Carver

Chapter Four- Another Day, Another Dollar

Sarah had no recollection of falling asleep. She awoke lying on her back on the sofa with her right arm and leg hanging over the side of the cushions. She groaned as she tried to shake the stiffness from her joints. Her migraine, though continued to persist, had dulled a little. Sarah eased herself up into a sitting position and pushed up to her feet. She checked her watch to find that it was 05.00am so she had plenty of time to have a shower and coffee. She padded her way into the kitchen where she set a new pot of coffee to boil and made her way to her en suite to take a quick shower. Once she had sloughed off the previous day, Sarah quickly dried herself off with a towel and dressed in a burgundy v-neck sweater and black dress trousers. As she did with the previous day, she returned to the lounge where she attached her holstered gun to her belt and pocketed her credentials. She made her way back to her bedroom and retrieved her hair dryer from a drawer. She seated herself on her bed to dry her dripping wet hair.
Once she was satisfied that her hair was presentable and dry, Sarah returned to the lounge where she picked up her mug from the night before and carried it into the kitchen. She smiled as she caught the scent of the freshly brewed coffee. She poured herself a new cup and added her usual helping of sugar before turning back to the lounge. She placed the cup in the same place as it was which could be identified by a brown ring on the glass and dropped down onto the sofa. Her hair hung in waves around her face, accentuating her chiseled cheekbones. She picked up her ID card and flipped it over several times as she stared into space. Her mind drifted to Patricia, at how she had been chased down like an animal and then slaughtered with barely a second thought. She grabbed her mug and took a gulp of coffee, relishing the sweet, coffee flavored goodness.
Sarah drummed her fingers rhythmically against the steering wheel of her suburban to the beat of the heavy metal music that was playing through the sound system. The traffic in Brooklyn was busier than expected for the time of morning. Rain pounded against the glass windscreen and against the black body of her car. The clouds hung low and gray in the sky, casting a shadow across the city. As the cars in front of her crawled forward, Sarah found an opening outside of the Starbucks that she frequented when she was not being called to a crime scene in the middle of the night. She maneuvered the car into the opening and turned off the engine, cutting off the music. She glanced through the window for anyone walking past, then carefully opened her car door and swung her legs around and slid off the seat to her feet. The rain immediately lashed against her skin. Sarah pushed the car door shut and locked it before she tightly wrapped her blazer around her and ran into the coffee shop, her heels clicking rapidly against the pavement. Sarah was thankful that the coffee shop was empty. She approached the young blonde haired barista at the counter whose cheeks were tinged pink with the cold.
“Morning, miss. Welcome to Starbucks. How may I help you today?” asked the barista with a warm smile.
“Could I get two double shot caramel macchiato lattes in a large please? They’re for Carver.” Sarah fished her wallet out of her pocket and handed the barista two notes, “Just keep the change as a tip.” The barista’s eyes sparkled as she rang the purchase through the till and retrieved two disposable cups from the stack to her left and set about preparing the coffee. Sarah returned the smile and took a seat at a nearby table. She rested her chin on her hand as she gazed thoughtfully out of the window, the scenery distorted by the rain streaking down the glass. Machines hissed and bubbled as they worked. The aroma was heavenly.
“Carver?” Sarah’s ears perked up. She turned to see the barista leaning over the counter with a cup in each hand. Sarah stood up and accepted the drinks before turning to face the rain outside, the warmth spreading through her numb fingers.
Sarah approached the doors to the field office and considered them for a moment before glancing back at the cups in her hands. She was suddenly grateful for the small roof above the doors to shelter her from the rain. She set the cups down on the ground and removed her ID card from around her neck before sliding it through the lock and punching in the code. Sarah shoved one foot in the doorway and hooked her lanyard back around her neck and picked up the cups, using her hip and leg to prop the door open. The office was bustling. Agents talked on phones or typed at computers. Luke stood behind his desk flipping through a case file with the phone balanced between his ear and his shoulder, nodding periodically. Sarah edged her way through the bullpen, setting a cup down on Luke’s desk. Luke’s eyes fell upon the cup before making their way up to the redhead that was heading towards her own office. 
