| Subject: WTTS2 - 88c |
Author:
KT
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Date Posted: 22:56:25 01/11/02 Fri
In reply to:
KT
's message, "Window to the Soul 2 - More (splitting the thread *as requested by Sanlin*)" on 21:52:29 01/11/02 Fri
Window to the Soul 2 - Part 88c
By KT
Copyright June 12, 2001
O'Brien was one tough customer in the ER. He sat up on the gurney, and a nurse attempted to restrain him, but he insisted that his business couldn't wait.
"Look," he glowered at the nurse, "I'm not going anywhere until I talk with my team!"
When the officers informed him that the gallery was empty except for himself, his blood pressure started to rise. Petrosian was still at large! His brain whirled as he considered the possibilities... and only one surfaced... He instructed his team to get back in touch with Cossins.
"Tell him that the suspect is wounded, and may be looking for medical help. And tell him to put out an APB on Gerald Price ASAP. We've lost enough time as it is. Oh and have him set up surveillance at this location immediately." He gave an address. O'Brien knew that Cossins would be able to get the make and plate number of Price's vehicle. It was their only way to track him.
Satisfied that the team would be in pursuit of Petrosian, he finally let the ER staff prep him for surgery. As he lay on his back watching the ceiling lights go by, his last coherent thoughts were of his prey. Petrosian couldn't be in much better shape than he was, and wouldn't be able to avail himself of hospital care. He'd be holed up somewhere... he began to put the pieces of the puzzle together, but the light faded to black as he succumbed to the pre-op drugs.
* * * * * * * *
Gerald Price sat behind his desk, watching his client struggle to stay alert, still unnerved by his captivity, but feeling less panicky. He was amazed at Petrosian's stamina, and though the thought crossed his mind more than once to try to wrestle him for the gun, Price remained at bay. For all his being wounded and distracted, Petrosian had a good hundred pounds on him, and was deeply motivated by basic survival instinct.
The hand gun Price kept in the upper right-hand drawer of his desk remained there. He wasn't sure he could move fast enough to use it. Desperation had turned to patience as they waited for the clinic doctor to arrive. He turned to his captor with sarcasm and curiosity.
"Well, if they don't convict you of accessory to murder, there'll be plenty of other counts against you. Egran, what on earth possessed you to run?"
Petrosian turned a cold stare on him.
"I got tired of waiting for my lawyer."
"Surely you knew..."
Petrosian cut him off. "I'm getting out. Out of the country. And you're going to help me. I don't plan on spending the rest of my life in an American prison."
"I don't think you're going to have much choice." If Price knew anything about Marcus O'Brien, it was that he was relentless and uncompromising. He would pursue Petrosian until justice was served. "This cop you've tangled with isn't going to back down."
Petrosian sneered, his arrogance rising. "This cop can be eliminated just like any other man."
Price realized how spoiled Petrosian had become by successfully evading the law all these years. He slowly shook his head. "You can't take out the whole Chicago Police Department. The system will get you this time, Egran. And there won't be anything I can do to stop it."
A knock at the door startled them both. Petrosian sat up, keeping his weapon high, wincing with pain and nodding to Price.
"It's open." Price felt relieved by the fact that there would be another person there with them.
A tall, pleasant-looking man, blonde hair graying at the temples, strode through the door carrying a black bag. His weathered face suggested that he had spent many days in the out-of-doors, at the mercy of the elements. His demeanor gave the impression that life had tried to beat him into submission, but that the fighter in him lurked just below the surface. The pale blue eyes that lay behind his gold-rimmed glasses turned on his patient with calculating acumen, then to Gerald Price.
Price greeted him quietly. "Phillip. Thanks for coming." He tried, but couldn't keep an element of desperation out of his voice as he introduced him to Petrosian. "Egran, this is Dr. Jones."
The doctor duly noted Price's discomfort and the weapon in the hand of the rather large and intimidating man on the sofa. He remained quite unruffled, setting his bag on the desk, making eye contact with Petrosian. His gaze traveled over the wounded shoulder and took in the ashen palor of the man's skin. He spoke directly to the patient.
"I'll need your cooperation, if you want me to treat that wound."
Petrosian was not convinced. "You do what you have to do, and I'll do the same."
With the gun against his ear and the patient refusing to remove his shirt, the doctor proceeded to examine the wound. He attempted to administer a pain-killer, but Petrosian refused, not trusting that the drug was what the doctor said it was. Phillip caught Price's eye. He could see that Price wanted to make a move to try to overcome Petrosian, but he warned him off with a frown. Price noted the fine sheen of sweat breaking on the doctor's forehead.
Dr. Jones removed the bullet and cleansed the wound, bandaging it with care. His patient uttered a low grunt of pain. He could feel the immense tension in Petrosian's body, and he knew that he couldn't risk pushing him. When his tasks were completed, he backed away and repacked his instruments. He placed some extra bandaging on the desk.
"You'll need to change the wrapper to keep the wound dry," he advised. "Now, if you don't mind, I have other patients to attend to." Dr. Jones turned toward the door, but Petrosian spoke with deadly force.
"Sorry, Doctor, but I'm afraid I can't let you leave."
The doctor started to rebutt, but was silenced by the menacing wave of Petrosian's gun.
"We're all going for a little ride together. Gerald, I think we'll take the good doctor's car."
Price found his voice. "Now listen, Egran, this is getting very complicated. Let him go."
Petrosian shook his head. "I can't do that, Gerald. I'll need a coat."
The three of them filed out of the office, into the storm, and into Dr. Jones's car. The doctor took the driver's seat with Price also in front, cold metal against the side of his head.
"You will give Dr. Jones directions."
"To...?"
Price felt his stomach sinking as they made their way north.
* * * * * * * *
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