© Carey MacLean, 2012
Chapter 1
Today was a new day. Mika Stafford opened her eyes with a smile on her lips. Last night, she had managed to fall asleep and not be terrorised by her habitual nightmares. If it wasn’t the terrors, then it was the insomnia. For the first time in a month, she had managed to sleep peacefully. Perhaps it was the entire bottle of wine she had drunk in the garden; perhaps it was her extra-curricular events beforehand; or maybe it was a mix of all of the above.
Showered and dressed, she made a bee-line for her car and headed out for another day’s work. She wondered what the day held out for her.
Stopping at her local Starbucks, she grabbed herself a Venti Caramel Macchiato to ebb her hankering for something sweet and found herself in Kensington General Hospital’s underground parking structure.
As she exited the elevator onto the main floor, she was met with the familiar hustle and bustle sounds of an unruly and chaotic emergency room. Despite its disorderly nature, Mika thrived in this environment. It felt like home to her.
“Good morning Dr. Stafford,” a nurse greeted her. She nodded and proceeded for the break room seeing as she had half an hour to spare before her shift began.
She sat with her eyes shut before she internally cringed when she felt his presence.
“You know it’s not polite to sneak up on people the way that you do,” she told him.
“It amazes me that you’re so attuned with your senses. What gave me away?” Mark asked her.
“Your stench. You reek of cheap cologne, day-old sex, and an ego larger than Texas,” she smirked at her remark.
Mark huffed at her insult but remained standing there, brushing off her comment. Despite her rude, sarcastic, and sometimes stinging remarks, Mark kept coming back. The idiot didn’t know the meaning to ceasing and desisting. She definitely should give him props for persistence. If he could only apply that elsewhere, like his job or towards some other woman, everything would be right as rain.
“As much as I enjoy our little chats, I’ve got a job I need to be getting to,” Mika got up, annoyed that her morning was now tarnished because of the self-assured man-whore.
Paging Doctor Stafford! Doctor Stafford please report to the ER immediately, Mika heard the bored and monotonous voice of the announcer over the PA system.
She would be glad for her twelve hours of hell in the pit to be over.
Just another half an hour and you’re free, she urged herself on.
It’s not that she didn’t like her job. Truth of the matter was that she loved it. She was forefront in a person’s worst day of their life – a hero. She thrived on action and the adrenaline surge that the constant buzzing about the Emergency Room offered. There simply were times where she wanted to get away from it though. Today had quickly become one of those days.
Rushing to the ER, a nurse directed her toward the doors she knew the ambulatory services were about to come storming through. As expected, within the next minute, those doors came crashing open, a woman lay on a gurney, her face looking more like ground hamburger meat than that of what a normal twenty-six year old woman should resemble.
“Patient is a twenty-six year old female. She presents with three fractured ribs, broken nose, wrist, bruises and contusions along her upper torso. Respirations are shallow and laboured,” the medic rang out in his classic spiel. “Classic battered case, Doc,” he threw in.
“Kevin is it?” She asked him quietly after double-checking the name on the badge attached to his uniform. He nodded. “Kevin, I suggest that you shut your trap. You see this woman here?” She nodded her head sideways toward the patient. He nodded yet again in reply. “Well, today’s the worst day of her life. I recommend that you don’t jump to conclusions and that you keep your comments to yourself. She doesn’t need salt to be thrown in her injuries. For all you know, this unconscious woman could be hearing everything you’re saying.”
“So you’re going to tell me that she might have had a fight with a meat grinder?” He smirked at his partner, evidently proud of his smartass comeback.
Mika noticed his partner giving him the look of death in warning as he shook his head trying to discourage him from saying anything further.
“I’ll be speaking with your supervisor,” Mika’s eyes pierced him like daggers to a heart. “Now get out of my sight!”
She had never seen anyone scamper off so damn fast. It was safe to say that George Carney was most likely going to tear this young gun of a paramedic a new arse hole.
So much for getting off on time, she thought to herself with a deep breath.
There was no way Mika was leaving this patient before she finished treating her. It was clear that this lady was going to be in pain for a while.
A few hours later, Mika heard a man bellowing commands and shouting in the halls. Judging by his boisterous voice, he was inching himself closer.
Where is security?
A few seconds later, he came crashing through the observation room door with a nurse chasing him while she hollered that he wasn’t supposed to be in there. What good that did.