  Sarah set her cup down on her desk and powered up her computer before dropping into her chair and opening the case file for Patricia Sparks. Her eyes skimmed the copy of the autopsy report. She had only vague memories from her meeting with Dr Coleman the day before courtesy of her migraine. All she was able to deduct from the autopsy report was that it was not sexually motivated. She knew it meant waiting for another body to show up. With a sigh, she turned to her computer and typed in her password. Whilst waiting for it to load, she sipped her coffee. Sarah glanced away from the screen, through her open door to Luke was watching her thoughtfully, the phone still cradled against his ear and the file in his hands. Her eyes moved back to her screen. She opened up her emails and browsed through them. There was nothing of note. With the cup still in her right hand, Sarah picked up her office phone with her left hand. The handset was clasped in her hand, one finger free to type in a number. She brought the phone to her ear, her hair falling down her arm. It rang a few times before an older woman’s voice answered.
“Brooklyn View Medical Centre. How can I help?” came the voice on the other end of the call.
“Hi, Miriam. It’s Sarah Carver.”
“Oh, hello, Sarah. It’s been a while. How are you?”
“I’ve been better. Listen, I need an appointment with Dr Holywell. Do you have anything?” asked Sarah, her voice low so that she could not be overheard.
“Um... I have one this afternoon if that’s any good to you?”
“Yeah, that’s good with me.”
“Can I ask what it’s regarding?” Sarah shifted uncomfortably. She always felt uneasy telling an administrator about her problems.
“Persistent migraines. I’ve been having them constantly for a few weeks.”
“Okay. I’ve popped a note on record for Dr Holywell. We’ll see you this afternoon.”
“Thanks, bye.” Sarah set the phone back down and sipped her coffee. She gazed anxiously at the phone, her chin in her hand. A knock sounded on her door, attracting her attention to the figure in the doorway. Luke leaned against the door frame, file in hand and a smile on his face. He was wearing a pale pink dress shirt with a violet silk tie and smart black trousers. His ID card hung on his belt. His brown curls brushed against the collar of his shirt.
“Everything okay?” he asked, taking Sarah’s calm demeanor as an invitation to enter. He pulled out the soft chair on the opposite side of the desk to where Sarah was seated and slowly lowered his tall frame into it.
“Yeah. Just making an appointment to see my doctor.”
“How’s your migraine today?” Sarah shrugged and took another drink of coffee.
“It’s still there. Not quite as intense but still there.” Luke shifted in his seat to dig in his right pocket. He produced a slightly battered box of Tylenol and threw them onto the desk in front of Sarah, “Luke, you are an absolute legend!” Luke chuckled as Sarah set about popping two tablets out and shoving them into her mouth.
“Well, I don’t know about that but I remembered that you ran out yesterday. So... Patricia Sparks. Any headway on the killer?” Sarah shook her head.
“Afraid not. I’d hoped the autopsy report would have given us more clues but it didn’t really tell us anything.  Well, other than the fact that there’s no sexual motivation.”
“Yeah, that’s about all I could come up with. Looks like we’ll be needing another body before we get any leads.” Sarah nodded solemnly. She stole a glance at Luke. His brown eyes, though ringed with dark circles, sparkled. She drank in everything- the sharp curves of his cheekbones, the way his hair lay on his forehead, partially obscuring his eyebrows; the small indentation in his chin, the thin white scars across his left cheekbone and his top lip. He simply smiled at her, lips pressed together and his cheeks dimpling. Sarah quickly snapped herself out of her thoughts. Her heart was racing, thudding against her ribs.
“Sarah, you okay?” Sarah’s hands shook as she tried to redirect her attention elsewhere.
“Oh, um... Yeah. I’ll let you know if I come up with anything.”
“Likewise. Give me a shout if you need anything.” Luke came to his feet and turned towards the door. Sarah caught herself staring at his rear, the way his trousers hugged his buttocks and his thin but toned body. Sarah cursed inwardly at herself.
