Partners

Chapter 8 : In Search Of Hope

The noise was unbearable.  He got pushed and slid to the sidewalk.  Without a second thought, he turned to see Chase.  She was faced down on the ground.  He couldn't move.  His left leg was sprained.  His right arm was broken.  He couldn't scream.  He knew no one could hear him.  He watched the blood flowing out from her body.  The medics came with the ambulances. 

"Clear! No pulse!" 

This action was repeated five times. 

"She's gone.  Time of death 11:13."

Fetcher woke up, panting hard.  It was two weeks after the accident.  He got up, washed up, and dressed.  He put on his typical clothes: white shirt button-up, a tie (today he wore the blue one), and a pair of black suit pants.

He later knocked on the door of a room, "Get up, kids!  Tacos for breakfast.  We'll get it on the way!"

*****

Twenty minutes later, they arrived at Good Samaritan Hospital.  The elevator went straight to seventh floor.  They walked into the ward.  

There Chase was, lying there like Sleeping Beauty.  Her red hair had been combed.  Reign was the first one to walk over. 

He jumped to sit on the bed side and reached to hold Chase' hand, "I know you'd probably beat the crap out of me if I touch you." 

Cameron let out a weird noise, possible just a sneer. 

"But I have to do this." Reign kept talking, "You look like you're dead.  When I hold your hand, I can feel your temperature." 

Cameron sat down on the chair beside the bed, laying his head on the mattress, "Come on, Chase, wake up.  I'll keep coming here to bother you until you wake up.  Trust me.  You don't want that." 

Fetcher sat down on the sofa-bed underneath the window.  His back hunched, elbows on both knees with palms cupping his face.  Every day he came to visit Chase, he didn't say anything to her, only to sit there, lost in his own world, letting the kids do the talking.

Chase had lost too much blood.  It somehow damaged the nervous system in her brain and got her into a coma.  There was no say when she would wake up.  Maybe a week, maybe a month, maybe a year, or maybe more.  No one could be sure.  

*****

It was the work of a sniper.  The bullet was from a rifle called AS50 which was made in Britain.  Jane and Donnter had found the sniper, but he wasn't the unsub.  He was just a gunman who got terrified and escaped after he shot the wrong target.  His name was Mark Wesenberg.

"Hello, Mark!" Fetcher walked into the interrogation room, pulled the chair out and sat down. 

"Man, you have to trust me." the sniper said, "I have no choice!" 

"You shot my partner!" the detective raised his voice, "I wish it was me!" 

"Oh, believe me," Mark said with indignation, "I really wish it was you.  I'm still worrying what he will do to my family!" 

Fetcher straightened his face, "Who is he?" 

"I don't know!" Mark looked nervous, "He called me one day with an unknown number.   He knows I am a sniper.   He asked me to got to the building on Monday ten o'clock to shoot YOU, Detective Valentine Fetcher in LAPD." 

Fetcher tapped his fingers on the table, "How much money did he promise to pay you?" 

The sniper laughed with bitter but he didn't look truly amused at all, "Pay me?  He threatened to kill my wife and kids.  I don't have money to have guards protect them!  And that guys know who we are, what we do, and our daily routines!"