“Becky!” He said. “Oh my God Becky! I’m so sorry, Hunny,” he reached for her hand.
Rebecca was finally awake but heavily dosed with pain killers. She flinched slightly as he seemed to gently yet forcefully grab her hand in his.
Or do I want to be seeing this? Mika wondered.
The more she pondered and observed the two and the wild and panicky look in her patient’s eyes, the more she was convinced that it was indeed a brutal domestic case.
“Mr.-“ Mika began softly.
“It’s Lance Denton,” he said without prying his eyes from Rebecca. “Please tell me my wife will be okay.”
“Mr. Denton,” she began again, “please follow me. I need to speak with you and I think it best that your wife gets a bit of rest right now. She’s been through a lot.”
He nodded and she heard his heavy footsteps fall in stride behind her as she led him to the small conference room the doctors used from time to time to confer about their patients and treatment choices.
The moment the door to the conference room shut behind them, Mika turned around with a look of fire in her eyes.
“Mr. Denton. Can you please tell me what the hell happened to your wife?” Mika demanded.
“I shouldn’t have to explain it to anyone, especially a lady Doc like you,” he said dismissively.
“You either talk to me or I can call the authorities and have you explain everything to them if you’d prefer,” she rebutted.
Denton seemed to stop short in his pacing and paused to eye her in a rather hungry way. She despised these men. Men that came waltzing in like they could never do no wrong. Men that were all that and the proverbial bag of chips. The ones that were used to getting away with everything they did, whether it was good or bad. Mika failed to see what was attractive about the man before her aside from his obvious dashingly handsome looks. The rest of this man was positively rotten to the core.
“Well?” She tapped her foot while her arms were crossed at her chest.
He stood there with a tensed jaw, his lips pressed in a thin line. She’d seen this almost every time. He wasn’t going to talk to her, the damn chauvinist.
“Let me tell you what happened then,” she pushed on.
For once, she refused to let the authorities get their hands on him right away. Sure, she would call them up but she damn well wasn’t going to let this seemingly wealthy scum walk around without realizing the consequences of his actions.
“Becky, your wife, is lying in there holding on by a thread, Mr. Denton. She has three broken ribs, a puncture to her lower right lung, a broken nose, her wrist was smashed to pieces and had to be reconstructed. One of her ankles is sprained with a slight hairline fracture to her big toe, her jaw is wired shut for proper healing because the force of those blows she got to her head broke it. We ran x-rays Mr. Denton. I know it’s not the first time.”
“But-” Denton tried to argue.
“You’re going to tell me that she’s clumsy. That she fell down the stairs. That it’s not the first time, that she does this all the time. Mr. Denton, it’s not the first and today proves that it will not be her last unless she leaves you. I saw the fear in her eyes you good for nothing-“ she stopped herself from her insults and took a deep breath. “I’ve been married before, Mr. Denton. I know how tough and sometimes unrewarding a relationship can be. I know how women and men alike will frustrate each other to no end. I’d say Becky has been subjected to these extensive beatings at least twice before judging by the healing pattern of her bones.”
“I-“ he began but once again Mika was on a roll.
“But there’s no way that you’ve only laid a hand on her twice before today, Mr. Denton. I know your kind quite well. Everything is to a minimum until you blow up. A hand print around the neck, a black eye, a few bruises here and there on her arms, torso, and legs; anything that could easily be concealed by clothes or makeup. Am I right?” She picked up the phone and called security without waiting for his reply.
“She did fall down the stairs,” he argued once she had heard the knock on the outside of the conference room which told her that security had arrived.
“She may have but it sure as hell wasn’t due to clumsiness,” Mika sneered as she opened the door to let herself out. “I know how your kind work. You’ll be in jail for a night and then you’ll be walking free to terrorize your wife again when she gets home from the hospital. That’s if you’re lucky that she’ll come back to you. If not, then you’ll find some poor helpless soul you can strong arm. Good day Sir,” she slammed the door, leaving it guarded by the security bloke.
Detective Ryans couldn’t believe what he had stumbled upon. He thought that today would have been a desk day which would have permitted him to sit, go through the evidence files for the series of homicides in the area. The more he looked into things, the more he was certain that they were all inter-connected. Men, wealthy men, were dropping like flies it seemed.
He stood in the lobby of the Four Seasons hotel as the officer that had showed up on the scene attempted to brief him.