Sarah glanced up at the tall building in front of her. It was a relatively new building with white painted bricks. Brooklyn View Medical Centre was emblazoned above the doors, the chrome lettering flashing in the sunlight. With a sigh, Sarah stepped forward, the automatic glass doors sliding open, allowing her to enter. The foyer looked far from clinical. A potted plant was situated underneath the stairs that led to the other floors. Several plush chairs were dotted around. Two elevators were directly at the rear of the foyer. Sarah approached the desk to her left. An older woman looked at her. A flash of recognition appeared across her lined features.
“Sarah?” asked the woman.
“Yeah, hi. How’s it going, Miriam?”
“Oh, fine. Dr Holywell’s ready for you. He’s on the third floor.” Sarah gave Miriam a nod of thanks before pacing over to the elevators. She impatiently and repeatedly pressed the button, waiting for one of the elevators to reach her level. Doors opened to her right and she stepped inside, pressing the polished chrome button for floor three.
As she made her way along the corridor, Sarah’s eyes darted from door to door. Despite the Tylenol, the drumming in her head increased in intensity. Her eyes stung from the lights. Dr Holywell’s office was situated at the end of what felt like an infinite corridor. Sarah stopped in front of the door and closed her eyes. She curled her fingers into a fist and knocked twice.
“Come in,” came the raspy male voice from inside. Sarah slowly opened the door, the lights searing her retinas. She turned her face away and shielded her eyes. A pair of aging hands closed the door and guided her to a seat by her forearms. She felt the cushion of the chair brush against the backs of her knees as she was gently lowered down. Sarah pressed both hands to her head, her hair entwined around her fingers. She gritted her teeth in agony. Dr Holywell seated himself at his desk and watched the woman in front of him with concern in his gray eyes.
“I understand you’re having migraines. How long have you had this one?”
“A few weeks,” Sarah managed to press out in response.
“Have you noticed any other changes? Any hallucinations? Seizures? Mood changes?” Sarah briefly shook her head, “Do you have sensitivity to light or sound?”
“Both.” For all Dr Holywell was speaking in low tones, it felt as though he was screaming in Sarah’s ear.
“Nausea?”
“Always.” Dr Holywell shifted awkwardly in his seat.
“Now, I’m sorry to ask after Danny, but I have to ask anyway. There’s no chance you could be pregnant?” Sarah gave a small sarcastic chuckle in response.
“If I am, it’s the second coming of Jesus Christ.”
“Any illicit substances?” Sarah snapped her head up and immediately regretted the movement.
“Jesus! I’m an FBI agent! What do you think?” Sarah’s shoulders slumped, “I like a drink now and then but that’s it.” Dr Holywell scribbled on the lined notebook in front of him.
“Sarah? How long have you been slurring your words?” Sarah furrowed her brow in confusion.
“Wha-? I’m not slurring, am I?” Dr Holywell nodded slowly.
“Sarah, do you have any other symptoms right now?”
“No, I- Wait. What’s all the coloured lights?” Dr Holywell’s hackles raised, his body gripped in concern.
“There’s no bright ligh-“ Dr Holywell was quickly cut off when Sarah’s head dropped back against the back of the chair and her eyes rolled up into her head. Her jaw tensed, mouth gaping. Her fingers spasmed into claws. Sarah’s breath was disjointed and uneven, choking and snorting sounds leaving her throat. Her body twitched. Dr Holywell slammed his palm against the panic button on the wall and grabbed Sarah under the arms, dragging her still twitching form to the floor. A flustered, blonde haired nurse threw open the door, her chest heaving as she panted. Dr Holywell glanced up at her as he rolled the unconscious agent into the recovery position, gently tilting her head back with two fingers under her chin.
“Get an ambulance please, Nancy.” The nurse nodded and turned on a dime to run back down the corridor. Dr Holywell glanced between Sarah and his watch as he timed the seizure, the woman in front of him continuing to sporadically jerk.
Sarah’s jerking and twitching had begun to subside by the time paramedics arrived a short time later. Her breathing had evened out. She lay perfectly still on her side, her right hand nestled under her left cheek and her right knee bent up to a ninety degree angle. Dr Holywell stepped past Sarah’s unconscious form and opened the door to the sound of approaching footsteps and voices. Two paramedics approached the door, one male and one female. The male paramedic was black and had a muscular build. The female was short and Latina. Both wore crisp white uniforms, a radio fastened to their left shoulder. The male paramedic carried a large red bag over his shoulder. The female dragged a stretcher behind her. Both glanced down at the woman at their feet. The male paramedic knelt down next to Sarah and set the bag down next to his knee. He gently shook her shoulder.
