putting her hand over his arm.

His phone rang before he had a chance to reply. With a frown, he took it out of his pocket and looked at the caller ID. He turned and ran out of the station without saying anything, with Anita running closely behind him.

When they arrived, the hospital was bustling with activity, and the sense of urgency was evident. With the patient they had been monitoring earlier, the ECG monitor was beeping erratically and the line on the screen was sinking dangerously low.

In the room was Dr. Fedola, attempting to stabilize the patient with her hands moving with experienced precision. Despite this, the battle was on losing ground, and the existence that had held so tightly was now vanishing with every second that went by.

Anita and Travis burst into the room as the monitor line drew flat. The constant, high-pitched beep signaled the imminence of death with a sound that sliced through the atmosphere like a knife. In a low voice, Anita said, "From God he came to God he returns." Dr. Fedola froze, staring at the motionless figure in front of her. But her thoughts were elsewhere, swept away to a different era and location. Her eyes snapped to fragments, showing her a body, recognizable scars, and memories drenched in blood that she had desperately wanted to forget.

The universe tipped on its axis as the past and present met, and the room whirled around her. She fell to the ground, and the sole thing she recalled was the floor racing up to meet her. It was nighttime, and the ICU seemed strangely quiet when she woke up. Travis gently tapped on the door, watching for a reply. He motioned for Anita to open the door, but she did so gingerly. "She's not here," Anita remarked, looking into the shadowy room with a worried tone in her voice. "What do you mean she's not here?" Pushing passed her to see for himself, Travis demanded.

His annoyance increased as he started looking about the room, his movements growing more agitated by the moment. Attempting to lighten the situation, Anita said, "this isn't the movies so lets not cause a scene over here." However, her effort at humor was unsuccessful when she noticed Travis was searching the room frantically.

With a creak the door opened revealing Dr. Fedola, who appeared exhausted and unkempt. She seemed much more frail than before since her clothing were moist and she exuded a tiredness that pervaded everything about her. She abruptly stopped upon realizing that the two officers were in her room.

With a hint of mistrust in her voice, she said, "Now I am curious—why are you here?" Travis's tone was accusing as he crossed his arms. "Why are you wet, and where were you?" Anita wrinkled her nose, as perceptive as ever. "What's that smell? Spirit of menthol and blood?" Fedola, the doctor, rolled her eyes. She said, "We are in a hospital," in a tone that implied the question was ridiculous.

Trying to diffuse the tension, she asked, "Are you guys cousins or siblings?" However, something about her remark set off a flashback in Dr. Fedola that sent her reeling into another recollection, a voice, a statement from the past repeating in her head. Travis observed the shift in her attitude. “How are you doing? You appear disoriented.”

Fedola said with a forced smile, “I'm fine” but her voice faltered. "Just... some images I can’t pinpoint yet." The investigator in Travis narrowed his eyes, feeling something wasn't quite right. His tone hardened as he questioned, “What went wrong with the patient? He was fine a couple of days ago”

Dr. Fedola said, trying to remember the details with a furrowed brow. "On the contrary,... he appeared to have gone into shock, ultimately leading to his demise." Travis leaned in farther, his distrust mounting. With his notes out, he pressed on, "You were reported to be the very last individual in the patient's room." "And you weren’t the doctor in charge, so why were you there?"

Dr. Fedola's eyes grew wide in surprise. "I was?" she questioned with real curiosity. Travis said, "Yes, you were," as he held his pen over the paper. "Can you explain why?" Dr. Fedola had trouble remembering, but what she did recall was jumbled, bits and pieces of ideas and pictures that would not come together to make sense.