“Xav, it’s another one to add to your list,” the middle aged pot-bellied man told him. “Follow me.”
“Same MO?” Xavier Ryans asked and the Lieutenant nodded his response. “Who is he?”
“Antonio Castelli.”
“As in Antonio Castelli, the real-estate tycoon?” Again, he was met with a nod in response. “What makes you think that this isn’t some copy-cat or that it wasn’t a mob hit? You know about the latest rumours that have been circulating.”
Then again, Detective Ryans knew all too well that this wasn’t a mob hit in the least. Confirmation was attained once he found the poor man in his birthday suit, a blue tint covering the skin of his body and no evidence that had caused him any harm. A thirty-five year old doesn’t drop dead of natural causes. It’s just not seen these days.
“Carl?” Ryans turned around to the Medical Examiner who already knew his next question.
“Asphyxiation. I won’t know what exactly has caused it but I suspect it’ll be the same answer as before once the toxicology reports are delivered,” Carl told him.
Xavier nodded in response.
He returned to his desk later that day with a piping hot cup of black coffee that tasted more like liquid tar instead of an espresso blend. He sat back and closed his eyes.
What am I missing? He wondered to himself.
Two weeks ago, he had come in one morning and the Captain had stormed into his office dropping a pile of files on his desk marked unsolved. As he leafed through each and every file, ten of them to be more precise, he slowly realized that this case could either make or break his career. It was the kind of case that a young Homicide Detective could only dream of; dead ends excluded of course.
In his twenty-nine years of life, he had aspirations. Some of which were put on the back-burner with his career being the front-runner. He strived to move on up in his job and this high-profile series of cases would be exactly what would put him at the top where promotions were concerned if and only if he could piece each part of this intricate puzzle together.
He looked up at his empty white board and decided that today was going to be the day where he would begin to put those pieces together. He was far from overjoyed at the fact that today’s scene would most likely become his eleventh homicide to be linked to the stack of ten files already before him. Someone clearly had a vendetta against these successful and well-known men and he was hell-bent on finding out whom.
Mika headed home once the officers had arrived to question her and that prick Denton. She gave them her statement as to the extent of Rebecca’s injuries and let them see her for themselves before leading them to the conference room where Denton was still being detained in. She was aching for a soothing bubble bath, a glass of wine, and her latest book.
Settling in her favourite settee in the sun-room of her four bedroom home, she found herself unable to relax despite the lavender bath she had soaked in only moments before. Her thoughts were held captive with Rebecca Denton. Truthfully, her injuries reminded her of her own in the past. Memories that still haunted her to that day. Memories of Carter her dearly departed husband. She snorted at the mere memory of his name.
Dearly departed my ass! She thought.
The bastard had pushed her around to her breaking point. She remembered that day as if it was just yesterday.
She had finally come back from a week-long trip with the girls. Coming home to an empty house was quite the relief for her. She was glad that she had time to unpack and get reacquainted with her home. In truth, the place no longer felt like home. Instead of happy memories, it was filled with those of fear, apprehension, and pain; all of which beginning from the first day, five years before when Carter had laid his hands on her in a menacing way. All because of a broken piece of crystal after one of their dinner functions. She regretted ever thinking it had been because he was overworked and thus, stressed because of his business dealings. Boy was that a big mistake.
“Mik? Mik, you home?” She heard as she put the last of her belongings in their respective place.
“I’m in the bedroom Hun,” she called out to him.
The minute she heard his thunderous footsteps, she knew he was in a mood again. The week away had allowed her to gain some perspective. Sitting around a beach, a drink in hand with four of your best gal pals will do that for you; especially when you’re all discussing your men. It wasn’t until then that Mika realized that she needed an out. If he planned on laying a hand on her, today was going to be the last time – hopefully. Provided she could live up to the epiphany she had during her retreat.
She had tried filing police reports and charges. She had tried leaving him. She knew it wasn’t right. A man should worship his woman as opposed to use her like a punching bag, a measure to relieve his frustrations and anger. She had been humiliated, belittled on a daily basis but this along with the beatings; it was all behind closed doors.
No one other than the one hospital knew of her history but she suspected that her employer had begun to wonder about her irregular absences which only occurred when she couldn’t hide the evidence of his brutality. She had chosen to be brought to a hospital out of her remote area where no one knew her. She didn’t need any of her acquaintances, friends, or family to know about the hell her husband was putting her through.