“Hello? Can you hear me? My name’s Michael and I’m an EMT.” He received no response. He turned to Dr Holywell who had seated himself back behind his desk, “What happened, sir?” Dr Holywell briefly removed his spectacles and rubbed his eyes before putting them back on again.
“Her name is Sarah Carver. She’s an FBI agent. She came to me with a prolonged migraine lasting a few weeks.  Complaints of nausea and sensitivity to light and sound. No reports of hallucinations or any other changes. I did note some slurring of her words prior to the seizure which she was not aware of. No substance misuse. She saw some bright coloured lights just before the seizure.”
“What kind of seizure was it?” asked the female paramedic, quickly making notes onto her clipboard.
“Tonic clonic of unknown origin. No known history of epilepsy. The seizure lasted seven minutes.” Michael slowly rolled Sarah onto her back. He tugged the pen torch out of his shirt pocket and peeled open each of Sarah’s eyelids, shining the beam of bright light into her eyes.
“Pupils equal and reacting. Size three.” He pushed the torch back into his pocket and unzipped the bag, emptying the contents all over the doctor’s floor. He flicked a switch, turning on the ECG monitor, “Sorry about this, Ms Carver, but I need to cut your sweater.” Picking up a pair of curved safety scissors, Michael cut through the sweater from the bottom, past her abdomen and breasts and through the collar. Sarah’s sweater fell open at the sides, revealing her toned torso and sports bra. Michael applied electrodes to Sarah’s clammy skin over her chest and her ribs, just under her bra. He plugged the coloured wires into the machine. The ECG sprung to life, a green line bleeping steadily across the screen.
“She’s in sinus rhythm,” said the female paramedic as she wrote down the reading. Michael applied a large black cuff around Sarah’s upper left arm.
“BP is low at ninety eight over forty so let’s get some fluids going.” The female paramedic knelt down opposite Michael and retrieved a tourniquet, cannula and clear dressing from the pile of equipment scattered around them.
“Hi, Sarah. My name’s Christina and I’m an EMT. I just need to pop a needle in the back of your hand, okay?” Christina quickly tore open an alcohol wipe and brushed it over the back of Sarah’s right hand. While waiting for it to dry, she applied the tourniquet around Sarah’s wrist and picked up her hand, bending it slightly at the wrist. She tapped the skin, encouraging the vein to pop up. Once she was satisfied that she had access, Christina opened the cannula and slowly inserted it into the vein. The flashback of blood told her that she was where she needed to be. With a click, she released the tourniquet and applied the dressing to keep the cannula in place. Feeling helpless, Dr Holywell passed Christina a bag of sodium chloride and an IV set from the pile. Christina hooked Sarah up to the fluids and gave the bag a squeeze to force the fluid through. Michael clipped an oxygen saturation monitor to Sarah’s finger.
“O2 SATs are low at ninety percent on room air. Let’s get her on two liters of oxygen,” said Michael. Dr Holywell took the bag of fluids from Christina and held it up, squeezing it periodically. Christina opened a new packet containing a plastic mask and attached it with clear tubing to the oxygen canister under the stretcher. She stretched the green elastic and hooked it around Sarah’s head, her red hair trapped underneath. The mask rested over Sarah’s nose and mouth, her breath misting the plastic. Michael packed away the equipment, leaving the ECG out. He came to his feet and dragged the stretcher closer. Christina grasped Sarah’s ankles and Michael hooked his arms under Sarah’s armpits, grasping his fingers together at her breastbone. Dr Holywell picked up the ECG, holding the wires and tubes out of the way as the two paramedics lifted Sarah’s limp form up from the floor and onto the stretcher. They brought the straps across Sarah’s chest and legs and buckled them before setting the ECG monitor next to Sarah’s legs. Christina accepted the fluids back from Dr Holywell and rested the bag on Sarah’s lap. She threw the red bag over her shoulder and the pair wheeled Sarah out of the room and down the corridor.