His thunderous steps stopped and she felt his presence behind her before she turned to look at him.
“Hi Baby,” she said, trying her best to sound cheerful.
“Cut the crap!” He commanded and she did as she was told. “You left me.”
“I didn’t-“ he cut her off with an open hand to the cheek. “You and I discussed this and you agreed to this trip, Carter,” she reminded him with a soft voice.
“You should have known that you’d be paying for it when you got back,” he eyed her, fire in his irises. “So how much do your girls know?”
“What?” She eyed him incredulously.
“How much?” He demanded from her.
“I-I… Nothing!” Mika answered him hesitantly.
He grabbed her arm which caused the still healing fracture there to radiate with pain warranting a wince.
“Carter! You’re hurting me! You know I wouldn’t ever say a thing!”
“Which means you have. I see the way they look at me. I can see their wheels turning in their head when they pop on by unannounced,” he ranted.
For the life of her, she couldn’t think of one time where the girls had popped by without calling on them first. It had always been proper etiquette between them.
“No! I swear to you, on my life, on our marriage, on anything… No one knows,” she pleaded but it was too late.
He punched her in the gut which sent her down onto her knees as she attempted to regain her breathing. As he picked her up and threw her onto their marital bed, he began to intermittently strip her of her clothes and punch her. She kicked, she flailed, she even tried to cocoon herself in the fetal position to no avail. This would be the worst beating yet. She was sure of it!
“Carter! NO!” He towered over her on his knees as he undid his pants, releasing himself.
In the five years of beatings, never had he ever tried to force himself onto her for sexual release. She had noticed that he seemed to be aroused after some of his worst moments but never had he forcefully taken her.
Afterward, she lay there, naked, sore and broken as she tried to regain her bearings. She saw the blood lining the crisp white comforter of their bed. She knew that something had to be done.
Pushing her pain to the side, she slowly got herself up and moved to the ensuite bathroom to clean herself up. Carter had gone to the den to tend to some business dealings as per usual after one of his episodes.
She had decided to head out to the garden with a book and a glass of wine when trouble reared its ugly head for the second time that day.
As she reached for the crystal to pour herself a drink from the bar, the dainty piece of drinkware slipped from her fingers and shattered onto the pristine hardwood floor. As if on cue, those same thunderous footsteps came barrelling down the hall towards her.
The one thing she knew was that she couldn’t go on with it all anymore. If he beat her to the extent he had earlier, there was no telling she would survive his wrath. She remembered her earlier decision.
She had been in the shower, crying on its cold tiled floor as the water rained down on her when she finally refused to feel sorry for herself. Fury had invaded her soul and held her captive. Vengeance was in the forecast and she knew there wasn’t anything else to do.
“You must really love your beatings,” he crashed his foot to the back of her knees which sent her forward onto the bar’s counter top, her head hitting the rounded edge of the granite.
Watching as the stars began to fade from her vision, she noticed something that could possibly save her. She grabbed it in a tight fisted grip.
“I’m sorry! I’m sorry!” She pleaded in her usual frightened tone despite reaching her point of no return.
This was it.
She would put an end to all of this or she would die trying.
Die tonight or die later, nothing mattered anymore.
He spun her around so she faced him. Holding her saving grace, she kept her hands down and out of sight. After a few more blows to her face, he turned and began to walk away.
“Clean that shit up,” he muttered over his shoulder.
Rage had overwhelmed her and as if becoming a puppet, she found her legs moving forward of their own accord. A flying leap later, Carter had found the hard floor with his face as she landed on top of him like a crazed predator.
Mika barely remembers the rest of what had taken place until she woke. She had blacked out. It wasn’t until she had come to that she had realized the extent of what she had done.
Carter was bloodied up from a few defensive puncture wounds but it was the piece of crystal sticking out of his chest that sparkled with the light of the setting sun that beckoned her eyes.
She reached for her cellphone which was in her back pant pocket and dialed 911.
She had killed her husband.
She was free.
Thoughts of that night consumed her and she knew that she had to do something.
Putting her book on the side table, she got up and walked out to her garden – her one escape from reality. Nothing there could touch her.
It’s time! She told herself with a wicked smile.
Someone had to put a stop to the nightmare because women like Rebecca won’t live long enough to see themselves through another beating like that. She knew it all too well.
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